Once upon a time, back more than half a lifetime ago, before Mrs F and I got together, I went on a date with a girl whose name I won’t reveal to protect the innocent. I was actually trying to go out with someone else, but she had done that thing that girls do sometimes (or did to me back then at least) of gently handing me off to her flatmate instead. Anyway, my bright idea for the first date was to go to a ‘Sounds of the Sixties’ night at the Playhouse.

This, dear reader, was in the early Eighties, when I was a student. I was too young to have experienced the decade’s music the first time around, but there were plenty of Sixties tunes still playing on the radio by the time I reached that impressionable mid-teens age in the late Seventies when you really start to connect with music. So, I reasoned, they’d be playing the good stuff, the stuff I’d connected with. Late period Beatles, Stones, Dylan, Hendrix.

How wrong I was, dear reader. And – here was the kicker – we were surrounded by old people: I mean, imagine being in your early twenties and taking a girl of the same age to a gig where everyone else had grey hair or a paunch or both. And the music was the shit stuff from the Sixties – I’ll not name the bands, to protect the guilty. What was I thinking? Needless to say there was no second date.

Anyway, I was reminded of that experience recently when we went to see the Christians, a band who emerged in the late Eighties, and who, by no coincidence at all, I saw with Mrs F at the self-same Playhouse around, I think, 1990. It was no coincidence because, back then, that was the music venue in Edinburgh that popular bands of the day came to. The gig, incidentally, was one of the best I’ve ever been at.

Scroll forward many decades, and the Christians are playing the Belle Angele, one of these smallish Edinburgh clubs that lurk beneath the bridges and vertiginous tenements of the Cowgate. The Playhouse it isn’t, but then nor is it a massive barn of a place like the Hydro in Glasgow, a venue I refuse to turn out for.

Those decades have taken their toll on all of us, of course. Not least the band of whom, I think, only the lead singer, Garry Christian, remains. Mrs F’s not up to standing through an entire gig now, but Belle Angele was kind enough to reserve relatively comfortable stools for us in the upper bar area, overlooking the sound desk and next to the lighting guy’s booth, of which more later.

Then there was the rest of the audience. Fortunately there were no students trying to impress a first date in view, because the rest of the punters were very definitely of a similar vintage to ourselves, and the decades had taken an even heavier toll on some of them than they had on us. Although we had been lucky enough to reserve some comfy seats in a prime position overlooking the main audience area, it wasn’t long before some of our fellow audience members started hauling out plastic chairs from somewhere to ease their backs. Note to venue owners: this might be something you want to start thinking of catering for, as acts and their following start to move into age groups where arthritis, heart conditions and osteoporosis wreak a very non rock and roll toll on people’s physiques.

Anyway. The music. If you haven’t heard of the Christians, check them out on Youtube (see below). They’re a soul band, basically, although the original guitarist, Henry Priestman, sneaked enough good guitar lines in there to get me interested. The lyrics were earnest and heartfelt, Garry has a great voice, the harmonies were lovely, but most of all the melodies were total earworms, such that Mrs F and I had them going through our heads for days afterwards.

Their name, incidentally, derives from the surname of (in the original line up) the three brothers Christian, although Henry’s middle name was also Christian. I don’t think it was, like, a requirement of getting in the band.

Anyway. The performance took a bit to get going: apparently a support band had pulled out at the last minute, so when the Christians took the stage, Garry grumbled a bit about that and the fact that the place wasn’t packed full. Their opening number was an appropriately soulful version of Dylan’s ‘I Shall Be Released,’ which nevertheless seemed like a strange way to start your gig. As the first half progressed, Garry was doing his best to warm up the Edinburgh crowd, although much of his inter-song banter was lost to us, even though we were sitting behind the sound guy.

To be fair, some of this wasn’t the engineer’s fault. Three blokes my age had decided to take up position not far behind us to talk – or at times shout – to each other through the entire performance. I mean, wtf? Why would you even do that? They weren’t alone, sadly. At one point the band attempted an a cappella version of ‘Hooverville,’ after Garry had SPECIFICALLY ASKED that everyone be quiet through it for maximum effect. Didn’t matter. Folk down the side of the main area, as well as our three idiots, continued to yammer on as if they were in a pub with background muzak.

Things got better in the second half, as the band just got their head down and played. I recognised lots of the tunes even though all their albums except ‘Colour’ missed the cut in our prune of the CD collection a few years back: ‘Hooverville,’ with instruments this time; ‘Words,’ ‘There You Go Again,’ ‘In My Hour of Need,’ and, as an encore, probably their best known song, a  cover of ‘Harvest for the World.’ Only Garry may remain from the original line up, but the replacements are great – shout out to the youngish guitarist especially, and to those gorgeous harmonies from the rest of the band.

Honestly, they were really good, and I’d go to reasonable lengths to see them again. Shame the sound guy seemed disinterested and the lighting guy kept nipping off for a pint and we were surrounded by idiots talking through the music, but don’t let that take away from the band. They deserve better, and they’re co-headlining with the Blow Monkeys at the Queen’s Hall later on this year. Below is one of my favourites of theirs, which didn’t feature this time, unfortunately.

If I go, I’m fairly confident my date will be coming home with me this time. I may be a grumpy old man, but I don’t have grey hair or a paunch just yet.