Santa at last gave me this DVD, although the Santa looked not unlike me. As with Rory Gallagher Live at the Rock Palast, this collection of electrifying performances once again sets the standard that others should aspire to, although many of them clearly do not even try. It also reminds me, miserable old sod that I am, why I find it so hard to get worked up about bands such as Maximo Park, Coldplay, Embrace, the Doves, the sad American geek punkers like Fall Out Boy, Bowling For Soup, no-hopers like Linkin Park and Green Day and, going back, such appalling aural assaults such as the hugely over-rated Clash and 99% of those pathetic punk rockers. Why are they all such feeble musicians? Why can none of the bass players play bass? Anybody put on their Slits or Adverts LP lately? No? Never Mind the Bollocks? No? The only thing to say about the Sex Pistols is that they were like Motorhead but without the talent , the skill or visual charm.

I cannot single out any particular track because they are all exceptional, and perhaps Rory's exuberant rendition of his hero Muddy Waters' Garbage Man sums up the band and the man: Rory adored urban and country blues and always considered that the proponents, Muddy, Blind Boy Fuller, BB King, Freddie King, Big Bill Broonzy, Leadbelly, Lighting Hopkins and so on were in a different league from him. Not so. Rory brought back the exciting blast of music that was made to be danced to and to be celebrated that somehow got lost in many of the po-faced purist interpreters. We should remember that the magnificent Robert Johnson, for example, played for dances and weddings and in juke joints, not in a sterile "I got de blooze" atmosphere.

I remember the excellent Ray Coleman in the old Melody Maker (Ray was articulate, literate and intelligent, like Chris Welch of the same paper. These are now unpopular traits)) telling the tale that at one of the Montreux Jazz Festivals, 1975, the famous American jazz guitarist Larry Coryell (of 11th House fame) was jamming around with other jazzers in a noodling way to a very restless crowd. Along came Rory in his checked shirt, jeans and plimsolls and took the riff by the scruff of its neck, set it going, and presided over one of the best impromptu sets of any Montreux Jazz Festival, still remembered as a lifetime high-spot by many.

No, Rory was not about striking attitudes, or being a professionally rude and grumpy grumpy rock star or saving the world, or insulting public figures with the cover of fame to protect him. He was about playing the best, most exciting rock and blues ever and this DVD confirms it with no further words needed. How in God's name all those who claim to have been influenced by Rory can say that, when their playing is so anodyne and lacking in real feeling is beyond me. As always, the viewer is left with a huge sense of loss that Rory died so young, a victim, ultimately, of the grape and the barley. Ironically, two of the bonus acoustic tracks are his own Grape and Barley Blues (covered by the Dubliners, yet) and Tony Joe's Too much Alcohol.

If you don't believe me, get this DVD and just watch the 75 and 77 concerts. If you can still listen to the Clash, or the Doves, or Coldplay, or Babyshambles, or Green Day, or Lifehouse, or Yellow Card or Embrace, or (shudder) the Magic Numbers without cringing at how much we have recessed musically, I will personally refund the price you paid for the DVD. I have done my best with all these bands and have seen many of them live (the Clash exerience still makes me wake up in a cold sweat, thinking I have died and gone to Hell and watched some hellish rehearsal of no-hopers in Dinton Village Hall) but they are all so feeble compared to this quality. They would have been booed off any stage in any small village hall in the 60s. Not Rory. Oh no, not Rory.