Noughts and Croses, Jay Jay Pistolet, Honeytrap, Pop Up - The Windmill

I saw a rat on my way out tonight, the size of a rabbit, with traditional worm-like tail. It was sneaking up on an elderly asian gentleman when I leapt out and startled it. The beastie ran off into the canal.

Could be a metaphor or like a simile, god know, but I'm in a foul mood, thoughts of fire racing through ma heid.

Not 100% sure where I'm heading to, my net connection was down so I couldn't check, The Grosvenor in Brixton, never been there before, nearest underground station was Stockwell as far as I can remember. Maybe the London Paper/Lite/Metro can help...

Hmm, decisions, there's also a gig at the Windmill tonight and I know how to get there. So the choice is:- indiepop band I missed at Indietracks off of Bowlie or Glasgow band I missed in Glasgow. Hmm, which is more likely to draw traffic to this site? Cos really it's dying off and I can't really be arsed if no one else can.

No one at Stockwell had heard of the Grosvenor, in my best saaf Landan accent:-

“Here, mate, d'ya knah a 'pab called the Grosvenor?”
“Nevr 'eard of it,guv'”

So I headed south to Brixton, stopping to pick up a Time Out on the way..

Christ, the MonoTaxi and Horowitz gig is so low on the radar they're not even in Time Out's listings, even I got into the listings and I haven't told anyone the name of the band.

My eyes glaze over, I drifted to 2005 and let l'espirit d'Agoona guide me to the Windmill, a photo of Magic Tea, a wrong turn and I'm there.

The place hasn't changed much, maybe just a lick of paint and through the crowd a familiar face, its '97 again and I'm doing guard duty with Cathouse Dave, I spy Alec from Nemis, a smile spreading across his face as he sees me, and I know I've come to the right gig.

On stage is an angry young man, busker rather than troubador, out of tune guitar, not very musical, but there's a rare passion in his songs. If only he wasn't so nervous. I reckon he could be Noughts and Crosses.

Okay dear readers, a short note on my history with the Windmill. After my success in the sell-out debut Bowlie AllDayer in '04 I was subsequently banned from that internet messageboard in March '05 for calling Twitch a pain in the neck, such horrendous personal abuse isn't tolerated thre, so I headed to the second Bowlie Alldayer in August '05 as an outcast, mightily pissed with with the girl for being a pain in the neck, with David Kitchen the messageboard admin, and the whole Bowlie community for their disloyal silence on the injustice. By the end of the night, I'd missed the Flyers and was sat out back chatting with Twitch, buying each other drinks and really pissing off her boyfriend.

2007: David Kitchen was told my secret re-registered internet alias and booted me off the messageboard about nine hours ago. Bunch of cunz the lot of them. If only Jockrock was international.

So I'm sat at the bar, where Kattparaden and her boyf were last time and on stage is a wonderful chap, with an uncertain confidence, sings melodic stuff, love-ish songs, slurring slightly and a kind of Damon Albarn look in his eyes. Jay Jay Pistolet

People talking loudly all around me, I wish they'd hear the beauty in this guy's songs.

Crikey, third act on stage have brought their friends and family along. I hope they stay around for the headliners. A lanky speccy lead singer with guitar, wearing a white vest. The nu-punky sound is a little refreshing, as is the “wah-ooh, wah-hoo” backing vocals and its always a pleasure to see violin on stage. There's a little Fratellis to their sound and The Kaiser Chiefs too,

Hmm, they're from Coventry, called Honeytrap.

There's a chap at the front of the crowd taking some rather neat looking photies, I hope he knows that they don't count unless they're on Flickr within 12 hours.

Hmm Honeytrap sound a little too much like The Levellers, I sense them bringing on a digereedoo soon. There's only one way of life and thats your own.

The rest of the crowd realy liked them, and some fellow scribbler called Tom or possibly Mark.

Pop Up take to the stage, female drummer who I swear a friend of a friend used to go out with, lead singer in a green hoodie with the hood up. They start off quiet and BallBoysy, folk in the crowd to the left talking amongst themselves.

The band soon rock out and some cun with his bleached bird squeeze in front of me and start waving his hands in the air, oblivious to the vacant space in front of the band. I retreat to further back, hiding behind a pillar where I saw Thom Flyer stood once.

The singer chap reminds me of the guy who played the eighth doctor.

Crikey this crowd are noisy amongst themselves.

Nice fast paced songs, sound like Ballboy, Akira and some others.

Some refreshing swearing at the crowd. You know, just before they came on I heard a girl on the table behind me say “... Glasgow – eww” Bunch of cunz, the lot of them Londoners. Decent tunes from the band, how could I have missed them for so long? Same way I missed Miss The Occupier I guess.

Oh dear god, its 23:40, I'm in Brixton, the underground's shut, I'm 10 miles from home and I'm mighty hungry. Could this be the end of your eager gig reviewer?

I need a wee.

Pete Green, The Sunny Street, Monster Bobby, The Strange IdOls - Tufnells

The place fulfills the potential that lies in the Woodside Social Club, if only the Woody was done up, it could be as nice as Tufnell's, clean, modern, no mould, fresh, air conditioning / dehumidifiers in the ceiling, bar proudly in the middle of the room. The flyer said doors 7, its almost 9 and the bands are still soundchecking.

They even have mirrors on the walls like the Woody here. Although the barman does bare a striking resemblance to both Leonardo Di Caprio and the T-1000.

The sound was a lot better for Pete Green than last night, amplified, tweaked, smoothed out. But shilst then it was a crowd of twee internet folk hanging on to his every word, toniht the promoter's chatting during his songs, the promoter's mates are chatting, the sound man and his mates are chatting, and most of the punters in the other room are chatting, its pretty distracting. He does give them a good talking to and the chatters depart, just leaving a thin twee line.

The walls here are sparkly, fitting neatly with his song "Everything I do is going to be sparkly" (buy the single). Unexpected phaser effect during his Oh Mr Beeching song and his "MySpace Fucking Sucks" song falls a little flat to the crowd who've heard it a dozen times before and the fifty in the other room who couldn't care less.

His last song reminded me a little of Dire Straits's Romeo and Juliet.

Great bloke, crap venue for him.

I was outside chatting to Fiona during Sunny Street's set, sounded okay, tamboriney, like the Hermit Crabs. But when we came inside it was shite. Two folk stood on stage in silence whilst a backing tape played. The backing tape sounded okay, but the boy with his guitar was too quiet, and the girl singing was way way down in the mix.

I was kind of embarrassed that I'd talked up the gig to Fiona.

Bobby Monster was on next, the guitarist from the Pipettes, I think they're one of these bands what my former flatmate Alan used to be mental about. Anyhoo it was kind of dischordant to start with , a bit experimental and arty. The guy probably thought he was Laurence from Felt. The drum/bass machine/synth drowned out his acoustic guitar and the lyrics were badly sung, a bit ropey.

Fiona was going on about misplaced arrogance and almost pissed herself when he announced he had an album for sale, only ten quid. You can buy Amy Winehouse's latest for £7.99 - compare and contrast. But as the set drew on, you could kind out make out the tunes hidden in there, trying to escape, even Fi slowly warmed to it.

Actually, now as I type this up, I note The Pipettes's wikpedia page references Bill and Jimi's The Manual, so hey ho, the guy's a god, its 2007: what the fuck's going on.

Finally, probably the best band of the night were headliners Strange Idols, but that's no saying much. They looked like they were having fun on stage. The singer girl all mincing it up as a vampish Eno/Dabbie Harry. But the sound was appalling, the bass at first drowned out everything and was pretty painful to listen to, to the sound dude turned up everything else to level it out, making it even hrder to listen to.

We left three songs in, I apologised to Fi, its not usually like this. Live music ought to be accessible, comprehensible, not painful and borderline pisstake. Fix it.

Pete Green, MJ Hibbett - The Lamb

Early doors shows tonight, I didn't even have time for me dinner before heading out and I'm Hank Marvin.

Too early for my London gig companion, Fiona, who was tied up until eight, but hey ho, I'll be able to get home and get my write up online quicker this way.

Pete Green's playing tomorrow night an'all, would it be overkill to see him then too?

At first it wasn't clear where the show was, so I crammed in with a bunch of businessmen supping pints until Pete and Mark passed by and pointed me the way.

Oh to the smoking ban, this place would be so much better if it were smokey, all green carpets, red walls and wood panelling. You may not be allowed to light up, but surely someone could inent tobacco fragranced air-freshener, there'd be a captive market for thousands of sales. Can Silk Cut no do it?

There's no stage here, just a dozen tables and chairs. I rather selfishly took a corner table, three chairs and one me, my lack of eye-contact guards them.

Christ, why did I have to single out Waz in the 'Flyer review? He's everywhere and I have no gripe with him. Just briefly during 'Tracks this overpowering sense of alienation, when folk chatted about the weekend later, I wouldn't be party to the banter.

Pete Green picks a spot in front of thr middle window and dons his guitar. Two adventurous souls join my table, and Crystalball hands out flyers for tomorrow's show. Shit, I just made contact with a chap I thought was Lars Frodo, but wasn't. The place is filling up.

Hi, my name's Chris, I work for a company making hi-fis. With any piece of hi-fi equipment affects the audio signal in someway. Assuming that a CD has been recorded and produced perfectly as the artist and engineer wants it it has a flat frequency response and if on your hi-fi system you turn the bass up or the treble down, you're essentially distorting the way the artist intended it to be heard. Now, with acoustic music, played live, there's isn't so much means to distort the sound. The artist can sing louder or play quieter, as is their perogative, but out of their control is the acoustics of the room. MJ Hibbett introduced Pete Green saying that he last saw him playing in a train carriage at IndieTracks and it was great, now tonight, I'm sat at the back and the frequency response of the room sounds a little different.

He asks is we can hear him okay, well, yeah, its okay, not perfect, but there's little he can do about it.

The weirdest thing, I was just drawing thems graphs abstractly, wondering about when I'd ever heard Pete Green recorded when suddenly I realised the song he was playing was on the Not Quite Rocket Science: Podcast #8 which is almost all I've been listening to for the last week, new computer with no MP3s.

He's very good playing live and acoustic, on his own, which admittedly is how I usually see him. One of his best acoustic shows according to the girl next to me, no chance of technical difficulties.

Comfortable, confident, knowledgable songs but still understated, kind of kneegazery. I bought a single on my way out, no record player though.

Short break between acts for drinks, cigarettes, the loo etc, I texted the missus and may have only just caught the start of MJ Hibbett's set.

He projects more, louder and more animated. The first song The Peterborough All-Saints Wide Game Team (group B) reminds me of the songs passing troubadours would sing round campfires at early nineties scout camps. Do they still do that?

When he played the slow song, It only works because you're here, my eyes all welled up and it was only by scribbling in my notebook that I didn't greet. It catches me right here, inside, as it did when I first heard it so far away.

The Lesson of the Smiths is still a life philosophy rather than just a song. Gay Train just reminds me of going to Clapham. New songs went down well, with the handful of people at the show seeing Hibbett of the first time, the looks of wonder on their faces. For the finale his Fresh Prince cover was the most joyous I've ever heard ir. MJ had to open a window mid-song it was getting so exciting.

Underground ride home, desperate for a wee, would have gone at the gig but I was holding a record.

Photies
here

The Plimptons, Kunt and the Gang - The 13th Note

(Review courtesy of the lovely Claire Yvette as I didn't really want to review my own band even though we were AWESOME that night. Ahem)

The pairing of local band The Plimptons and London act Kunt and the Gang was either a stroke of genius or the line-up from hell, depending on your point of view, but either way, they definitely complemented each other. First the Plimptons, for whom Halloween doesn’t come round often enough, arrive on stage in an assortment of outfits. The keyboardist indulging in some eye make-up and a flamboyant scarf, the guitarist out-doing him with a dress and long black wig, and in between them what looks like a Victorian street urchin on vocals, which he shares with the other two. Behind them, a drummer and a bassist, who would have to be doing something pretty remarkable to steal any of the limelight, but look happy to be there nonetheless.

The band successfully play through their set of songs about a range of topics including affairs with ex-politicians, underage goth club patrons, and a whole lot of nineties nostalgia, while anarchically falling over, crawling about the floor, and the guitarist even lifting up his dress to reveal that the infamous “naked gig” at the QMU they played a few months ago hadn’t put him off full-frontal nudity. Even the holding up of cartoon sketches to accompany the Britpop-era based Rule Britannia turned into an enjoyable shambles, where the absence of a certain Mr Gilmour to do the job properly was felt. Along with the fact most of audience couldn’t make out the drawings, this is perhaps a sign that the Plimps should upgrade to a projector. Britpop makes another appearance, with the anthemic perhaps-pulp-inspired Impulse Records featuring a mysterious “Deborah“.

Having seen them on many occasion in the past few years, this was definitely the tightest and most enjoyable show so far, and they’re sure to have picked up a few new fans at this gig, including a terrifying middle-aged ever-so-slightly-drunken woman who spent much of the set dancing in front of the stage. Suppose beggars can’t be choosers.

Next on was the headliner, Kunt and the Gang, with his own brand of naughty euro-pop. If innuendo is like a strip-tease, then Kunt could be compared to hardcore bestiality. Most would choose the former, although the latter does have it’s fans. On first listen, the songs are shocking yet amusing, in a guilty sort of way, like toilet humour except much more abrasive. His live act echoes a kids TV programme, with dodgy hair, catchy songs, cheery side-stepping and even a puppet friend, Little Kunt. However, the novelty of songs such as Have A Wank (along with fake cock to simulate said title) and Carol Vorderman (in which he describes in vivid detail the effects his favourite daytime celebrity has on him) seemed to have worn off on me after one listen on myspace.

Due to it being a school night, I had to miss the second half of his set, which I can’t say I was too distraught about. He’s definitely doing something right though, despite me being unaware of exactly what that is. The 13th Note was the busiest I’ve seen it in a long time, the crowd are singing along, and seemed to be loving it.

Wintergreen, Compute, Liechtenstein - The Albany

Starting to regret that Flyer review from Indietracks, I'm in a room with these people. Fukkit, I'm going to see them at gigs for the next ten years.

Wintergreen on stage, they sound like how I remember Spiritualised sounding like, like guitars played backwards in t rain by Talulah Gosh.

Too much technology, technical difficulties at times. But the storm through it.

I can't quite put my finger on the way he sings, like a robot stressing the melody or something.

Are all the crackles and pops part of the song or just cock ups. Odd sudden endings to songs.

Whilst other website reviewer stand at the front and chat through songs I prefer to listen and scribble notes.

I've got it, usually its the guitar that's pounding and driving, but here its the chap's vocals urging everything along.

I nipped out between bands to find out the time of the last train home, the chap at the station was very helpful. Also I made a short list of songs I'd play in my solo set if I were asked to play a gig as a last minute cancellation. Four or five songs, mostly covers or pastiches about convoluted situations.

Compute - Three electro-clash girls dancing to an iPod. I count ten folk taking photies, do they realise it doesn't count unles they have them on flickr and tagged up within twelve hours? Cool hot pants on electro-clash girl #2, nice t-shirt print on #1 and #3 has a nice face, looks like a young Purdy.

Sounds just enough like the Human League, without Phil Oakey. A breaking glass at the back of the room could have been a well placed sample. The vocals need to be higher in the mix.

They from Sweden and they do a cover of an Action Biker song. For the final song of the set they get members of Liechtenstein to join them on stage.

This one time I saw a band called Gdansk and almost gave them the three word review 'More like Minsk'. So with Liechtenstein I was hoping I could do likewise and say 'More like Monaco', but that wouldn't fit at all.

So aye, eyespy, a Flyer's here, Crystalball on the door, Lost Music, Uma Thurman, people off of the intenet and folk from Indietracks.

Liechtenstein, Swedes again, with Purdy from Compute on vocals and guitar.Music with attitude and sounds like a female-fronted 'Specials'.

Not sure about the mix, seems a bit lumpy, the vocals were nice and high up, but maybe the bass was too high up compared to the other guitars and not enough bass from the drums.

Some nice girl harmonies later on, to square them into the indiepop bracket.

Need a wee, sneaked out before the end.

Photies
here

Reviews
here

Thread
here

Video

here

Black Cat Bone, Jamie Clarke, The Unrecorded, Kat Flint - Monkey Chews

At some point in the distant past, in a galaxy called MySpace, I think I subscribed to Kat Flint's MySpace blog. Crikey, it must have been around yar ago, I vaguely remember a mention of LNFG webcasts. I grew bored after a few months and unsubscribed.

Still, by the power of the internet, here I am at her gig, just off Camden, in Monkey Chews, waiting on some friends coming through.

The audience is scratching double figures, the walls are dark, the lighting red and brow and subdued. The stage area takes up about a third of the room. 400 miles away I'm missing The Plimptons supporting Kunt and The Gang.

On first is Black Cat Bone, a bloke troubadour, looks like Pete Green, cockney accent vocals. Starts off with simple songs about thing and stuff, slightly messy guitar with fancy flourishes.

A few songs in and I'm stunned by his guitar virtuoso, imagine the surreality and lyricism of the Plimps but just narrowed down to the acoustic blues sector.

The chap's probably an understudy for Fleetwood Mac. He's playing another show elsewhere tonight too.

Jamie Clarke on next, he opens for Damian Rice dontcha know. Troubadour again, kind of hairy too. Starts off with a few technical difficuties.

Oh noes!! He has a loop delay effects pedal thing, sounds like a whole load of Tubular Bells style guitars.

Too fey for my tastes, but Drive Carefully Records would love him, Ceylan's mob too.

In manufacturing terms its more like single stage build than production line manufacture, when needs must I supose. It seems more like a craft than art, Pikelet was artier doing a similar thing. There's something disconcerting about seeing music being constructed rather than performed.

Enough with the troubadours, on next, setting up rather slowly is a girl standing behind a yellow box with cables trailing out. The chap beside me has a flyer saying they're The Unrecorded. I'm starting to feel self-conscious, folk are standing at the back but there are two seats ahead of me, lying empty and I could easily squidge along on this couch I'm on, room for another two at least. Texts from friends, promising half an hour.

The place is stowed and I start to worry for the friends.

The girl on stage is joined by Linus on electric keyboard and a baldy chappy who starts on 'wooden box you sit on' and then moves to bass.

The girl's yellow box seems to be primarily to hide behind.

Squelchy dub organ synth, scratchy percussion loop, steady plodding bass and deep early nineties dub vocals from the girl.

Its beautiful music but I'm afeard at any moment it could invoke Dido. Sometimes too pub MOR. The last minute appearance of a melodica was just about taking the piss.

Kat Flint, purer than all the others , no special effects or blues fanciness, just a girl and her guitar. I thought she sounded like Jennifer Warnes, Fiona says The Cranberries. The songs were all floaty and singy, I could gladly listen to them all day. However, when told that a song is about office romances, prostitutes or snogging zombies, Fiona would prefer it if you could tell that from the song on first listen.

She did a rather neat guitary thing in a couple of songs "Blue dress", where she started off finger-picking, then changed to plectrum strumming for choruses and back to finger picking for verses.

Final act, Kate Meranda and Band, Fiona thought they were okay, I thought they were atrocious. Right of stage you have a talented bass player, some chap in the wooden box thing who bore a striking resemblance to Neil Bratchpiece and on the left a chap on the Paraguaian Harp, I haven't had much experience with Paraguaian harpists so its hard to say if he was any good.

Centre stage is the girl singer, Kate Meranda, all dressed up for the occasion. At first I thought they sounded like a Linn Records reject, jazz/blues/world music, then I slowly became aware through the girl's inability to sing, riffig and warbling and waving arms about and dancing, they they were just a bit pants, and considered writing something about how she was disappointed not to get through the first round of X-Factor for three years running.

Sounded a bit like Bjork at times. When they came to murdering a version of People Are Strange I was almost for walking out. The line is "Women seem wicked..." not "Everyone seems wicked..." the extra syllables just can't fit, ever.

Then again, with the rolled-rrr "arrriba"s coming from the crowd and clapping in time with the music like a desperate stage manager's attempt to draw the crowd into the music rather than just listen, it comes clear that its just a friends and family show. They played songs they hadn't rehearsed, they told the audience they hadn't rehearse, this was the headline act for Christs sake, and they didn't have anything to play as an encore. Poor Kate adlibbing doesnt count.

Rather pleasant evening though from eARMusic, we'll be back next week.

On the way home there seemed to be trouble at The Barfly, mobs cheering.

The Masonics, Preston Pfanz & The Seaton Sands, The Rohypsters, Lord Rochester(?) - Blackfriars

Late night kickoffs ain't good for the soul but, neither is stumbling into the wrong gig at 10pm on a Sunday eve...especially when the band on stage is a horrible amalgam of ex-international football and rugby players. Having shaken off thoughts of John Beattie and Gordon Smith playing pub rock, I successfully enter the basement of Blackfriars to find no wannabee footballers wives in sight and only the rumour of an audience.

Thankfully, around five minutes later the first act of the evening and a smattering of paying customers appeared. Lord Rochester (?) and his cohorts were not on the billing but sparked off this Beatsville Records evening with perfectly pitched rock 'n' roll at it's purest, unadulterated, tartan sports jacket wearing, lo-fi, fiddletastic best.

The Rohypsters are a different story altogether and would likely beat the opening act to death with their own shoes. Of all the acts on show, The Rohypsters are a darker affair but maintain the garage rocking sensibility with the addition of fried guitars and their own brand of prowling menace.

Also through from Edinburgh for the night, Preston Pfanz & The Seaton Sands are a return to the cool clean sounds of rocking days gone bye. Immaculate instrumentals, paired with gentle choreographed sways and melodies to soothe the ol' soul just as you realise it's now Monday morning and you've got to go to work in 5 hours.

Headcoats, Pop-Rivets, Milkshakes...it's a who's who of who's played with Billy Childish when it comes to The Masonics but, on nights like these it's time for them to take their own moment in the spotlight...or pitch darkness...ah, the lights have just come back on...no...actually...they're off again. The Masonics ain't flustered by the temperemental lighting...until the audience are revealed in all their horrific glory by which time they're focused on battering through the opening numbers of their set.

It's a tight, punchy, set from the veterans who are capable of playing this set with their eyes closed...all the better then as they probably can't see their instruments. Fellow Childish scenester Ludella Black saunters on for a handful of numbers for some vocal variety midway through.

Maybe I was just cream crackered, maybe The Masonics were equally tired, with the clocks nudging towards 2am but, there was something missing from their set. There's no spark...no unbridled joy that has been present in their previous work. Perhaps it's all to easy, well within their comfort zone and missing the nervous energy that made Lord Rochester's opening act so memorable. Overall the show was well rounded and covering all the rock 'n' roll bases it can but, Beatsvilles' pick of the bunch featured unfortunately during the previous evening rather than headlining the start of the new day.