Dead Meadow: Going Like The Clappers

Having missed a Dead Meadow gig last month (sidetracked by The Scot/a public house/booze), this month's appearance by Washington D.C.'s finest was attended by me and the fragrant Lou W. Thanks go to Howard and Lucy Local for bringing the sexy/heavy back to Islington. Crammed into a heaving Buffalo bar, we were only mildly annoyed when an unfeasibly tall arsehole and his very loud and annoying American girlfriend shoved their way in front of Miss W and I, only to proceed to turn into a wall of snogging and sweet-nothing-whispers. Lou asked "are you planning to snog throughout the entire gig?" and I reacted like this:

Take that, sir

DM played a blinding set - closed my eyes and drifted off on a sea of heavy psych (was rather disappointed to see that Stephen McCarty is no longer on skins - a truly amazing drummer with the finest facial hair a man can sport got married and a little bird tells me he's been obliged to do some proper settling down...). At one point, I think I re-enacted how Steve on bass gets when he's pissed on stage (he wears specs and can't see very well without them) by jigging up and down to the amusement of Lou W. All very funny until I banged my shin on a bar stool creating a bruise and egg-shaped bump on my leg of mammoth proportion. That'll teach me to tit around. Ouch.

Bit of hanging about after brought some nice Irish Whisky (ta, Howard) and a chat with Steve-Bass, discussing spectacles (naturally) and The League Of Gentlemen, of which he's a huge fan. He even managed to get in the Crème Brûlée "it's a shit business" quote, which made me love him more than ever. Apparently, I told him it is confirmed that DM make the best make-out music on the planet, voted by parties on two hemispheres. At some point, I may have used the phrase "going like the clappers" but I'm not sure if this translates well across the Atlantic.

(Postscript: last Thursday was one of the freakiest gigs I've ever attended. The Lexington on Pentonville Road hosted the album launch of Koolaid Electric Company's first ever release. Bernie, Scooter Steve and I witnessed Circulus (70s medieval oddboddery - head honcho Michael Tyack is moving to Glastonbury to set up a mind-bending church - are you getting this? Scooter Steve said he expected to see an 18" tiny Stonehenge descend from the rafters at any minute) and We Are Animal (perfectly ordinary bunch of lads doing loud things with their instruments - the only sane part of the night). Next, completely unannounced, two youngsters, who looked like they should be hanging around outside newsagents persuading adults to buy them 10 Benson & Hedges, picked up the mics and started doing something which I believe to be MCing. Shit MCing. I thought it was a joke. I believe the mot du jour for this is 'random'. After a brief interlude of peace from that racket, KEC took the stage and played their blissed-out, shoegazey psych for a bit, which was all well and good. Bizarrely, they then invited the yoof back up on stage to do fast-rap-MC-shite over the top of their swirlings. Stunned silence followed and I'm not entirely sure how I got home. I think I got a piggy-back from a dwarf straddling a unicorn, because I felt like I must certainly be off my tits on acid and had a sneaky suspicion David Lynch was filming me from the shadows.)

Nice, Nice, Very Nice Mr Mangan

I'm a bit in love with Canada and I haven't even been there. The land of the Maple Leaf has produced some of my favourite artists of all time, topping the list are The Band and my fave heart of gold, Mr Neil Young. I'm having a wee love affair with Black Mountain too.

So when Howard Local tells me he's in cahoots with the Canucks to set up a Canada day celebration of musicians, I'm thinking I ought to slope along. Busy, busy at work, so being unsure if I'll make it, he's kind enough to let me and a friend turn up, on-spec kinda thing.

Lovely sunny evening, and Nads and I roll up to the Lexington, nice old boozer on the Pentonville Road, which has a decent venue above (reckon it holds a couple of hundred). Hook up with Howard and Andy, who turns out to run The Luminaire in Kilburn, which really is one of my fave venues ANYWHERE. He's a very charming Scot, and we end up chewing the fat until it's time to go inside for some music. We've missed the first act almost (The Mighty Low), so just see the very last number.

Next up is Artur Dyjencinski, who is just great. He has such energy, a great backing band (bizarrely, he has a hot blonde pouty rock chick guitarist on a classic Gibson SG, who looks like she should be knocking about with Motley Crüe) and they really get the crowd going.

Superb finale from Dan Mangan. He's charming, funny, immensely talented, and has the ability to sing the song "Basket" with such a passion that he reduced this lady to proper tears (this was a bittersweet moment, actually, as the last time I saw Dan play, I was in Oz with Mr Ward).

Normally, I'm a little embarrassed by sing-a-longs but when the crowd know every single word to "Robots", I really do love it (obviously, I'm not singing along - that'd be daft). I spot Steven Broken Family Band belting it out, which just makes me smile. Sometimes, the reward for not being a lazy get is SO worth it.

(postscript: on an energy roll, I head for the Macbeth the following night to see Elephant Stone and their Psychedelic Friends - who could resist??? And although I like Elephant Stone - Rishi Dhir is ex-High Dials, plays psych-sitar!!! - I much more enjoy the sunny, blissed out, swirly pop of Koolaid Electric Company. Nice Tom Wolfe reference too. And just as I was leaving, Mr Young was belting out "Cinnamon Girl. The perfect end to Canada Day.)