Seattle’s The Briefs are what live music should be all about; sweaty, tremendously catchy, utterly entertaining and above all fun.  There’s no pretence of cool as they hit the stage with their peroxide spiked hair, ties that are literally kippers and in the drummer’s case the torso all wrapped up in cable.  They also don’t believe in gaps between songs as they play their 1977 day-glo punk; the best bits of the Damned and the Dickies with an odd smidgen of the Ramones and Devo.  They’re great and whilst the songs tend to blur into each other, there’s not actually any likelihood of tedium setting in as they blow their way through their set of two and a half minute spunky punk bubbles.  And best of all with the Arts Club policy of allowing punters in for nowt before 8pm the early birds were laughing at more than just the white framed joke sun spex worn by the band.  

Reviewed by Paul M
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Cocky bastards don't come much better than this. And believe me, Ryan Adams is one cocky bastard. As cocky as they come, he is, the cocky little shi....[Ed: Jesus Christ, we get the impression. Shut up and get on with the review!] Errrr...ah yes, the gig. Well, Dublin's Olympia Theatre is a superb venue- I daresay one of the best in Ireland and for an acoustic, all-seated show like this, it suited Adams, and his raspy, yet gentle voice spectacularly. He immediately recognised this himself, though it was phrased "Dang! This is one shit-cool place!"

Support came from the quite brilliant Jesse Malin, whose debut (The Fine Art Of Self-Destruction- check it out if you like your alt-country) was produced by Ryan Adams himself. Although he does have an annoying habit of pronouncing some words strangely, the New Yorker's amusing anecdotes in between songs kept the already slightly raucous crowd warm.

Before I even start to mention Ryan Adams' setlist, I'd just like to mention that he is an absolutely supreme showman- from the moment he walks out on stage, fag in one hand, drink in the other, his stage presence is quite surprising for someone so relatively young. Nice too, to see that he isn't focused on his most successful and mainstream album Gold - playing very little from it (an acoustic version of Firecracker and Sylvia Plath) because he did vary his setlist to include tracks from his wonderful debut Heartbreaker, latest release Demolition (You Will Always Be The Same, Dear Chicago, Desire) and even made time for a couple of new songs- one of them being the haunting piano-based ballad Shadowlands. 

During the course of one gig, Adams proved time and time again that he is the consummate performer. It's rare that you'll see a singer who has such a brilliant rapport with his audience- even with the stupid fuckers that insisted on shouting out requests for 'Summer Of '69' (It's so passé, dears. Use your brain cell to think of a better jibe, please). Indeed, the heckling throughout was unreal, and came close to spoiling what was an intimate gig.

Highlights were certainly the Heartbreaker stuff for me- To Be Young..., Oh My Sweet Carolina, and Bartering Lines amongst others, but the best song of the evening had to be the achingly beautiful Tomorrow from Demolition- accompanied by two girls playing cello and violin and harmonising angelically. Superb stuff.

Two encores followed, before Adams invited Jesse Malin back out on stage to play another Malin track together. A thoroughly enjoyable night was had by all and an evening with Mr. Ryan Adams comes highly recommended. He's a talented pianist, guitarist and songwriter, yet better still, he's also really quite funny. As long as he steers clear of fashion tips from pal Elton John, I think he'll be just fine.

Review by Lauren M

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How many times have you heard somebody talk about a band and say they should have been massive? Countless I’d guess. This review will be much the same.Fishbone, during the mid-nineties were being heralded as the next big thing, an all black 5-piece rock/funk band that can play anything and have a stage act that could blow over a tower block. Then, for some inexplicable reason, everybody forgot about them.

Today, they are still the same. They still have an eclectic set of songs which varies from good time R’n’B to hard core punk, from metal to funk, from soul to blues, and still have musical ability in such abundance that they can play it as well as anybody else out there. Think Red Hot Chilli Peppers at their best, then add about 120% and you still don’t come anywhere near as good a band as Fishbone. Where another band trying to play such a diverse set would sound disjointed, this lot pull it off with a flow that beggar’s belief.

A half full Marquee (though a nice venue, it still feels like an extended student union) is scant reward for a band that is so tight, and so on their game. Guitar riffs are in abundance alongside funky bass patterns, bright horns and sax, and it’s great to see a band use a melatron instead of the staid DJ with 2 turntables combination to get the groove and vibe across. Years of touring has honed their act into a tight almost combative unit, where the musicians can bounce off of each other without having to even exchange a glance between them. Tight is not a word you could use to adequately describe them.

The singer has a repartee with the audience that you can’t teach to somebody, and comes from the confidence that he has from having a band behind him that is capable of doing everything asked of them without him having to. His vocals easily switch from melodic croons to absolute balls out venom in the blink of an eye, even whilst being held above the heads of the audience during a crowd surf to the bar.

To say that Fishbone are back to take on the world may be being a bit premature. Yes, they are absolutely superb live, and rarely have I ever seen such an adrenaline fuelled and sweat soaked set pulled off so well musically, but this is no different to what they’ve always been capable of. If ability and attitude made bands successful, Fishbone would have been topping the charts for the last 10 years, but obviously they haven’t. Whether the current musical taste of the country will reward them with the sales they undoubtedly deserve remains to be seen, but I doubt it. It’s a sorry state of affairs when there’s so much complete gash out there, that a group as good as this goes virtually un-noticed. Once again, dear readers, it’s up to you – the great record buying/gig going British public – to save the country from the dross that’s out there. Fishbone are ready to save us – but are we ready to be saved?

Review by Micky K

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Fraff have clearly been around the block a few times and are fronted by a fat man in a loud shirt who looks uncannily like your dad wearing an Afro wig. The temptation is to dismiss them but don’t, they’re great!  The tiny stage is heaving with the six of them and all their kit but it works in their favour as they thrash their way through a set of bits of Beefheart, bits of Bolan, bits of Guns n Roses, bits of the Hives…. basically just great rock n roll.  It’s all a bit tongue in cheek too which makes it all the more entertaining.  Seek them out at a small venue, have a laugh, have a jig and then deny you were there.

Reviewed by Paul M
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I’ve always been a bit dubious of 2 piece bands. Either it is Joe Boffin behind his racks of computers and keyboards, with Camp Freddie on posing and vocals, or it’s Mr. and Mrs. Independent Techno Rock, with their drum machine and shoutyness. Neither has exactly lit my fuse in the past, and on most occasions I’ve always ended up being a tad disappointed by their performances.

This New York duo, Mommy and Daddy, though has something going on though that whilst it fits the second criteria, doesn’t put them in the same ballpark as say the frankly boring The Kills. Whilst many 2 piece bands are begging to be taken seriously as musicians that write the sort of music that they like, and force you to either get on their wavelength to enjoy it, or ignore them because you can never understand where they are coming from, this couple seem to have at least half a tongue firmly jammed into their cheek.

Ok, their drum machine only appears to have 2 patterns programmed into it, and only plays at either 136 or 168 BPM, so ultimately a lot of their songs tend to sound samey, and foregoing a lead guitar for a lead bass (if such a thing actually exists) does tend to put too much emphasis on the programming skills of the keyboards. However they do come across as entertaining and engaging. Taking turns on vocals, and swapping between bass and keyboards does at least add a bit of variety to the tunes and gives the audience something to look at. They both can sing, and have passion and energy to pull it off which is useful when there’s nobody else to hide behind on stage. The male half of the duo is obviously a failed guitarist, who lives out his rock god fantasies on an instrument with a few less strings, but then virtually every bass player in history is that. At least he has the balls enough to give it large.

The female part of the formula though is a completely different package. It would be easy to label her as eye candy without seeing them play, but she is the ace in the hole to the band. Her keyboard playing doesn’t require much attention, which allows her to belt out her vocals and bounce around the stage like a rock and roll Zebadee, yet when she straps on the bass she shows the audience where her musical heritage lies. To coin a phrase, boy can she play! There are several bands out there at the moment that would kill to have somebody on the big plank that has the ability and front that this girl has.

There’s absolutely no doubt in my mind that they will go nowhere in their current guise, as there’s no market for them to really appeal to. Neither dance nor rock they fall between two stools, and don’t have enough decent material to cross over between both genres, even though they are good at what they do. Give it 18 months and she will reappear in a proper band with a drummer and a couple of guitarists, and that will be a band worth seeing.

Though billed as the Please, their merchandise stall reveals that they’re to be known as ‘The Pleased’ because an East Coast band called Please (prediction: they’re gonna crash and burn without the definitive article in front of their name) have first claim to the moniker.  What’s in a name anyway?  The Pleased live up to their billing in the Face as one of the 40 bands to watch with their superb self-released records (available from www.theplease.com) and a couple of vital and exciting stage shows. 

They’re a slow burning band: songs build in layers from a precise rhythm anchored by drums and bass, adding splashes of ticklish keyboards and then guitars, sometimes chiming and dissonant, sometimes jangly and dripping in melody.  Only when everything’s ticking over perfectly do the world-weary vocals come in (think Peter Perrett or Ian Brown, maybe).  A perfect example is the Television-tinged No Style with its edgy guitar and laconic vocals.  They know that their songs are so good you’re going to have to wait for them - they play them at Pleased pace.  And, bugger me, they’re right.  Another Disaster is a minor masterpiece and if there’s a better first line this year than “It’s getting too late to begin to act your age” Morrissey can plant his gladioli in my butt.   The songs have a post-New Wave cool about them (The Smiths, Stone Roses if you’re stretching it), while If You Can Afford It had shades of Echo and the Bunnymen. 

Joanne Newsom is a style icon in her Haight-Asbury get-up, and even the Flying V guitar is cool, though sadly Rich Good’s example was beheaded by the airline and he’s playing a loan guitar from Gibson.  The music is full of hooks, very melodic but also raw and soulful and, bonus time here, wedded to intelligent lyrics.  When we saw them play to a modest crowd upstairs at the Garage, the abysmal Feeder were playing to a hall full of gibbons downstairs.  That’s so the wrong state of affairs that it ought to be outlawed.  The Please have everything a band needs - looks, style, colossal sounds – except a record contract and mass attention.  They’re bound to come soon so the least we can do right now is give them our adulation.  

Set list (Garage): Orange Peter/ No Style/ Another Disaster/ About Me/ I’m Already Gone/ If You Can Afford It/ Let Go/ Secret/ ‘new one’/ One Horse

Reviewed by Ged M
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Some bands seem to have the ability to just be successful, without actually appearing to be putting any effort into being so. They have no charisma or particular qualities to make them stand out above their peers, yet they seem to catch the imagination in such a way, that they somehow manage to find a place in the hearts of the general public that guarantees them long term success. On the other hand there are bands like 3 Colours Red.

Here’s a band that appear to have everything necessary to be massive, yet they seem to have sailed through their career without exactly making waves in the indy rock pond. They have the looks, tunes and presence to put them easily on a par with anybody else in their genre, yet for some reason they still remain relatively second division in the great scheme of things.

On tonight’s performance, the reformed group can still cut the mustard. Back after a long hiatus they look recharged and full of beans once again, and come across as a revitalized and power packed unit. Majority of tracks are from their most successful album to date Pure, and though they slip the occasional new song into the set, they are still sussed enough to know that the audience want to hear a greatest hits package of songs – so they deliver.

The best receptions of the night were reserved for their biggest hits, and songs such as Pure and Sixty Mile Smile can still manage to crack a smile on even the most cynical reviewers face, and let’s be honest, how an absolutely brilliant song like Nuclear Holiday wasn’t as massive a hit, yet say Song 2 was, still manages to amaze me. They have the ability to write songs that have hooks that draw you in, and contain lyrics which are as heartfelt and acidic as any of the angst filled dross being churned out by the low rent emo-rockers on the circuit at the moment. That said it was a shame then that the set finished on a slow ballad that involved half the audience waving lighters in the air. People, that’s only acceptable at prog-rock gigs, or when you’re trying to be ironic, so don’t do it please as it looks stupid and it embarrasses band!

The set doesn’t exactly flow at times, but this is forgivable considering that they’ve been away for some time, though what they lack in polish is easily made up for in charisma and passion. It’s hard not to like them, and though they probably won’t make any new fans on tonight’s showing their loyal supporters went away with a spring in their steps, safe in the knowledge that the band they fell in love with years ago can still be relied on to serve up a slice of entertainment that though doesn’t exactly take them on any further than they were in 1997, is still comfortable and reassuring to the listener.

As I said at the beginning of this review, some band are born great, some achieve greatness, and some have greatness thrust upon them. 3 Colours Red don’t fit any of the above and I very much doubt that they ever will, which in the great scheme of things is a bit of a shame really. Another of the bands I give a glowing review of seems destined to the obscurity that they don’t really deserve, which is sad for both us, and them.

Review by Micky K

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After a series of summer concerts around Europe, including Hyde Park here, the Cure continue to celebrate their 25^th anniversary.  This time around there are 4 shows, 3 in Germany and one in Brussels.   This Hamburg show was a bit of a mystery as it followed Brussels and preceded Berlin, which were all billed as ‘the trilogy shows’.  For these shows, the Cure played 1982’s ‘Pornography’, 1989’s ‘Disintegration’ and ‘Bloodflowers’ from 2000 in their entirety. 

This was my first Cure show that I attended with friends met through the Cure so it was even more special.  My journey started at 3.30am on the morning of the show.  We were in Lubeck Airport at 8am, to be greeted by a snowstorm.  Our group of fans noticed Perry come out of the hotel next door to ours so there were a number of us outside the band’s hotel ready to greet the band.  All were friendly except for Roger the keyboard player and when I shook Robert’s hand he even commented on how warm I was.  Of all the times I’ve met the Cure, this was the nicest as everyone there loved the band with a passion – just the warm-up for tonight’s show.

The Color Line Arena is a new venue next to the AOL football stadium.   We arrived at 4.30 in freezing rain and when we heard, through closed doors, the band running through Grinding Halt, we knew tonight would be special.  At 6pm we were admitted to the Arena, after girls had been checked by metal detectors and boys were fully body searched.   This was the biggest crowd that the band had played to on this tour: there were 10,000 Cure fans in the venue.  Unlike English venues, once inside security were helpful and, this being Germany, bread snacks and beer was brought to you so you didn’t have to go to the bar. 

At 8.28pm, the last chime of the intro tape sounded and the band emerged.   The first set lasted just over 90 minutes and was very loud, intense and oh so perfect. It opened with Wild Mood Swing’s opener Want before crashing into The Top’s Shake Dog Shake.   The crowd loved it, the band enjoyed it, apart from happy Roger, and we all forgot our lack of sleep.  In that first set we got 5 singles and 14 album tracks – 19 tracks, and that was just the band warming up! 

For encore number 1, we got the first album songs which used to close a Cure concert when I first saw them live in 1989-90, along with a stunning M which they featured on a big backdrop in case you didn’t know what it was.  Encore number 2 jumped from 1985 to 1983 to 1992 to 1987.  Encore number 3 saw a mindblowing A Forest going straight into the unrecorded Forever, which lasted well over 10 minutes and blew our heads off.   The Cure then came back for a fourth time and gave us 100 Years and Fascination Street before ending with Bloodflowers: a total of 2 hours 50 minutes of absolute heaven.  We came, we saw, we loved, we were loved back and we left well pleased.  At 2am, the Cure arrived back at their hotel to be greeted by a bigger crowd than during the day.  Most of the band walked into the hotel without looking at the crowd but Robert came out and spent ten minutes talking to everyone at the front.  He seemed out of it but happy.  The next day, while the others went onto Berlin, I left Germany tired but happy and it was worth every pound and euro spent. 

Set list: Want/ Shake Dog Shake/ Open/ High/ A Night Like This/ The Baby Screams/ From The Edge Of The Deep Green Sea/ If Only Tonight We Could Sleep/ The Kiss/ Torture/ The Drowning Man/ Charlotte Sometimes/ Push/ Inbetween Days/ Primary/ Just Like Heaven/ Play for Today/ Shiver and Shake/ End.

Encore 1: 3 Imaginary Boys/ m Grinding Halt/ Boys Don’t Cry

Encore 2: Close To Me/ Let’s Go To Bed/ Friday I’m In Love/ Why Can’t I Be You

Encore 3: A Forest/ Forever

Encore 4: 100 Years/Fascination Street/ Bloodflowers

Reviewed by Tony S
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Proving once again that he is the master of improvisation, Damon Gough took to the stage of Dublin's Olympia Theatre for the second night running- this one sold out, however- for an evening of banter, humour and oh yes- songs.

The gig began unusually with the band first taking the stage, then announcing that they was leaving again, before inviting the support act -the unremarkable Colm Quearney- back on stage to do a couple of songs (Quearney had earlier performed his set to a near-empty venue, with Gough watching from the sidelines). The slightly-pissed Gough littered what evenutally became a thoroughly enjoyable live set with songs from all three of his albums- but it was tracks from the brilliant 'About A Boy' soundtrack that received the warmest reception from the (at first) unenthusiastic crowd. The poptastic 'A Peak You Reach' was a particular highlight, along with singles 'Something To Talk About' and 'Silent Sigh'.

If you've ever seen Badly Drawn Boy live before, you'll be aware of the sometimes frustratingly annoying habit that Gough has of stopping and re-starting songs, and tonight was no exception. However, the majority of the Dublin crowd didn't seem to mind too much and it was Gough's humorous between-song banter that saved him, methinks. As he himself said "I know I'm frustrating, but I wouldn't have gotten this far if it wasn't a good thing".  Of course there were also the inevitable "Get your hat off yeh fat bastard" chants from the audience, to which he quipped "Get your fuckin' tits out first then...and then your fanny". Ahem. Lovely touch, Damon.

The actual band- which now includes ex-Smith Andy Rourke on bass- are extremely engaging live, and Gough is a superb frontman and talented singer and songwriter. He has quite a knack for improvisation, changing many of the lyrics to his songs, interacting well with the crowd and generally being a fucking cool bastard. The biggest crowd-pleasers were a sublime rendition of 'Disillusion' and 'Pissing In The Wind' from his debut 'The Hour Of Bewilderbeast'.

I left the Olympia not quite knowing what to think of the gig- it was certainly strange- you won't see many a performance like it- and it was definitely long...the two and a half hour set made me miss the last bus home. But in retrospect, it was well worth it. Take a bow Mr. Boy, ya fat bastard.

 Review by Lauren M

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Adem provide the support and take the stage in clouds of dry ice, not in keeping with the reflective nature of their songs.  It’s very gentle new acoustic tinkle-pop, with lots of instrument swapping  - most impressively the harmonium – but, like a lightning junkie, this reviewer longs for electricity.   Chins aplenty were stroked furiously while feet stayed fixed to the lager sodden floor. 

The Delgados are a revelation.  The new album is gloriously melancholic, with huge washes of strings providing a propulsively mournful tone to songs that are at once bleak and beautiful.  The band capture this same effect live, helped by a flautist and string section; at times there were 11 people onstage.  Emma Pollock was a tiny dynamo, sparking off the audience with self-deprecating humour and announcing that the band was all “pished” (as Alun Woodward sank a bottle of red wine during the set, this was almost certainly true).  With the exception of a few tracks from ‘The Great Eastern’, they played most of ‘Hate’.  The music is a kind of melodic hardcore from the opening song The Light Before We Land to the Enya-accented melancholy and pain of Child Killers and the bleak The Drowning Years later in the set.  It’s as if you were deep in Grimm’s fairy tales without the reassuring endings.  All You Need is Hate, by contrast, is almost paradoxically cheerful, borne aloft by strings and emphatic percussion. 

While the new album is ‘Hate’, there are enough rousing, defiant songs to prove that the band see hope, however distant, in love.  The tracks from ‘The Great Eastern’ bear this out: the rousing American Trilogy, a fast, brilliantly orchestrated Accused of Stealing, and a lazy and enjoyable No Danger.   A staple of future Delgados sets is the recent single Coming in from the Cold, dripping melody like ice melting on a roofsill.  Lyrically they’re clever but not clever-clever, writing of simple people and plain emotions in accessible ways.  But however articulate, they still make great pop music.  The Delgados tonight make the dark side very attractive.  

Review by Ged M
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If Welsh popsters The Loves were remotely professional they would probably only be half as appealing.  Their shambling thirty minute set is worth the admission money alone as they bumble their way through a selection of cracking 60s punky pop numbers.  They’re the product of a 90 mile an hour head-on collision between the Shangri-Las and the Velvet Underground with the Revillos rubber necking in a bubble car.  It’s all great fun with highlights of the two singles Boom Bang-a-Bang and Bobby D.

The Boggs are a novelty band suddenly thrown into the limelight.  They’ve supported the Strokes even though it’s not that long ago that they were buskers on the New York subway.   They play frantic bluegrass punk on a variety of string instruments including banjos accompanied by indecipherable yelped vocals – imagine David Byrne off his skull on sour whiskey.  Some of it sounds Irish but it’s mostly sounding Southern States campfire tunes turned up ten levels on the amp and given some welly.  Whilst it works better live than on record with oodles of energy from the performers, a fair amount of it is fairly self indulgent as gaps are filled with lengthy thrashes on some instrument or other and you occasionally feel more like a voyeur than a participant in a great night out.  Still, they generally went down well with an initially bemused audience.  One viewer who was less than impressed was world music fan and Radio 3 DJ Andy Kershaw who having spent most of the set tutting and shaking his head finally cracked a couple of songs from the end and angrily yelled “Slow down, sack the drummer and sing!” shortly before storming off.  The Boggs are a punk band who just happen to play bluegrass so to judge them by his purist standards merely show him as an arrogant wanker who’s completely missed the point.   Fortunately judging by the glares he got back from around the auditorium the majority of the audience agreed.

The Rapture are the latest in an ever lengthening list of New Yorkers revisiting the early 80s post-rock and new wave scenes - Radio 4, The Strokes, The Liars and Interpol.  The Rapture have an eclectic mix.  Some of the tracks mirror the starkness of PiL and vocal delivery of Lydon, another sounds like Serious Danger by the Teardrop Explodes, and a fair few others are reminiscent of A Certain Ratio, The Higsons and Pigbag with parping sax. There’s also a bit of garage and glam thrown in with covers of Louie Louie and Rock and Roll Pts 1 and 2.  Not everything works and personally I preferred the metronomic drumming of the wooden blocks by the fourth player to his sax input but with such a mixed bag of material there’s always something to appreciate just around the corner.  All in all, recommended.

Review by Paul M
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The idea of Mark Eitzel playing a comedy venue might seem like the best joke of the lot, but this is the third time I’ve seen him here and you can tell why he feels at home.  While, since the demise of the American Music Club, he can come across as surly when playing a largeish venue with a band, the intimate style of playing just with a guitar to a smaller audience lets his essential showman’s nature shine through his self-effacing performance. 

For the uninitiated, Eitzel is simply one of the finest songwriters of the last fifteen or so years, weaving tales of rejection, disappointment and inadequacy into beautiful and delicate pop tunes, which lose nothing, and often gain, from being stripped down to the bare minimum of accompaniment.  His skill and lightness of touch is, a little unfortunately, thrown into sharper relief by the support act, who come across like a caricature of AMC as doomy rock miserabilists.  Eitzel’s work has always benefited from his rather bleak and self-mocking sense of humour and a way with an attention grabbing first line – continued on the newer songs such as tales about the patriotism of male strippers.  This doesn’t just manifest itself through the music though.  As always when at his best, the songs are punctuated (often in the middle when his guitar breaks down, or he stumbles over a complex chord change) by anecdotes and asides which keep the audience laughing along like close friends, only to be stunned into silence by the music that follows.  For, although every so often it fails to come across on record, Mark Eitzel is possessed of an emotionally charged and simply excellent voice that could wring all manner of emotion from even songs that were not worthy of it, let alone the ones he has crafted.  Having spent the evening making us wonder if he really needed his microphone, he goes on to prove he doesn’t, by closing with a fantastic Gratitude Walks without its aid.  For all his quiet showmanship though, he changes the words to discourage singalongs – these are his songs and he knows what’s best for us.

Frankly, though a long-time fan, I’d forgotten just how superb Mark Eitzel is.  Still just about the best live act out there, a genuinely moving and enjoyable experience.

Review by Matt H

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Great Lakes sprint on, like kids overdosing on e-numbers, and proceed to liven up a cold night and blow away cynical cobwebs with a slew of classic harmony fuelled pop songs in a happy hootenanny of classic pop.  They kick off with a cover of the Bee Gees’ Morning Of Our Life, with a sweet melody and comforting oom-pah sound.  Sister City unites a Beach Boys vocal line with MC5 fuzztone guitars, while the third track is a cracking new number laid down when Track and Field forced them into a studio on a day off from their tour.  It’s both tough and tender at once and bound to be a favourite in time. 

The spirit of fun and adventure, or perhaps something more bar-derived, then suffuses the band as they start to switch instruments and throw in cover versions.  Dottie Alexander moves from keyboards to piano to guitar to tambourine to clarinet while Kevin Barnes, having provided some great rhythm guitar, demonstrates a really muscular drumming style.  Meanwhile Dan stays behind his keyboard, looking like some debauched Ignatius C Reilly.   Next is a set of covers, mutating from some Beatles song into Waiting for My Man, which spontaneously becomes When The Whip Comes Down.   As with all great gigs, they teeter on the edge of uncontrollable laughter and musical chaos but play their way lightheartedly out of danger.  Ben announces a song that they’ve only practiced in rehearsal and they launch into a touching version of the Zombies’ This Will Be Our Year, augmented by some of Speedmarket Avenue on trumpet and backing vocals.  Following a rousing version of Queen of the Evening, they close with a stunning Conquistadors, driven along by a Velvet Underground beat that could have lasted for hours; indeed, as I had to leave before the end of this very long number, they may still be playing yet.   If good pop music conjures sunshine and rainbows out of rainy days, these guys are magical meterologists.

Review by Ged M

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