Although it's the home of Cork's County Sound radio station, bustling market town Bandon rarely plants its' flag on the rock'n'roll map. But this is the June bank holiday weekend: officially the gateway to the Irish holiday season and the start of the weekend festivals that go from town to town around the region. Typically, the weather's been doing a Woodstock and pissing down constantly all day to remind us of the fact.
With this in mind, W&H are running a little late, not thinking for a moment that THE UNDERTONES would actually be onstage at 9.30, their alloted start time. So it's with great surprise that we hear music wafting through the air as we park the W&H-mobile in the town centre and realising we need to be down the front quickly make like 'The Sweeney' as the pubs are about to open. Our ears are clearly on the right track, too: a hungry, note perfect version of "Family Entertainment" floats across the river as we make for the bridge and hurry up the hill to the Shambles behind the courthouse.
Within a couple of minutes we're directly front of stage as Derry's finest pile into a great version of "My Perfect Cousin", and if you closed your eyes you truly could believe it's 1980 again. Yes, Feargal Sharkey's gone (probably never to return), but the five guys up there are attacking most of the finest moments of their first two albums like they only wrote these songs ten minutes ago. And, from where this writer's standing, it sounds astonishing.
Reformations, of course, are a sticky subject in rock'n'roll lore. Usually, it's simply an excuse to swell the bank account a little as the participants struggle to settle into middle age, and - because of the absence of Sharkey's magnficent warble - The Undertones are still up against it, credibility-wise. Tonight's show, however, proves that while Feargal may be only a memory, in new man Paul McLoone they have a fantastic replacement. He prances, kicks and stalks the lip of the stage constantly, leaving you in doubt whatsoever he's the band's new focal point. The fact his voice is gruffer than Sharkey's isn't necessarily a problem, either, and for the most part he holds his own admirably: not a bad result bearing in mind The Undertones' back catalogue remains one of rock's prize possessions and for a newcomer to have eased his way into the picture so effectively requires considerable reserves of both guts and skill.
With 2003's 'comeback' album "Get What You Need", of course, The Undertones proved they weren't purely an anachronism and they returned with an album worthy of their name. Wisely - in what in effect is an occasion open to everyone from toddlers to grannies - they don't try and shove too much new material down our throats, but the recent songs ("Thrill Me" in particular) remind you that The Undertones have actually managed the Houdini-esque trick of sounding like a credible new band capable of garnering kudos afresh in the 21st Century.
But then the men capable of these most wondrous of two-minute creations are still present and correct behind the livewire McLoone. Yes - aside from the ridiculously youthful Damien O'Neill - they may have aged slightly, but crucially they are still capable of playing like the most sussed and rabid 17 year-olds on the block: a point they make absolutely clear time and time again during the course of this ecstatic hour or so.
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Really, it's more a case of what they DIDN'T play. Within twenty minutes or so of being here, we've been treated to the likes of "Girls Don't Like It", "There Goes Norman", "I Gotta Getta" and "True Confessions", all played with a Ramone-ic intensity and precision. They don't permit the pace to slacken much, though both the smouldering "Tearproof" and a gorgously sad, crystalline "Julie Ocean" - with Damien and John's vibrato guitar parts meshing beautifully - serving as timely reminders that few could match this lot even when they began to succumb to maturity a little.
Importantly, they still carry themselves like this is every bit as much fun as it was the first time around. The banter between McLoon and bassist Mickey Bradley, especially, is typically amusing, not least when McLoone suggests: "We were gonna have a punk dancing competion", to which Bradley fires back : "Yeah, and who'd win? You!", but the asides come thick and fast, and even the quiet, contemplative John O'Neill allows himself a gentle smile or three as he plays.
"Teenage Kicks" still sounds as good as the first time you heard it on Peel's show, and it signals the beginning of the conclusion of the main set, with the circular refrain of the stupidly catchy "I Know A Girl" and a grandstanding "Get Over You" taking us to the chequered flag. Naturally, it's not really the end though, as they're soon back to treat us to a positively atomic "Male Model", a typically daffy "Mars Bars" and - inevitably - "Teenage Kicks" a second time. We've no desire to let them leave, but then when something's this good, overcooking the dish is always an anticlimax, so we shouldn't be too greedy, should we? Hell, even the rain had the decency to hold off while the band were onstage.
So quite a night out in the end, and all the proof you could need that one of the punk era's best bands were absolutely right to take the plunge without Feargal Sharkey. These irreverent Derry boys may have grown up (a little), but they've adroitly avoided the creative bankruptcy that usually goes hand in hand with reunions and remain thrillingly relevant in 2005. Somewhere up there, I get the feeling John Peel's enjoying a quiet little smile too.
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