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.

Frightened Rabbit, Suburban Kids with Biblical Names - Nice n Sleazy

My first dampner of the night was from a queue malfunction at the bar, I was there first, the girl who came to the bar after me was served first. I think I vaguely know her. Still, I only wanted an orange juice, and I'm here for the music, not to start a fight.

First up were Frightened Rabbit from Glasgow, I've seen the name in listings fliers and magaziness. They started off sounding a little uncertain of themselves.

Guitary and a little whiney. The drummer plays harmonica, whilst drumming, which is quite an achievement. Sings harmonies in some of the songs too.

How come they just turned into Simon and Garfunkle? They had two electric guitars, a fancy drummer and no bass guitar, I look down, scribble notes for a few seconds, and suddenly they're on acoustic guitar and bass and sound like The Boxer.

Of my colleagues for the night: Robbie couldn't decide if it was really good or horrible. Caroline grimmaced "kind of shit", Colin thought they were quite good, but annoyed that they played for so long. Its a good point, many of us have other places to go later this evening.

Gary Lightbody from Snow Patrol is here, and Billy from Drive Carefully with his attractice female companion, in the distance I think I can spot Stacy from Sounds of Sweden.

I hope SKWBN start with Rent a Wreck.

Alas no. Glasgow is more relaxed than London, only one support act tonight, giving out heros plenty of time on stage.

I'd explained to Billy my theories about the Suburban Kids's formula for beats hooks, grooves and grinding into your head, and even on a second retrospective, it holds out. But tghis time, doesn't grate as much. The sound's better here, clearer and cover's more ground.

They had more success night with the Fender Stratocaster, new from New York, it worked a treat for several songs, before conking out mid song. They handled it well and good-humouredly, we don't care.

Rent a Wreck came about three songs from the end. Kind of an extended version, with band member introductions and Peter guitarist takes to the Rabbits's drumkit for a blistering drum thing. Rather jolly stuff the crowd certainly loved it.

Whip, Cage The Elephant, Seeing Scarlet, Suburban Kids With Biblical Names - Water Rats

Nine quid on the door, I thought it was seven
- Its seven in advance,
But I'm pretty early, the first person here
- Not early enough

So what horrendous chain of events leads me to being at The Water Rats, London, paying £9 to see a band who'll be playing Glasgow in two days, for maybe £4?

It long and complicated and there's no one answer. It was the first event listed onLast.Fm, in London that looked any good.

I feel like 12 years ago in Manchester, the Boardwalk, too young, miles away from home. The smell of smoke. The same leather jacket.

I couldn't sleep and I needed something to keep my mind occupied.

Frankly I'm impressed and somewhat puzzled, I haven't slept in 37 hours, usually I fall asleep when driving in the day time, but not today, not even drifting off eyes a flickering. I admit I did start off quite drunk, boozing all day with Robbie and Colin, and then the Hermit Crabs.

Sitting here writing, I'm becoming overcome with the inevitable exhaustion. My legs feel like jelly and I'm thinking though treacle.

If only I'd paid my rent and had my passport with me. I'd be in France by now. Somewhere in the back of my mind was a plan to pick up a car charger for my mobile phone. Instead, its switched off, saving batteries for when I really need it.

There was a crash on the M25, six folk in a bus killed. When I left the flat there were just the initial reports of the horror, the horror, The, the police were speaking to the driver of the lorry that everything crashed into. I wonder what the lastest is now.

Crikey I got to this gig early, its not even half seven.

Wonders who the support bands are. There was a girl with hair and make up who looked musicish, and a gentleman in a hat.

Five paying punters now, two girls look nervous, echos of Manchester '95.

Time passes

Slowly

Actually, I'm not sure if time is passing at all, there's nothing to show for it.

It is '95

I'm all sticky, sweaty and smelly from hours of sunshine and wandering and driving, and the Redex stuff I put in my car with the petrol, it melts my hands.

These cigarette butts smell unfamiliar, whatever happened to sick slut?

So we're in London's famous King's Cross area. I spent the night in a McDonalds just round the corner from here during my last poorly conceived adventure to London. Their slinging out time is 4am, giving you time to wander to Victoria station to kip on the benches when it opens at 5am.

More punters are turning up at The Water Rats, all of them looking as lost as I. It can't be everyone's first time here, can it?

Its getting dark out, my exhaustion is making me cold, and the disco lights keep making me look up, checking if anyone's walked in. London has a population of 300 million, I'm bound to see more than one person I know.

Deprived of my phone I don't know what time it is.

The place is about to reach its seating limit and its getting too dark to write.

The first band have been asked to the stage.

Slow, sad and methodical, Whip from Portland Oregon. Guitars, casios, glokenspiel and banjos. I was already feeling in the mood for Chris Isaac, so they were like that and if Tom Snowball joined Martin Stephenson and the Daintees.

There are seven people watchingthe band, and fifty folk through at the bar in the other room, yaking loudly, missing out on the music. Philistines!!

I have little but contempt for those punters, for I am a bitter man.

Actually on my way out I noticed they have a camera hooke dup tot he stage and a large video screen so those contemptuous punters could watch away. Still a bunch of cunts.

Next, a bunch of hairy lads of various heights.

Oh why do the hair bear bunch spend so much time dicking about before they begin, could they no have come prepared? Damn you Baden-Powell.

Possibly a Kid Rock tribute act. Neat lead guitar from the hairy guitarist.

Hmm, they smashed up the stage a wee bit, makes me wonder if I got the right venue for the SubUrban Kids. Whoever put the bill together clearly had no idea what any of the bands sound like. Maybe that's the London way of doing these things.

Next up, a bunch of accountants, sings like Placebo. We killed Britpop for a reason.

The again, going by the mongs dancing aling in the audience, we might as well not have bothered.

Bonus points for an alien invasion halfway through, but I'm sure The Plimps or The Loves did it first.

Crikey, there's a gentleman here who looks just like Robbie. He kept on glancing at me at the bar and now he's stood nearby.

So the Suburban Kids turn up, on stage, the crowd is replaced by folk who'd been hiding in fear of the other bands all night and they get off to a great start of gentle bopping. The tall chap plays a mean lute.

Alas, an original '50s Fender Stratocaster they had along didn't work when plugged in, and kind of caught them off guard.

Their songs are great, they get rid of the lyrics at the start, then over-power you with the beat and the melody, grinding the hook into your head, like a crampon when rock climbing.

- They guys are fuckin' ace
Yeah
- Have you seen them before?
A couple of times
- Are you Swedish?
Nope, I'm Glaswegian.

The problem is, is that just about all their songs follow the same formula, and once they get into the melody grinding, they go on for about two minutes too long. And cos of this, they ran out of time.

No Rent a Wreck, their bestest tune in my opinion. I felt cheated. This song has the formula backwards with the melody and hook at the start and the lyrics in the middle.

Luckily, they're playing again, the next night at White Heat, which you can go to. "I have other commitments" says Jonah, "What? Science class?"

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