At shortish notice the 5-a-siders agree to check out the Chubby night at the very reasonably priced Windmill (£3 for 5 bands is a truly fantastic offer and every little helps). In the end not many turn up. Well 5. Which seems pretty good for a 5-a-side get together but 3 of the 5 (or rather 6, don't ask it gets confusing) don't turn up and Debbie doesn't feel like coming as when she gets back from picking up Lily-Rose from dance she's heard a friend is unwell and has a couple of calls to make. That makes Simon Jules Pete Wendy and me. But I'm getting ahead of myself. I wait for Debbie to return home and then after a quick bite cycle off into the setting sun. Actually it was away from it but give me a little artistic licence, I'm practicing for my first novel (encouraged by Jules, after a few drinks at Field Day) and no one ever cycled away from a setting sun in a novel. OK so I'm going east and the red sunset is colouring the white walls of the tower blocks of south London a gorgeous pink which isn't quite shown to it's best by the photo but you can get the gist. Soon enough I'm at the Windmill and after handing over my 3 coins in return from an ink stamp I catch the last one and a half songs of
Uncle Tesco who sound pretty good in fact my chums claim they are the best band ever. Or nearly. Apparently a hard hitting punky garage set very similar to the Members. Afterwards when chatting to the main main, who is very distinctively dressed in red dungarees and a Tesco jacket (take note Pete, who congratulated someone else on a great set the reply being, I haven't been on yet but I'm on last) he cites The Sensational Alex Harvey Band and Captain Beefheart as influences. And yet has never, apparently, heard of The Members. Which is very suspicious as their singer was called Nicky Tesco. I must admit listening on SoundCloud I can't find much very garage punk by them. Anyways I was late so my opinion don't count. As an aside of course the guy Pete mistakenly spoke to was in a band. The whole bloody audience is usually.
Next up are the
Sleep Eaters who deliver a high energy waving guitars around rolling around on the floor take on rock and roll in a high octane country blues sort of way. They put on a great show and get the crowd going. Even dancing is seen! They are funny guys and chat to us between songs which I think should be mandatory. Introducing one song they say, this is a love song, when we announced that last week in Bristol we got booed. I think it's because they don't like outsiders there. To which the guitarist quips that they like their ciders there but not outsiders. Nice one. I wonder if they'd thought that up in the van on the way back - but it seemed pretty spontaneous. Not true of course. After they finish the DJ oddly plays 80s tunes - including Tears for Fears' everybody wants to rule the world, who incidentally came from the west country.
After this there is a lull whilst the next act sets up his unfeasibly small keyboard and does his soundcheck meaning we're not quite sure whether he's on for real or not.
Pet Grotesque is one of those completely off the wall acts that surely only the Windmill would put on between hard rocking proto punkers. Mind you Pet is as out there as proto punks were considered. He has backing tracks and occasionally fiddles about with a keyboard to excellent effect. Most of the time he's singing and moving about to the rhythm in a sort of quirky way reminiscent of Ian Curtis where he just can't help himself and his body ain't got the moves that he wants to do. The music veers from europop with a heavy dance beat to a soulful twisty playfulness. As he dances he sings in either a high pitched Prince (when he's going for the high notes) style or in a deep deep down there style. It's great. As Pet is pretty damn into it and almost karaoke like at first I'm thinking he's a novelty act but as he goes on you realise that the grooves are pretty damn fine and his singing and odd bits of key twiddling completely match it. By the end I'm grooving around albeit not quite as extravagantly as Pet G. And he's obviously loving it. To be honest the highlight for me. Lazy comparison? PM Dawn. Don't remember them? Blissed out soulful hip hop. No, none of me mates (that's you guys) liked them either. Reality used to be a friend of mine...
After that bit of dancy soulful fun we're propelled back into the more usual Windmill territory of stoner rocking courtesy of
The Rodents who are sporting the first female of the evening up on stage. And to be the last. She's pretty damn proficient on the keyboard and bass. Not both at the same time by multi-tasking but multi-talented nevertheless. For some reason by this time the early rise, 11 hour work day, cycling 25 miles, stiff G&T before leaving and now a number of lagers I'm a little trolleyed. Can't remember too much about the band but I will assume that's more my fault than theirs. I remember as being pretty fine musicians and having a good tight sound in a laid back stoner way. Some tunes livelier than others but mostly head nodding and gazing at me Converseses is the order of the day. They are looking a bit grubby.
Last up are
Tiña I think. I'm not sure not because I'm drunk. That last reference to me being trolleyed was a pathetic attempt to keep the Tesco theme going through the blog which I've forgotten I meant to do for every band. Ah well, too late to get the tippex out now. Reason I'm not sure it's the named band is cos it's comprised of Nicky Tesco's son in red dungarees (having shed the Tesco jacket) and our hero Pet Grotesque with various members of the audience (OK, so that is normal for Windmill bands). They sort of look like they are improvising at times but obviously have some idea of what they are doing and indeed throw out a great rollicking show with big sounds rocking beats held together by, or perhaps pulled apart by, an anarchic approach to the tunes. It's great. And a good way to end the evening music wise except for the usual ignored and weirdly chosen disco tunes that drive any lingerers into the garden. In googling to try and find out about the band I find out that their name is Spanish for ringworm due to the bit above the en. I guess they know. Anyway we go hang out in the garden and chat to band members (now they've all played nearly all of them in the garden has played so Pete won't embarrass himself again). Eventually and way past the witching hour we say our goodbyes and completely untrolleyed I coast back westwards towards where the sun has well and truly set.
Next day not feeling too chipper and have to drive to Colchester to bring all Maya's crap, sorry personal effects, back to London. Without her as she's too busy socially to accompany her stuff. Quite a smooth day, despite her having packed the bike lock keys in an unknown bag already somewhere in the boot. It's a sad day as the last use of the trusty Zafira who has driven us many a mile to many a beautiful camping holiday in Devon, Cornwall and West Wales. Ahh, beaching all day, kids body surfing, quaffing G&Ts as apertifs to the barbeque and then sipping cool(ish) beers watching the sun go down over the sea, falling off bikes into hedges. Stop it Jim. You're getting nostalgic. Anyways I leave Maya, after buying her lunch, giving her some dosh instructing her not to spend it all tonight at the end of year party and drive to north London to dump her stuff and pick up Jack who comes back south. Next day it's officially The End of An Era as I dump the dirty (both inside, out and environmentally) Zafira swapped (well, with a fair bit of cash) for a brand new second hand electric blue Mini Cooper complete with white roof and those two white stripes down the boot hood. Nice looker and lovely runner. Tax is only £20 so assuming that's due it's clean environmental credentials. So no more family camping holidays but hopefully romantic evenings driving into the sunset with my fair wife. Or more likely driving away from the sunset eastwards towards her home county of Essex. OK, she was born in a London borough but one I've always maintained is Essex. But what do I know. I'm a Somerset lad who likes cider and don't like outsiders. Anyway, having downgraded to a sporty small car I think that means that I am officially middle aged. If that means more gigs at the Windmill then most of my audience can rejoice in the fact that Middle Age is the New Teenage!
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| Setting Sons |
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| Sleep Eaters |
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| Pet on the keyboard |
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| Crooning |
There should be a video of Pet G here. I don't usually take them but you really need to see him to get the idea...
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| Rodents |
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| Ringworm Supergroup |
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| Including Jamiroquai's brother |
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Are you looking at my effing pint? You want some of it then mate? OK, I'll get you a half lager.
(Included due to popular demand for more mug shots) |
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| Hello John, avin a mid life crisis? |
