Outside I bump into MJ Hibbett, a mutual half-arsed attempt at a manly hug in greeting, unless I mis-judged the situation and I'm on the other side of the tracks watching Pete Green.
Troubador style, its sweet and gentle like the school choir boy soloist. Whilst the crowd, damaged as we are, are on his side, there's something a little whiney about his music, rather than the usual chumminess. And the sibilance on the mic is off.
"Myspace fucking sucks" resonates slightly, like friends reunited, the sun is setting on that social phenomenum. My money spinning dot com idea is a site that signs you up to all these things and keeps them all updated, kind of like an aggregator in reverse. I shall call it sponge.info
He's very blue: jeans, blue t-shirt with some footballer motif lost on me, and a blue Mani hat, did baggy ever die?
He does an indiepop acoustic cover of the Ramones, but I think it falls flat, shallow echos of Hibbett's Boom Boom Shake the Room.