Three Kings

Like some kinda fangirl, I became more than a little giddy when I heard that my favourite swirly heavy were riding into town. Having been introduced to Dead Meadow a few years ago by Mr Ward, they fast headed for the top of my list of must-see bands whenever they're around.

Having sneaked a couple of guestlists off a very benevolent Howard Local, I was gutted to hear my dear friend Blondie wouldn't be accompanying me due to family commitments (she's rather partial to heavy too), so at the last minute, I invited my successor to Disgracelands, the lovely Andreina.

First up, Wolf People. I really like these fellas - they seem to incorporate the right amount of guitars, noise and denim which suits me nicely. Bit of a shame they lost the flute guy who used to stand on one leg (now where have I seen that before...?), but great nonetheless.

Next up, Duke Garwood. I've already waxed lyrical about him right here, following his support of my darling Mr Lanegan a few weeks ago. He had a couple of techy hitches, but kept a smile on his face whilst playing some lovely dark country blues. His drummer is a very cool, older bearded chap who knocks his skins about beautifully.

And so to the main attraction, incorporating their new album, with the first UK screening of their film "Three Kings" as a backdrop. If I'm honest, the boys took me so far away with the fairies whilst they played, I hardly noticed the footage, which seemed to consist of them wandering around in the desert wearing tie-dyed vests, aviator shades and flares (sigh...Stephen McCarty). My eyes were closed quite a bit actually, apart from the minute when an überfan tried some hilarious crowdsurf move, with absolutely no takers to support him. NONE. Very funny. Also, it was the birthday of pisshead short-sighted bassist Steve, and the band seemed to be having a ball. They were truly amazing - when they went into what I only know as "Untitled Bonus Track" off Feathers, I think I may have gone into a psych vortex (maybe).

Got roped into giving a few lifts after the gig, so as we hung about waiting for Howard and his friend Paul (very familiar looking...turns out he's the older brother of Mister Seven Woods/Thunders Rick), I spoke to singer Jason Simon (sweetheart) and a drunk but very jolly birthday boy Steve. Trivia time, kids - Jason Simon's uncle is none other than David Simon, creator of the HBO brilliance that is The Wire...so, Ladies, we have him to thank for McNulty and Stringer Bell...

Whilst loitering, I also spoke to the creator of a special silkscreen print for the show, Adam Pobiak. I've admired his work before (in fact, he laughed as Blondie and I had once gatecrashed his birthday bash), so I was more than happy to part with a few bob to be the proud owner of this:

Printed on really great quality brown paper (and you know how I love that), with plenty of swirling patterns, big hog bikes, horses, mushrooms - all my favourite stuff! You can see Adam's work here:

http://pobiak.com/

To summarise - believe I've seen my gig of the year, no kidding. Three Kings indeed.

(Postscript: I went to see Rangda the next night. A supergroup consisting of the individual talents of Ben "Six Organs" Chasny, Sir Richard Bishop and Chris Corsano. Went on my lonesome, got there just in time to see them set up and take the stage. And in parts - superb. And in other parts...well, erm...it was a bit of a racket. Little bit hit-and-miss for me. As discussed with Thee Sonic Assassin, "free jazz" might not quite be my thing. And after Dead Meadow the night before, maybe even Zep would have had a job on getting me going. Actually, strike that - that's just silly talk.)

Folking Wankipedia

It's been a funny old night. I arranged to meet up with Bernie and Kieran for a night at The Local in Crouch End. Never fails to be a laugh, music is always decent. Kieran and I were first to arrive, and god knows how, we get onto some discussion about whether doctors abuse their power (do NOT read on, Mr Green , my oldest friend and newly qualified quack - we're not tarring you with any of this...). Mr McG reckons he once had a bad cough as a kid, and the family doctor did some sort of test which involved sticking two fingers up his bum (I am absolutely laughing my head off as I write this). Neither of us are sure what said Doc ascertained from this, but it seems a sketchy thing to do and I plan to do a bit of research myself...not sticking fingers up bums, just finding out if this is a normal procedure, thanks very much.

Luckily, at this point Bernie turns up to turn the conversation away from anal investigations... She's driven over, as she's suffering some huge hangover. We get more drinks and head downstairs. And the probing gets brought up again...at this point, there is mention of the time Wardy emailed me to say he nearly crashed his Uncle's car whilst listening to some story about Prince and an act known as 'frottage'. I'm a bit vague on the terminology, so rely on my old friend Google to help out. And there, right at the top is 'FROT" on Wikipedia. So, I click on it. Imagine the hysteria when the following picture pops up on my iPhone screen:

This is how you 'FROT'

In case you're not sure what you're looking at, you can read all about it here:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Frot

I hope that clears this up. Sounds like a little innocent heavy petting to me. Not sure why it gives you green hair and pubes, though...

Anyoldways, it's hard (oo-er, stop it, missus) to concentrate on the first act, cos we're laughing too much. Then Steve J and Jo turn up and it's always bound to descend further...and it does. Once the 'frot' art is out there, Steve counters with a couple of pictures he's taken from the toilet walls at a Mexican restaurant on Upper St, Islington (and bear in mind, someone commissioned this 'art'):

Exhibit A, m'Lord

Exhibit B, your honour

Honest to goodness, I'm not sure where to look first. But I would like to draw the reader's attention to some key action:

Sombrero dude's face on right, vibrancy of the lady parts, dude weeing on left (exhibit A)

Death getting a blow job, whilst smoking a cigar and holding a bottle of grog (exhibit B)

Oh, and by the way, during all this hilarity, we saw a blinding set by Alex Highton (he sings in a regional Northern accent - hooray!), accompanied for part of his set by the double bass genius of Jonny Bridgewood and drumming of Mr Howard Monk. Even Alex dissolves into laughter at one point as he witnesses his own set descend into free-jazz-folk...Alex is followed by the very wonderful Oh Ruin with full band, which is good stuff too.

But award for best act of the evening goes to the appearance of the illustration accompanying "FROT" on Wikipedia. Truly a 'hard' act to follow (stop with those Carry On sex puns RIGHT NOW, young lady...)

I Love To Boogie

Had a bit of a quandary tonight...go to the pub with mates, or go to a gig alone. Now, doing stuff on me lonesome has never bothered me before, but I haven't done a gig on my own for quite some time...sadly, due to Valerie Singleton status, reckon I'll have to get used to it. So, the bullet was bitten and I drove off for the Garage at Highbury to partake of a little heavy.

Got to the venue and got a parking spot right outside the back door - perfect. Went inside, paid in and entered the room - about 6 people watching Hush Arbors. He has a sweet voice, Keith Wood (Mr Arbors) and I enjoy being able to hear every word for once. He's joined by a girl on stage for his last four songs, who also has a lovely voice but I didn't catch her name. Must try harder...

And this is where my legendary staying power comes in. I have to loiter about sober for another hour before the main act. Luckily, I love to people watch, and also luckily for me, the place fills up quite a bit so I don't end up staring at the same 6 people.

Earlier, a couple of dudes come in and they stand by me. As I have no idea what Endless Boogie look like, I aren't to know that the band have been standing right next to me all night until suddenly they all walk up to the front and start putting guitars on and twiddling with gear.

And then they're off. Singer Top Dollar (am not thinking he was christened this by Ma) says "we are Endless Boogie and this is our last song" which is pretty funny, as it actually IS. They do one lonnnnnnng song which goes on for ever, like a never-ending droning jam. They are loud, heavy, swirly and quite brilliant. The perfect tonic...just what I needed in my current state of mind. You can have a bit too much folking sometimes...

Mr Lanegan

I went to see Mr Lanegan again tonight. For once, I won't waffle on about how he is the most amazing singer, send shivers down my spine, moves me to tears, makes me ache inside etc etc tra lalala - although he does all these things for me and more.

Rough Diamond

Stunning set - he sang Misirlou beautifully, accompanied by lovely Dave Rosser on acoustic guitar, and a new find for us that night, Duke Garwood. I spent a perfect night with good friends.

(Postscript: bought an extortionately priced ticket off a tout for this - originally, the gig sold out straight away, had to be moved to a bigger venue...but it was worth every single goddamn penny)