Psicle: Sleaze in the South

Simon and me have a last minute decision to go to our local Brixton Windmill as we haven't caught up for ages and at £3 in how could we possibly lose out. So having cycled through the sleet well wrapped up we buy our halves (not a big night tonight for us - unlike what most of the punters seem to be having) and retire to the Fridge Room. Soon we're back inside the warm where we have ring side seats (well, stood at the bar near the stage) for the not particularly anticipated solo artist on first.

Camilla Green's summary on the Windmill website is a short sharp "acoustic strummer" which is hardly going to launch ships. The girl's been very badly advertised and not just cos she's got an electric guitar. Camilla delivers a mesmerising set of beautifully quirky lyrics and vocals with perfectly accompanying guitar. Yes it's strumming I guess but with that finger picking on the low notes. Great to have someone chatting between songs and explaining them too. Vocally Tracy Thorn for the modern age having soaked up the grunginess and quirkiness since Tracey's brilliant solo debut. Musically Tracey sings Velvet Underground (which incidentally she did on her debut) with dark laid back strumming interspersed with some uplifting highlights. Very good. Excellent.

Sleaze are one of the main attractions tonight as I've seen them before a year or so ago supporting FWF. They deliver a great set of sleazy rock and roll to a packed dance floor. They seem to have got less sleazy and more rock since last time I saw them and not so engaged with the audience in this smaller club which is odd. Maybe the shift is cos FWF have cornered the sleazy market and others such as Sleaze need to find their own groove. And groovy it is. The young crowd love them (and young they are - queues outside the door as kiddies are asked to flash their age ID to the guy on the door) and the energy builds in the, what is now a, cramped club. Unfortunately they have technical issues the result of which seems to be that the main singer can't play his guitar. They already have one so not sure why they can't just go with that but I guess I wouldn't like to play bass with only 3 strings. OK, that wouldn't make a lot of difference to me but I guess that they are professionals. So after a punky shouty hard hitting song they leave the stage frustrated. I guess they may have got down and dirty towards the end of the set. After Sleaze we are appreciative of the DJ playing No More Heroes (which I've just learnt) and then retire to the crowded garden where we chat rock n roll and Derby sheepskin weddings to some young hipsters in the gently falling snow (or as it usually is by the time it hits street level in London, sleet).

Secret Tongues are next up and are a striking looking band. The girl singer really goes for it waving arms about and swinging long dark hair around verging on head banging. The guitarist seems a bit out of it which seems to also be the case for quite a few of the artists on stage tonight. And most of the crowd to be honest. Simon and my halves drinking are hardly getting us up there on their level. Anyways the band have a tight sound with thumping good bass and drums underpinning what in my humble opinion is accomplished guitar playing (and I told the kid outside I didn't write anything technical in my blogs) gliding between rock and psychedelic hippy festi guitar noodling and I mean that in a good way. They too go down very well with the young crowd who have thinned out a little since Sleaze. In the intermission I'm complimented on my grey greatcoat which is greatly satisfying although I did think it would be my stylish creepers that would turn an eye, but what do I know about fashion, I'm only into style. Talking of which, there's a girl here in an Arsenal away top. Last time I was here at NY there was a Gooner in colours and up in Leeds the Girl Band drummer was wearing a Brentford top. Maybe football shirts are becoming essential fashion accessories. I'll dig out my Sega (to be this good takes ageS - very fitting for that team) top for some real old school style.

Fish are the last band on this value for money evening. The last time I paid 75p per band must've been back before everyone in the club, except for the locals watching the footie and the sound guy, weren't even twinkles in their parents eyes. Fish start sort of rocky poppy and I'm overly sure about them but I warm up to them and by the end they, too, are playing a guitar laden post punk festival fare with jumpy uppy thrashiness thrown in for free. Simon and I are pretty restrained in our movements tonight, or is that constrained? The first maybe due to the average age of the moshers being about half our age (although no, it's never deterred us before) and possibly drinking halves (although we must've tried every beer on tap except Fosters) combined with being constrained by heavy winter coats which I daren't leave hanging around in case Camilla nicked it (a separate anecdote I won't bore you with). So a great end to the night and Simon head for the exit which is hastened by Abba floating over the PA. Back on the bikes in the slightly warmer air and we go our separate ways. That's about the only bit on travel you'll get as I won't tell you that Debbie's bike I'm riding needs some TLC around the front wheel. I think I'll leave off boring you readers with travel details and just stick to what I know - clothing fashion and style.

Sorry about the lack of pictures. Perfect position for Camilla but the flash went off (if you ever read this sorry) and I couldn't work out how to stop it and I hate using a flash at gigs cos it must really piss off the band having them go off in your eyes at a 10 foot range.