July 24, 2003

First of all, Chikinki need to get a new singer, and fast. The music was actually quite good if you ignored the mong having a hissy fit, desperately trying to dry hump the unfortunate slow-running girls up front - the keyboards and high-hat in particular were very good indeed. Get rid of him and the pirate booty shall follow, I promise.

Carina Round needed no help whatsoever to become the highlight of the evening. The best solo female singer I've seen since PJ Harvey (well, I've never actually seen her, but you know what I mean!), she had strength in songwriting, strength of voice, and strength of character, all of which are destined to bring her into the mainstream, narrowly avoiding the Dido Route into our collective bosom.

Johnny Boy strutted out as the essence of cool - completely black, right down to their matching hair dyes, no spotlights but instead choosing the proijections to prove there was in fact only two people making that much noise. Unfortunately, though, the initial attention factor soon faded when it was obvious they had only one droning song in their (albeit short) repetoire, and a sub-BRMC one at that. I enjoyed a few recorded songs of theirs previously, but in live they just fell flat.

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July 21, 2003

I loved his album on first listen, and I eagerly set off into the wild backlands of the Old Street / Islington border areas, only stopping to ask for directions three times before finding the unmarked building - an old minicab firm "converted" (I use quotes to indicate the hole in the floor, guarded by a ladder and a Danger sign, as well as the plaster falling from the ceiling) to a tiny gallery space, on this night packed with every music journalist imaginable. Patrick came clad in an gauzy, mismatched top, presumably of his own creation, and played through nearly the whole album, rather a bit nervous but all the more endearing for it. At times he reminded me of a younger Trent Reznor, at others, simply a little lost boy sitting on the curb. In the space of an hour he played the viola, accordion, ukelale, and keyboard, and howled, crooned, squealed, and screamed in equal measure. And left us all scrambling for new terms to describe him, naturally.

July 17, 2003

I'd been given a tip to arrive early to catch the Delays, and I was pleasantly surprised to find I wasn't led astray. On record they sound as exciting as mushy Weetabix (sans sucre), but live they're more like that fancy granola with dried summer fruits (not quite the tropical mix, mind). Indie guitars and a pleasant voice makes for nothing new, but they were enjoyable none theless. Easyworld came on and played a truly amazing set of both old crowd favorites and brand new, slower material. "Demons" had the crowd singing along with cocked heads, while new single "2nd Amendment" illicited more controlled political anger than one song performed seat with acoustic guitar has since the hippie days. Above all, it was obvious that they've all grown up over the last two years of touring, and are about to become a force to be reckoned with.