Return of the 'phobes

Wondering what to do for my birthday drink and not thinking about anything too exotic it's a toss up between gig and comedy. Which seems to be a regular discussion and Debbie and I always go for gig as you don't have to book up so easier to organise and it's cheap and you're pretty well guaranteed a good time. We decide on the Brixton Windmill as it's local and we love it there plus the headliners tonight also headlined on New Years Eve when Debbie and I were there, on our own, celebrating her upcoming birthday but we missed them cos we peaked too early in the evening and were out on our feet by half past midnight. So having emailed the usual suspects to come along and getting few positive replies I wasn't sure how big a night it would be. Debbie and I cycle up and meet Simon as we're locking up. He's on call and looks very dapper with checked shirt waistcoat country jacket and neatly trimmed tash. We go inside me handing over a tenner and getting a quid in change - and that's for the three of us. You really can't complain at £1 per band plus another thrown in for free (not advertised) and with the England Lithuania game on the box. Arsenal striker scored first can't remember who else did. So I think it's gonna be just the 3 of us but then Jules arrives with George and I can chat to someone else and break off berating Simon about the amount of crap in his garage that I'm having half of. As we're waiting for the first band to come on up pops an unexpected bonus in the shape of...

Moustache Mike & The False Nostalgia who has indeed an impressive tash and looks like Simon's long lost brother who was transported to Tennessee at birth. His tash is longer than Simon's recently tamed one and he's wearing a tie but with his shirt waistcoat and jacket they could use the same tailor. We are treated to some fairly traditional country banjo playing with singing and harp (the mouth type) which is always good to hear. There's still a lot of noise and chat in the pub and I think the match is still going on but a few folk draw up chairs to watch Mike and he gets a drummer on stage to make a bit more noise and get some attention and then a guitarist. All in all a great start to the evening warming us up nicely. We have a table which is a luxury here and soon we're joined by Pete and Wendy and then Pete's mate. Also Chris and Amanda arrive with indie daughter who's later joined by friend. So there's quite a crowd of us now which is great for socialising but by the time I'd cadged birthday pint bottles of Roof Dog Beer off everyone my ride home was decidedly wobbly. I have a quick chat to the young indie types who apparently think my blog is cool and I'll assume there's no sarcasm in that, and about seeing the fabulous Fat White Family Band before they go out the back and off into the crowd to disassociate themselves from parents and the celebrations of those of us in our 50s. Next up are the distastefully named...

Sweat who are not some hard core thrash band as you may think but a very tight group of on trend hipsters. Not serious looking short back and sides beardy hipsters with floppy quiffs and no socks but mop haired lets have some fun maybe don't know it but they are cool hipsters. Apparently from Peckham which is obviously the place to be for mixing yer musical influences. We are treated to a range of styles with a running theme of indie rock with great beats from sort of lazy calypso through to funk. If I were into naming musical genres it would be Slacker Baggy and as I like to compare I'd say a laid back Jagwar Ma without the hands up anthems. Really good band though and one to catch again. And very popular. By this time the drinks are flowing so fast that some get two lots and I'm losing track of my bottles. A few of us go out the back for some fresh air away from the Windmill fug and as the little room with dodgy sofas is full of young uns (it has now got a flat screen telly) we are exiled to the very back of the beer garden way past the hipster tables and past the Roof Dog's kennel which seems to be full of sand bags. He's either worried about flooding or he's been banished or maybe allowed inside in the winter. We know he's around cos he barked at us when out the front. Doesn't he ever get used to having his patch invaded by hairies and indie kids? Not if it was the old or new dog. Anyway, having had our fill of the clean south London air we go back inside.

Puma Rosa who are a five piece with female front person take the stage. A fair few of the punters crowding the small space in the front of the stage have disappeared so there's less in the audience but it grows during the set. From our excellently positioned table we can hang out there and still see the bands venturing to the hinterland of the dance floor every so often. Puma Rosa have an edgy laid back atmospheric sound with some good musicianship and the singer seems to be using an oversized Q-Tip as Pete calls it aka cotton bud. It may be some sort of undersized gong basher or drum stick but our singer uses it to hit the guitar strings or to beef up the percussion by hitting the guitar body with it. Not sure how effective it is but sure looks good and makes me wonder about restarting my guitar playing which stalled in the early 80s. The overall sound is chilled out but upbeat cos we are watching a live band in a grungy pub after all. The singing sounds great with an understated Siouxsie Sioux style wailing that neatly counterpoints the atmosphere of the music. If you'd just been to a goth all nighter this would be the "all back to mine" vibe you'd want to listen to. I assume so as the nearest I got to goth was early Banshees and Bauhaus. At least that's all I'm willing to divulge in print. They go down well but not as popular as Sweat but popularity don't mean squat compared to quality does it. Anyway it's a mixed reaction from our, mainly, highly experienced (i.e. old) group of revellers. By this time everyone is fed up with me cadging drinks off them and I have to buy a round at the bar. Careful planning means most folk are holding at least half full glasses so it's a fairly small round and with the very reasonable prices it's only just over tenner so I've spent about £20 for the night out and that covers Debbie and as I paid for his entry Simon owe's me "a gig". As I'm handed the change we are greeted by the opening bars of the hotly and longly, well since the start of the year, anticipated...

Phobophobes who launch into a set full of energetic tunes that gets the crowd going from the off. Debbie is immediately caught up in the fineness of it all and emerges from the safety of The Table to jig about on the outskirts of the Dance Floor Crowd. The Phobos, or should the shortened version be Phobes, deliver a great experience packed with fun and danceable numbers that get us punters all revved up and cheering each song as it ends. They are very very good and, as with everyone tonight, great musicians with a really good sound in the Windmill. So how would you describe them Jim I hear you ask. Oh please give us one of your lazy comparisons instead of describing how they sound. Alright. Post punk folk music with the raucous messy urgency of the former and the laid back musicianship of the latter. Laid back urgency I hear you ask dear reader (note "reader" rather than "readers" - I know only I read this damn blog) that's an oxymoron if ever I heard one. Anyways that's what they're like. The atmosphere is too much for Simon and having gone onto cokes (note the s) as on call can't resist persuading me to buy him a strong lager and after necking it down joining the throng in what I guess is the nearest to a mosh pit we're gonna get tonight. Ah, the impetuosity of youth. Ha. Sorry, I've been distracted from writing a review of the band must be the last of the Roof Dog Beer running through my veins. There is some great jangly guitar work that sounds like the guy's been taught by Hugh Cornwell and some swirly organ that Pete likens to Dave Greenfield. If the Phobes were a child they'd be the slightly sensible pre teen offspring of an unholy union between The Stranglers and The Fat White Family. No bad thing as the former are probably the best thing I've ever seen live and the latter certainly up there in the top ten. Or so. Certainly in this decade. The Phobos lack the sleaziness of both but maybe as they gain more confidence and mature into a teenage phase of the band the sleaziness will come with time. I can't wait to see them when they're there. For now though they are simply great rather than brilliant and all too soon they're on their last tune and as we're not allowed encores in this too cool for school age they're off the stage and the PA pumps out it's recorded music. We all decide that four bands for £3 is more than enough value for money and not wanting to turn the place into the punk version of a Darby and Joan Club (which incidentally wikipedia tells me originated just up the road in Streatham) we exit the building and after many fond hugs to say farewell I stuff my birthday card from Pete and Wendy in my back pocket and Debs and I cycle off through the Windmill Estate homeward bound. Don't worry - the card made it back and is now in pride of place on the mantelpiece. Thanks to everyone who turned out for my birthday celebration. Was a good one.

Not wanting to put a downer on the post but rather in celebration... David Allen aka Divided Alien who steered the Gong mothership through the flying teapots of our minds passed away on Friday 13th March. RIP. And following the passing of the Beastie Boys' Adam Yauch five years ago the band have officially finished. RIP MCA. But Mike D and Ad-Roc please don't RIP at least for a while.

Photophobes. That seems to be my phone camera as it refuses to take any decent photos inside a venue. If I put the flash on all I get is the gleaming heads of bald / shaven people. So here they are in order of playing...

False nostalgia? More like false moustache - surely?

Nice shirt - mine like that came a cropper at a Stranglers gig but that's another blog...

Sweat band - couldn't be bothered to fight my way to the front for a decent pic

Puma Rosa getting down on it

Phobo

and the Phobes

Where's the Swag Debbie? Debbie where's the Swag?

Booked a while ago when I got 4 tickets and offered to Simon and Pete. Much confusion about who could go and whose partners then about who had to buy extra tickets and whether we had too few or too many. Forgot all about that til the day when suddenly wondered if we had too few and panic sets in as I’ll be blamed. Maybe I’m anxious generally what with other stuff going on which I won’t go into here. Anyway all’s well and I meet Debbie in Pret opposite Kentish Town tube (where’s your car Debbie? Debbie where’s your car?) as the pub on the corner up the road is rammed. We saunter up to the Forum and I bore Debs with who I’d seen there at all nighters when it was the more classically named Town and Country Club. Luckily I didn’t arrange to meet at the old Bull and Gate cos it’s closed. For a facelift it seems rather than to be turned into housing which is good. And explains the throngs in the other pub. After the indignation of not being deemed edgy enough to be frisked, not even a cursory glance, we are in the venue. The place is fairly empty as it’s only just gone 7, those that are in are mainly excitable teenagers running around in packs. Did I used to do that? After getting shrapnel change from a tenner at the bar we find a sensible, must be our age, spot to stand up the steps next to the mixing desk and what looks like a really rubbish VIP area, with 6 school chairs, but turns out to be for wheelchair users. Of which 2 turn up later. It’s a good spot though given that I’m resisting any urges to join the mosh pit due to trying to stay fit for the weekend and not ruin my work brogues. Soon the lights dim and through the darkness emerge…

WYTCHES who are a great three piece with a full on sound heavy and menacing, at times turgid but in a good way like when you’re sloshing through mud at a festival and you know you shouldn’t be enjoying it but hey that’s what it’s all about hey? I guess I’m feeling a guilty pleasure in liking what is in essence a post punk metal band. Weren’t they all? And it’s the second in a week what with Turbowolf. Third if you count DFA1979. Wytches don’t exactly look like they’re enjoying themselves but the crowd more than make up for this with a lot of energetic dancing and a fair few of them too. Very impressive for the first band of four at 7.30 of a mid week evening. We do get a bit of chat from Wytches so between songs we can tell that they are pleased to be entertaining us. So it’s lazy comparison time again. Imagine a thrash off between early Sabbath’s ponderous thunder with the psychedelic playfulness knocked out of them by the thrashing shouting earnest taste of Discharge in full flow (hmm, that sounds orrible!) and you’ll get the picture. Maybe with a bit of cultural direction from Jello B from the Dead Kennedys who I guess were the shouty punk metal prototypes. Great stuff and I’m impressed. As I was when I sort of bumped into them playing at a festival last year. I think. Read yer blog Jimmy. Jimmy read yer blog. Wishing my self imposed moshing ban wasn’t tonight. Soon after they’re off and we meet up with Simon with new growth beard to tone down the shock of the tash and the long suffering, in a facial hair way, Jules. Suffering Simon’s facial hair not her own just in case you read that wrongly. Then Wendy appears bearing little fluffy clouds which is a song we’re not gonna hear tonight for sure. Pete is at the bar so I dash off to order and help him with the drinks. After a bit of a natter and Pete and Wendy reminding me and Debs we failed with Glastonbury tickets the stage is set for the dynamic duo that is…

SLAVES. Hard fast drumbeat bringing us a tribal beat with a raucous thrash razor cutting guitar to open those old wounds of disenfranchment and alienation and rubbing the salt right in. Shouty vocals but in an intelligible way. Such great songs such as Debbie’s car with a vicious humour. This is the band of the moment. At least tonight. The crowd are surging now filling the dance floor. Craziness is the order of the day including a bit of strictly banned crowd surfing and the kids are certainly all pumped up and ready to go. Great light show too strobing on the SLAVES sign behind our heroes. Definitely didn’t disappoint as first time I’ve seen them. Great. Go see. As they come off the bar gets packed but oddly the toilets are always accessible even the ladies. So I’m told. It’s a fairly short change over and soon we are treated to the numerous members of the highlight of Glastonbury taking the stage. Yes, it’s the Amazing put your hands together for…

FAT WHITE FAMILY as previously seen they deliver a fantastically sleazy laid back low fi set that excites the kids and sends a shiver down the necks of the older members of the audience. This band have more swag than Bonnie and Clyde. All the favourites are here and although I’m not quite in the same state of mind as when I saw them at 3am in a tiny rammed sweaty dingy wooden club temporarily erected in a muddy west country field they still go down a treat. It’s strangely liberating watching them and their fans rocking the joint, as they say in the RnR world, whilst I’m stood above them enjoying the spectacle. Maybe I’ll do this once a year. The FWF are great and they seem to be a lot more polished than the other times I’ve seen them. Maybe a little more like on record. Not sure if this is their straightness, the audience, my straightness, not being in the mosh, or maybe they just practiced their instruments and songs more. Remind me of the Pogues in a funny way. And tonight like the Pogues when they’re playing with the Dubliners rather than going all out to blast their fans into the middle of next week. Nevertheless as their set comes to an end we’re all disappointed that it can’t go on. And on. And on. Worth seeing again. We’re still altogether and no one has been drawn into the downstairs bit so after a large drinks order for someone, can’t remember if me but don’t think so, Simon and I confirm to Pete that we’re off cycling in France at the end of April. To which we hear the bombshell that because of the bloody London Marathon and associated festivities outside Pete’s place he’s blowing us out. Again. As he did last year. OK, with a better excuse last time. Cheers Pete. Yet another channel crossing with Simon acting as if we’ve been at sea for longer than a U Boat captain and he’s got a moustache to match this year. So the rest of the interval is taken up with me and Simon alternately persuading Pete to come and cursing him. Just as the beer and us two are about to persuade Pete that his Karma will be negative if he don’t come along he’s saved by the bell as the lights dim and the young un’s scream to the arrival on stage of…

PALMA VIOLETS who take the stage with the lead singer looking well swag in a Pete Docherty kind of way with big floppy brimmed hat. They play a really good set of rocking indie tunes and the sound is great. Half way through the boy wonder has disappeared apparently down the half dozen steps to the lower dance floor. I think about joining him but I assume he’s been swallowed whole by the pit and I’ll not see him again until he’s been spat out Jonah like dishevelled and sweaty at the end of the night. Maybe it’s my vantage point where I can see the tops of people pogoing but the Violets do seem to have morphed into a Libertines pastiche and whilst that’s great for the music they do seem to be losing their edge, unlike Mr Murphy although he thought he was. Debbie neatly sums it up by comparing them to the last time we saw the Vaccines, I think the last time we attended the NME Awards Tour a year ago at the Academy which makes me wonder why it’s such a smaller venue this year, anyway the Vaccines played a competent yet uninspiring set back then. Draw your own conclusions about bands who have made it and the effort they put in. Niggling about how edgy our bands are aside the Palmas are enjoyable though not a classic set they neatly round off a thoroughly entertaining evening showcasing the variety of current post punk indie bands. Simon drags himself back from his edge and we saunter out into the cold north London air and hop on the Northern Line southbound only stopping to trade banter with a couple of guys our age and saying goodbye in overly close ways to firstly Pete and Wendy and then Simon and Jules. Debbie and I then take our trusty steel steeds back from the station home. Well, Debs has a replacement steed as hers is in the stables awaiting treatment. A great night out though. A note on the title. A term my daughter has taught me so if I’ve used incorrectly it’s cos I’m too old to use current street in the right way or she is taking the mick and fed me a word which no one uses or means something completely different. Although a guy at the bar whose drink I nudged as he was coming out did look me up and down and tell me that I was effing swag which I took as a compliment on my trendy haircut and retro Harrington. Or maybe it’s my hearing going and I misheard a W instead of an L

WYTCHES gather at black masses

and umm rock out

SLAVES to the rhythm

Where's the band Debbie, Debbie where's the band

bodies turning in red ashes

We are FAT WHITE FAMILY

I got no sisters with me (15 musicians not one woman)

PALMA VIOLETS channelling Pete

at least the roadie is enjoying himself

Clap your hands say yeah!