Seldom do I really look forward to a gig with as much expectation as twenty years ago. Jaded by age and experience no doubt. With Ex Hex's Rips being a firm favourite amongst last year's album releases, however, the chance to see the band in performance was a prospect that got the juices flowing like old times.

Add to that the fact that I'd somehow previously managed to never see a show in Stereo and the checking out of a new venue added an extra element to the night ahead. Turns out it's quite a sweatbox, enjoys good sound, only has one slightly unfortunately placed pillar and they like to get gigs on and off pretty swiftly.

With that said then Ex Hex were on stage not much shy of 9pm, getting lavish praise from the hipster fanboys at stage left and heading into all the good works from Rips - 'How You Got That Girl', 'War Paint', 'Everywhere' etc. In keeping with their '70s glam sound a cover of The Sweet's 'Fox On The Run' duly made it into the set later on.

Extended solos from each instrument and guitar duels were all part of the energetic performance but overall my expectations weren't met. No doubt I was expecting the songs to be smashed out at a pace slightly greater than on record but that wasn't the case on the night, which left things a bit ploddy for me by the end of the show. A paradox maybe but not one the bulk of the audience seemed to suffer so probably all good in that respect.

Touring support came from the Jacuzzi Boys who I'd been equally keen to see despite also having the option in a couple of weeks time at Le Guess Who? in Utrecht. They charged through 'Smells Dead', 'Seventeen', 'Strange Exchange', 'Mt. Sinai' and a shed load more, accomplished one of the coolest in-set cable reconnections I've seen on a stage and generally deserved a far better (i.e. dancing) reaction than the enthusiastic but polite rounds of applause the audience doled out. On this evidence they're a must-see in Holland.

Gary Numan is a true artist: conductor, musician and instrument; a triptych much like the three albums from the Machine section of Numan’s career (1979-80); tonight, Telekon, of which I am the lucky spectator. I don’t know quite what to expect from him, but as his silhouette approaches centre-stage, haloed by primary-coloured light, my hairs stand to attention, automaton-like.

There is a chemistry between the man and his flock of “Numanoids” with reciprocal love in word and action; everyone’s in black but no one is mourning. The audience are the congregation and Numan is a God. He has an eccentric gracefulness and strong but pared theatricality, presence, power and talent in the correct quantities. An auteur, he knows where everything should be and can be spotted mimicking the conductor he clearly is.

His voice is well-preserved, leading me to think he moisturises his vocal chords daily by drinking olive oil. He is able to hit his unique soprano, alto and tenor range as well as on record. And contrary to the static, robotic and brooding image implanted within my head, he spends the show looking chuffed which is surprising and delightful – you can tell he’s really enjoying himself and it fertilises the audiences’ own enjoyment.

The lighting is Numan’s spectacular backdrop, colleague and creation, often so in synch as to fit the beat of the given song, and its enrapturing. It fits so well and is nuanced to make him sometimes imposing and at others it’s just like the Aurora Borealis tumbled down and went on a bender to Kentish Town.

‘This Wreckage’ is just awesome live. Although of course heavy on the synth, there are other flavours, making the night feel like a very satisfyingly balanced meal: classical ‘Please Push No More’/’The Joy Circuit’ and funk, too (‘Remember I Was Vapour’). ‘Are Friends Electric?’ is anthemic and no one is silent. ‘Cars’ is a personal high point and I thank my lucky stars (and National Express, ironically, for getting me here). 

As small venues go, The Banshee Labyrinth in Edinburgh must be up there with the best of them. Such a tiny place managed to pack in a decent crowd of 100+ to celebrate the launch of The Spook School's second album Try To Be Hopeful, on a Monday night no less.

The four piece, three of whom look like they should still be at school, made every effort to ward off the ghosts that are reported to stalk the lower depths of The Banshee. Playing a 12 song set of high energy indie/punk it wasn’t long before the crowd was swaying along in time to the tunes. This was the first gig of a mini UK tour that will surely improve once the opening bars to their Taylor Swift cover are fully remembered.

Deploying a confetti cannon at the start of the set and fitting in 'Burn Masculinity', 'Binary', 'I'll Be Honest' all at an infectious pace it was clear to see they have a good deal more live experience as, from the first bar of their set, there was a tightness not heard from support acts No Ditching and Breakfast Muff.

No Ditching, from Durham, all looked slightly startled standing on stage but still provided a decent set of heavy indie, with the unusual inclusion in their ranks of a marching band snare drummer. However, their vocals lacked a cutting edge that may be more down to the Banshee’s mix than anything else. Certainly ones to watch for future material.

Late additions, Breakfast Muff, from Glasgow played musical instruments in more ways than one as they swapped places throughout their set. Reminding me of early Bis and also X-Ray Specs their whimsical lyrics about cats and exes raised a smile and they'd a good line in self-deprecating banter (indeed all three bands interacted far better with the crowd than most acts I've seen this year).

The UK indie scene is still cranking out good and influential bands and one if not all three here will go on to bigger and better venues for sure.

Further tour details for The Spook School can be found here.

Try To Be Hopeful is released on Fortuna POP! and is available from amazon & iTunes.

“You are all Johnny,” she shouts, after she has passionately delivered a plea for freedom, against corporations, for peace, against this corruption that is tainting this world. “Use your voice”, she yells out, as the guitar is strumming this up-tempo riff that doesn’t really get the audience dancing since most people are in their fifties, sixties, possibly seventies. Which makes sense, since it is the 40th anniversary of Patti Smith’s iconic album Horses. And by the looks of it, the audience not only bought it on release, but they remember it, too. They remember the heartfelt plea for freedom, and the honest, pure ode to those who have died. And despite it being forty years later, Smith being forty years older, and despite that this celebration of the forty year anniversary has been going on for a good couple of months, Smith still manages to eloquently and wholeheartedly stand by her message.

“Jesus died for somebody’s sins, but not mine,” it’s one of those opening lines that is timeless. Just as the evocative imagery of Johnny banging his head against the lockers, the trampling of the white horses, and the boy asking his dad to take him with him. As the pretty young girl is humping on the parking meter, Jimmy Morrison is ascending with Prometheus wings to the next chapter of maybe not even life, but existence. As Johnny is starting to feel the energy, the band dives into Gloria again, a moment that manages to elicit the cheers of all whose bedtime would have past on any other day of the week. No bedtime, no rules and regulations, they are just words tonight. And tonight, it’s one of those nights that belongs to us, which she and her band play in the encore. Would she know that, in this country, a dance version of that anthemic song charted back in the Nineties?

Patti Smith still exudes vibrancy, and she reminds us that we, too, should feel Life. Alive. We need to Live. Feel. Love. And fight, too, but not with bombs, or guns, but with the one thing we have more of. Human kindness. She kisses her guitar after saying that this is the only weapon we need, that we bring peace with poetry, art, and songs. “And it never runs out of ammunition”, she says, breaking every string on it when they are at the tail end of a cover of ‘My Generation’ which, along with The Velvet Underground, gets a shout-out. The latter which is done by her band as she takes a momentary break from the action. After disappearing briefly, she arrives back, waiting in the wings, just in time to watch appreciatively, proudly as her son goes off on a guitar solo.

Someone else’s son, buttoned-up in a neat, white shirt, leans on his dad’s shoulders on the staircase near the side, which is full of people trying to get a bit of a height advantage in the sold-out Tivoli Vredenburg venue. As Patti Smith comes back the fresh faced lad cheers, singing that the night belongs to lovers, and when Patti leaves he gives her a wave. Sure, the 44 euro price point might have been slightly too steep for those still learning about life, love, and lost instead of having already experienced it (and having, you know, a paying job), but the message that both the album forty years ago, as well as Patti Smith tonight, throws out there is still just as relevant.

And as the teenage boy leaves the venue tugging on dad’s sleeve, having witnessed such a strong, charismatic, and honest spokesperson, who knows, maybe the future might heed the warning after all. Being an individual, free from corruption, war, and manipulation, when brought so convincingly and artistically, sounds like a pretty good deal for any generation, let alone the one yet to define itself. It’s something that Patti Smith would surely be happy about, people continuing the fight and at the end she reminds us that we, the people, have the power. Tonight she made a hell of a case that we should never forget that.