One of the joys of this "job" (or should I call it glorified hobby?) is the ability to visit long-lost musical friends that may have slipped down the back of time’s infinite sofa. New Model Army soundtracked my transition from awkward teenager to socially inept adult. They were the background noise for political awakenings, unrequited crushes and harsh break-ups. They were also my bridge between metal and indie. 

For a two-year period between 1991 and 1993 they were all that I listened to, and I evangelistically followed them around the country taking the opportunity to see them live whenever I could. But friendships fade and it's been a good number of years since Justin and his crew and myself have been in the same room together. Tonight's show, as Justin dryly points out, was meant to commemorate a 40th anniversary that happened over two years ago. “We've moved on from all that nonsense now” he proclaims when discussing the subject. However, even though it is evident that the band are thirsty to get back into the studio to record new material, they still managed to produce a startling, evocative and highly relevant gallop through four decades worth of ardent song writing.

But before we get the opportunity to bath in politicised nostalgia, we have the small matter of Widnes’s lost heroes Zen Baseball Bat. They sarcastically describe themselves as post-post-post-post-punk and you can certainly see musical traits that connect them back to Magazine, Wire and Public Image Ltd. My photographic wingman wonders if there are little too "ska” for our publication. Whilst there are shades of two-tone to be found across their material, for me they are more akin to the Mancunian musical alchemy of the early eighties. I am a Manc of a certain age and I hear throwbacks to A Certain Ratio and early New Order. What they do remarkably well is the job of all support acts, and that is to loosen and warm up the crowd. The Army are known for having a heavily partisan and fiercely loyal following and in the past I have seen them tear shreds off unsuspecting opening bands. Tonight, however there are booties being shaken all over the shop and it is evident that Zen Baseball Bat’s particular brand of post-rock lands well. 

The most striking thing about this evening is how well New Model Army’s tales of morality and political dissent have aged. ‘The Charge’, ‘1984’ and ‘Here Comes the War’ may have been written decades ago in another age and for different circumstances, but they come across as highly relevant in today’s uncertain age. Even their architect, Justin Sullivan, seems dumbfounded about how little has changed from those desolate industrial wastelands of the eighties. “For the first time ever, I have no idea what the world will be like in two years’ time” he exclaims when speaking about their decision to withdraw to record a new album after these shows. 

They have always worn their politics on their sleeves, but it was never in a preachy or forthright way. Instead, we get songs of dissent, disillusionment and disharmony that are personal confessions as opposed to rebel rousing anthems. As main set closer ‘Ballad of Bodmin Pill’ beautifully refrains, these are hymns for the marginalised and the disaffected “We are lost, we are freaks, we are crippled, we are weak. We are the heirs, we are the true heirs, to all the world”. 

The other notable thing is how tight this current iteration of the band is. For decades New Model Army has been Justin and an ever-revolving group of musicians. Every time over the years that I have poked my head in on them, he has seemed to have another different set of bandmates. The current version of the band has been in situ for a decade now (though, with the departure of Marshall Gill they have recently slimmed down to a four-piece) and they seem to have relaxed into a highly efficient musical groove. I am generally surprised at the depth and complexity of their sound. On numerous occasions, they expertly morph the rampant punk of their earlier material into a much more textured and contemplative musical form that drips with pathos and reflection.

New Model Army shows were always a communal affair, with the band feeding off the unbridled energy created by their committed following. The years may have passed by, but this aspect has not changed one bit. The crusties and social misfits I remember from the early nineties might have cleaned themselves up and got jobs in IT, but the feeling of belonging is still very much there. Traveling fans have long since dropped the moniker of “the Militia” and started using the term “The Family” and that is very much how it feels tonight, one very loud and very raucous family reunion. This isn’t an exercise in blatant nostalgia and songs from this millennium were welcomed as warmly as those from the dim and distant past. There is an unbridled feeling of ownership here in the Ritz tonight. The songs, even those of a newer disposition, belong to the vocal throng who scream the lyrics back at Justin.

We may be nibbling away at the curfew, but we still get a muscular encore. ‘No Rest’ is as poignant now as its was forty years ago and ‘Stupid Questions’ pulls all the last wavering souls into the gravitational pull of the throbbing dance floor. But the appearance of seldom played grizzled warhorse ‘Vengeance’ elicits the most passionate reception of the evening. Justin comments that they dusted it down and reinstated it to the set when they heard rumours of Boris’ potential return and you can tell that a thousand people’s views on the subject are boiled down into the screamed refrain of “I believe in justice, I believe in vengeance, I believe in getting the bastard”. And that’s it, aside from heartfelt thank you’s and a pledge to return in a couple of years when the new album is done. They say it is hard to rekindle a love affair once it has burnt out, but tonight that old adage was proven wrong as I found my love for the Army and their passionate approach to social disorder was still there and still burnt bright.

Check the “In The Flesh” page for more photos!
New Model Army, Zen Baseballbat