Hard grafting rock and roll band sums up Divine Brown in 6 words, and in truth there’s little else to add. They throw the right shapes and say the right things, but when it comes down to it, it’s 4 chords, clichés and not much else.

They do at least make a fine fist of it though. Tighter than most, it’s quite easy to be enamoured by them. They wear their hearts well and truly upon their sleeves, and demand that even though you might not like the style of the music, you’re not going to be able to ignore the passion in the performance. They won’t make it big in the music world, of that there’s little doubt and it’s a bit of a shame really. A band that enjoys themselves so much playing the music they want to play should be something that’s encouraged, but in this day and ages there is little space for that.

Now, what more is there to say about Earl Brutus that hasn’t been already on the pages of this hallowed publication? Yes it’s glammed up rock with a dance twist, performed by probably the oddest collection of people ever to grace a London stage, fuelled by what one can only imagine as a cocktail of extremely strong lager and possibly something narcotic. With a periodically changing line-up, is hard to know what you’re going to get from them until the night. Sometimes there are drums, sometimes two guitars, another keyboard or a DJ, but always there’s an undercurrent that the band you are seeing has only had one rehearsal before being thrust into the limelight. Tonight was the bass/guitar/keyboards/samples/oriental shouty bloke/manic singer combination. Looked good on paper probably!

Performance wise, they are always bordering on the chaotic at the best of times, and this was a night where things were finally pushed over the edge. Half way through mighty opener “Reaction”, Mark E Smith-a-like and general loon singer got into such a mic stand whirling frenzy that he inadvertently smashed the sequencer computer to the floor. Now, considering just how much of their songs rely completely (and I do mean completely) on the sequencer to hold them together, this was what can only be described as a small disaster. From this point on, the only way I can relate to you what I witnessed is to say that everything fell apart to the point that most of the time the band weren’t even sure what song they were doing, yet alone what notes to play.

So, it was a crap gig then was it? On the contrary, it was compelling in a “look that car’s about to crash” way, to the point that you almost want to say sod this lets go to the bar but can’t seem to drag your gaze away from the stage for fear of what you might miss. Dear God, what are they going to do next? Shoot the bass player? Set fire to superfluous Japanese shouty bloke? Try to take that bottle of beer away from the keyboard player? Well, they could have done any of the above as 1: the bass player was utterly lost for 90% of the gig with the look of a rabbit in the headlights about him, 2: Mr Shouty Bloke did exactly that and only that (why is he in the band?) and 3: the keyboard player looked so totally uninterested to the point that the only time I actually saw him touch his instrument was when he spilt his beer on it. Saying that though, he had the outward demeanour of somebody who next week will be in a bell tower with a high-powered rifle taking pot shots at his workmates, so I doubt there was anybody in the venue brave enough to try releasing his grip on his bottle.

Yes, musically it was approaching dire, but the performance was utterly enthralling. Most bands would have packed up second song in, but not Brutus. All it did was to make them throw themselves even harder into their act with the air of fuck it, it’s all screwed but it’s not going to stop us enjoying ourselves. The crowd knew it was a mess, the band knew it was a God-all-mighty big mess, but neither cared to let it dampen their enthusiasm. At the end they got a rapturous round of applause from the stunned to the point of laughter audience, and in absolute honesty they deserved it purely for their determined attitude to carry on regardless. 

Reviewed by Micky K
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Country music. Two little words that instil fear, contempt and mockery into the hearts and minds of the average music fan. You’re getting images of tassels, ten-gallon Stetsons and tossers line dancing already, aren’t you?  Well, check your preconceptions in at the door to the swish Social y’all and prepare to enjoy a country-style Acoustically Heavenly night from the label that gave us the sound of 2002 with The Vines and Doves.  For starters, where you’re expecting thinning hair and ropey old jackets on ropier old men there’s a busy crowd as young and sexy as anywhere else in town tonight. And two of them are centre-stage as Alex and Hannah from Redlands Palamino Co introduce us to their Americana world.  Intros like “This is a song about the journey from Wales to Portsmouth” or “This is about my old Ford Fiesta” don’t exactly conjure images of dusty plains and lost highways but close your eyes and listen. The strum, the harmonies and, most vitally, the lap-steel take you on the open road with the hood down and nothing to do but count the cacti.

Whilst the Palaminos are just starting out on their journey beyond Nashville, Alan Tyler is a well-travelled troubadour. Having emerged from the gloriously drunken mess of early 90’s Heavenly country rockers The Rockingbirds, he’s got tales to tell and a guitar to tell ‘em with. Backed by British lap-steel legend BJ Cole amongst others, he guides us effortlessly through his own ‘Everybody Is A Cowboy’ and ‘Blue Man’ and rattles through a Waylon Jennings standard and Hank Williams’ mean and moody ‘Honky Tonkin’. 

Tyler knows that dues have to be paid to the guys and gals that influenced his desire to follow this most maligned of genres and he succinctly puts his own sweet take on proceedings.  A year or so ago, most people would have had us sectioned for suggesting the comeback of good ol’ blues but, following the success of The White Stripes, it happened. Maybe 2003 could be country’s year for a long-overdue reappraisal?

Reviewed by James S
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Ricky are better than The Thrills and The Vessels. Walking in on the distinctive sound of Ricky's 12-string Rickenbacker guitars (having had problems finding the venue!) the first thought is 'ahh...'. Thoughts of kicking off your shoes, lying back on a deckchair, and listening to Ricky in the sun are put to one side, as this was not a beach, more a dirty, sweaty working-mans club. The shoes, therefore, stayed on.

'Mise-En-Scene', with it's instantly recognisable jingly-jangly guitars, plodding drums and beautiful harmonies could light up any venue. And it did. It's a great opening song, as it pronounces what Ricky are all about. 'The Kick Inside', with it's catchy chorus, and syncopated guitar riff could easily become 'the one that gets people dancing' when (not if) Ricky make it big.

On-stage, Ricky look so laid back - it all comes so naturally. James Lines thrives on standing up in front of people with his mates, singing songs he's written, and this gives Ricky a sense of familiarity. They're like old friends, and you almost feel proud to see them belting out tune after tune of brilliantly-crafted West-Coast melodies. There's no playing up to the crowd or arrogance about their performance. Ricky are humble. And bloody good.

Newer songs (the first single, 'Sunset View', a lovely tune, and 'Better When You're Gone', which is the brilliant second single) become instantly engrained in your memory. The set culminates in 'Maybe Together', one of their catchiest songs, and a beautiful, harmonic, a cappella version of 'Mise-En-Scene'. Ricky, once again, prove why they're known as one of the best unsigned bands in the country. All they need now is for somebody to back them.

Set-list:  MISE-EN-SCENE, THE KICK INSIDE, HOPE FROM THE LONELY SEA, MORNING SUNSHINE, BETTER WHEN YOU'RE GONE, SUNSET VIEW, MAYBE TOGETHER

Reviewed by Chris M
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