Majorettes and Colleen Green @ Windmill Brixton

Majorettes retrospectively became my reason for being there. Low-fi, deadpan, a little bit silly, a little bit shouty ... perfect, basically. I feared they might be from elsewhere; it appears they're from here - hurrah! I hope to see them again soon.

While watching the band before Majorettes, the abysmally named Wicketkeeper, a girl standing in front of me removed a sweater to reveal an Adidas vest and an inner-bicep tattoo. I vowed to buy this vision a drink, and later on she even ordered one right beside me at the bar, but I allowed the moment to escape me. Which in retrospect was probably lucky, because that girl turned out to be Colleen Green. Which little story I hope illustrates that - unlike, it seems, everybody else in the Windmill - I was not familiar with her in advance.

Such were the roars that followed every song! I was somewhat taken aback. It wasn't that Green wasn't good, I just hadn't expected it. I felt like a dad at a Lana Del Rey concert. Had I not been so clearly the least clued-up person there, I would probably be raving about Colleen right now... But she obviously doesn't need any bungling praise from me, and since I felt like the nonplussed ride home to a bunch of overexcited, sweaty teens, I'll leave it to others to extoll the virtues of the be-shaded one and her fat-sounding guitar.

Bushmills is £3 in the Windmill, as was the ticket. God I love the Windmill...

Ollo, Matthew Edwards & The Unfortunates and ROC @ Windmill Brixton

Tonight was a Metal Postcard triple-header.

Ollo suffered Ableton Gremlins and were only able to give us two tracks as they were meant to be heard. They persevered abmirably throughout the hiccoughs, and then showed us what we'd missed with the intriguing Litterbrain. Next time...

Matthew Edwards & The Unfortunates were the entirely live filling in an electronic sandwich. I'm firmly of the belief that anything can be sandwichized; nevertheless, time would prove METU to be an odd choice of filling - like sticking boeuf bourguignon between two slices of Mighty White. I want to pick cliches out of my pockets like disintegrating tissues: they were assured, stylish, tight, funky... Single Mintour was perhaps the highlight, but No More Songs was a crescending (not a word?), rousing finish, and the whole set oozed panache (I'm pulling at lint now; they were very good).

ROC: I don't really know what on earth that was. The rapid and semi-breathy vocal delivery was interesting, but the sum of the parts was a mishmass wobbling on the edge of a disaster. Something like a sonic tornado whipping through a secondhand store. It was all a bit Danny Dyer's Chocolate Homunculous. Weird. They sound decent in that link, but that only adds to the weirdness.

One Way Ticket, The Cracked Belles and Beatrix Players @ Windmill Brixton

Beatrix Players are Singer Amy White, Keyboardist Jess Kennedy and Cellist Amanda Alvarez. They play beautiful, heartfelt, moving music of the sort I would normally avoid, and yet when it's being conjured up right in front of you, and you're standing feet away from the cavorting fingers, gliding bow and flitting voice, all cynicism, bitterness and yearning for brutality melt away. They have stuff on soundcloud and tracks to download via their website, if you're the sort of soft sod who likes things that make you feel stuff and think things and that. Sniff.

The Cracked Belles. Holy shit. They're Dani Sachar on vocals, Feadora Morris on guitar, Rick Lehane on Bass, and Aimee Schmidt on drums. And man are they fucking great. Don't take my word for it: listen to 'Good Friday' on their soundcloud via the link above and imagine you're standing there witnessing this happening - not seeing it via some scratchy black and white Youtube video with 12 million views of a performance from 4 decades ago, but right now in front of you. How can anyone sound that good today? Performances like this don't happen now, they happened in half-empty clubs a generation ago, when only half a dozen people appreciated it at the time but 5 years later half a world was grooving out to it and half a century later they still are. Mother Mary, halleleujah. Bassist Rick told me they're based in North London and play in Camden a lot, so if you're up that way, go see em. And if you're not, head there.

One Way Ticket were pretty decent. Everyone else in the place sure loved them, and their drummer was driving their performance like a classic Bugatti in a tropical hurricane as I snuck off home to hunt down The Cracked Belles online. And now I've listened to Good Friday three times. And I'm not done yet...

JD Smith and Swampmother @ Windmill Brixton

I thought I was done with this "blog", but I suppose while there's great music in venues that aren't at capacity, I can mobilise my fingers for long enough to tell you poor sods what you've missed.

Tonight at Windmill Brixton you missed - I'm assuming, but hey, maybe you were there! - JD Smith and Swampmother, two raw, dirty slide-blues players who captivated their audiences enough to, well, coax this sorry typist out of retirement, for one thing.

Swampmother was maybe the rawer of the two; distortion, foot stomping, things coming off guitars that weren't supposed to ("That's what happens when you get someone to build a guitar for you."). Whereas JD Smith was more classically blues rock; guitar tones that make you wish you had the dusty boots, ageless hat and begravelled voice to forge a successful career out of walking for aeons beside a highway and sleeping under the stars. Deep, heartfelt, soul-galvanizing stuff.

So there you go. You should see them both. Apparently JD Smith will be playing the Windmill again in December. Swampmother I don't know, but she's on the web. Look for her.

Tolerance Manoeuvre, Bodebrixen, Small Gang, Bored Spies @WindmillBrixton

Another great night at Windmill Brixton.

Tolerance Manoeuvre were playing when I arrived, and once I'd bought a pint I moseyed over. They're a guitar-cello-trumpet trio who play rather downbeat, forlorn pieces. The result is more interesting than depressing though, and they were well received, including by me.

Bodebrixen are a Danish fivesome who specialise in summery upbeat indie pop. They look and sound like the kind of band you see supplying good times for cool Spanish 20-somethings in smartphone adverts, but they're good enough not to be annoying. Their lead singer is a disarmingly direct and chipper little fellow who buzzes about on and offstage like he has the fast-twitch muscle fibre proportions of a particularly frolicsome squirrel. At one point he started flinging handfuls of shimmering confetti-like stuff ino the surprised crowd. I don't know how well this went down with the guy who had to sweep it up afterwards, but everyone else enjoyed it.

Bodebrixen's combination of energy, fun and quality music was irresistible, and had they played for another 10 minutes or so I might have lost my grip on my reserve and started dancing. A lucky escape. If you have the chance to see these guys, take it.

Of the four bands, Small Gang are the one I'd be most likely to listen to in a non-live situation. Their set was somewhat two-speed, with songs starting out middling, quiet and slow and then suddenly switching into something harder, faster and rather fantastic to climax. What does Sting know - give me climaxes any day.

Final band Bored Spies had been billed as a Singaporean trio, but four people took to the stage. I assume the fourth guy had infilrated the band without their noticing in order to do some spying of his own. It's the only possible explanation.

Anyway, they were a comparatively restrained bunch. Cherie Ko's vocals, for example, were breathy to the point of being indecipherable, and bassist Panther Lau was happy just to have access to an instrument that worked, on loan from Small Gang. On the other hand, hulking drummer Orestes Morfín appeared able to conform to this low-key approach only through an enormous effort of will, achieving impressive control for such a large and ferocious-looking guy.

I enjoyed the set and would happily see the band again, but the thing I enjoyed most about them was the T-shirts they had on sale at the other end of the room. I picked one up afterwards for the low low price of £8:

That made 4 bands, 3 pints, and 1 T-shirt, all for £20. Bonza.

Rock interactions: share them here!

About an hour ago I passed Cherie Ko of Bored Spies her water bottle mid-gig at Windmill Brixton. This got me thinking: what is my biggest/greatest/most memorable/take to the grave ever rock interaction?

For me it has to be the time that, for about 1.5 seconds about 4 years ago, I had my hand held by the awesome Juliette Lewis. I remember feeling like I was on fire for the rest of the night, and my nerves continued to buzz for the rest of the week.

Other examples:

Gig Buddy recently chatted to Metz' frontman on the plane to or back from (I'm not clear yet) Primavera.

My oldest mate has one of Chino Moreno's hats from about 12 years ago.

My drum teacher has recorded with Steve Albini.

Alright, so what's yours? Share them below the line...

P.S.
I fully expect to get to get no replies to this post, but David Bowie, if you happen to read it, could you please comment: "I am David Bowie"? Thank you.

First, The Kill Raimis, Oliver John Ward, James Hull and Mickey Dey @WindmillBrixton

There were five acts on this bill, and the gem among them was the first up, one Mickey Dey. A slight, and slightly androgynous, young fella, his surprisingly powerful voice successfully combined both vulnerability and confidence, despite Mickey at one point professing shyness. His lyrics were equally revelatory, striking this listener as original, affecting and without cliche.

Someone more into singer songwriters than I am could offer an opinion on whether this guy could make it big. All I can say is: I wouldn't be surprised.

The rest of the night was less distinctive. Mickey, James and Oliver were all mates playing mostly for each other's benefit, to the extent that James and Oliver didn't even introduce themselves, and I'm still not sure which was which. They weren't to my taste and seemed to offer little to those who weren't in on the joke, so I'll just move along.

Both The Kill Raimis and First were more dilating musically than vocally or, from what I could discern, lyrically. The Kill Raimis would maybe benefit from being more confident and refraining from their near-ubiquitous backing vocals, whereas First, beefy and groovy though they were musically, left me bewildered with their singer's nasal whining.

This evening belonged to one man - I'd make a note of his name.

The Connectors @The Windmill Brixton

Three bands played at The Windmill in Brixton last night - White Bone Rattle, The Connectors, and The High Commissioners - but I'd not seen my mate in a month, we had a lot of catching up to do, and the only band we paid any attention to was The Connectors. That's not to denigrate the other two bands: it easily could have been them instead had the timing worked out that way.

I enjoyed watching The Connectors a lot. They're a two-man outfit: drummer and guitarist/vocalist. Think 70's guitar melded to punkish drumming and grungy vocals, which somehow all work together pretty well. They have lots of energy for two guys, and they're pretty stylish too, in their grungy way.

You can find out here where to find them out there. I recommend you do it.

Holy Mountain, Barringtone, Limb @ Brixton Windmill

If I hadn't bought my ticket for this in advance I'm not sure I would've gone, as I'd been leaking snot all day and feeling generally shite. But I had, so along I went. Part of me was hoping that just the right amount of beer combined with a bit of sinus-pummelling bass would kill whatever it was that was lurking inside me...

So anyway, it was Limb's job to get the night off to a good start, and that's exactly what they did. They were a friendly bunch, and happily blasted through a short set that started out perhaps just a little dirge-y but got better as it went along. I challenge anyone to not feel positive vibes for a heavy band whose drummer obligingly tries her best to smash her kit right through the floorboards, and whose bassist adopts a stance so rock you could drive a convoy of tanks through it. They saved their best for last, and when the guitarist got down off the somewhat cramped stage to rip it up among the crowd, you could tell that band and audience alike were happy to be there. Limb delivered a short, heavy, blow that didn't put anybody on their ass, but rather woke them up for the fun to come. Good on 'em.

Next up was Barringtone, a trio of two-thirds top-buttoned tidiness and one-third Dave Grohl meets Nick Frost. The bill had described these guys as 'electro-pop maestros', which seemed a bit strange considering they were due to be sandwiched between a couple of riff-happy heavy hitters, and while the band were tuning up my mate and I wondered whether someone had been having a laugh, since the occasional bursts of noise issuing from the stage were more Metallica than Madonna. But it wasn't a wind-up: Barringtone were a pop band, only this was fast, hard-edged pop played with attitude and panache. Their style matched their appearance: guitarist and bassist were polished and slightly straight, whereas the drummer - the band's Facebook page suggests he might be called 'Boomer' - was an absolute beast, driving things forward at a rollicking pace while caressing or bludgeoning his kit as appropriate with the kind of finesse that should make a beginner either cry and give up or decide it's time to get serious. This was an impressive performance, if slightly samey towards the end, and not even a couple of momentary blackouts could affect the band's admirable composure.

Holy Mountain were headlining, and as soon as we saw the Glaswegians take the stage we knew they were gonna be good. Not just anybody can pull off the long hair and vests look: you have to have either earned it or been born that way. Don't ask me which path these fellas took - all I know is they didn't disappoint. This was the band's first gig in London ('Well, with this line-up'), and they seized the chance to show us foppish southerners how it's done. And that is: loud and heavy, but catchy to boot. It was a massively enjoyable set, not least for the drummer's Animal-like appearance, with his wildly flailing arms and gape-jawed grin. I could've sworn he was channelling his manic energy directly from the atmosphere via his gullet. Holy Mountain: one whole helluva lotta rock, unreservedly recommended.

And yet again, the Windmill delivered all of this for a handful of shrapnel: good times. By the way, I'm feeling much better today, thank you. Whether it was the beer or bass that did it, I'm happy.

Teta Mona, Sekaiteki Na Band, Bo Ningen @ The Windmill

The Windmill is my local venue. In fact, it's the most local venue I've ever had, being about 3 minutes away from my flat. Despite that though, in 10 months I've only been there once - to see Dub Trio back in about October/November. I thought when I first discovered it that I would be there every other week or so, such is its inviting dive-y atmosphere and enticingly packed programme, but events have conspired against. Except on this occasion, fortunately, when I arrived just in time to order a pint and set my stance right before the music started.

Teta Mona began playing while half of the band were still in the audience. I'd been thinking to myself that, cool as the two tall girls right at the front seemed, they were going to ruin the view somewhat when, a few seconds after the lonely couple on stage shyly started up, the girls went and joined them, as bassist and singer + second guitar. Bonus for the experience, bonus for the view. The band played a fairly brief set, as I think things were running a little behind, but they coped well with the added pressure for the most part. Melodically and rhythmically their tunes were pretty simple, and both bassist and lead had very wallflowery tendencies, but cunningly this only served to highlight the vocals - and oh boy, what vocals! They were eerie and beguiling, the singer reminding me somewhat of a cross between Grace Slick and Karen Elson. If the opinion of a know-nothing nobody like me counts for anything, this girl could go places. Plus, lead guitar man did actually have some mad skills when he felt like displaying them. The final track got a bit bolloxed up and had to be started over a time or two, but the audience were appreciative enough that no-one minded. A pretty fine opening.

By Christ though, how Sekaiteki Na Band stepped it up! Actually, their lead and bass retained the wallflower-like presence of the openers, but their drummer was an absolute supremo. Not only was he the skinniest human being I've ever clapped eyes on, but he was both drumming and singing, and he was drumming like a man possessed, such that at times I found myself breaking out into a massive grin at some particularly audacious example of speed and control. The other members of the band faded into the background for me to a large extent, as I think I developed a bit of man-love for Mr Drummer, such was his blurry and mesmerising ability. The room was loving it too: what had been an appreciative audience for Teta Mona were whooping it up for Sekaiteki Na Band. This was pure quality performance, and I'll definitely be keeping an eye on this band.

Bo Ningen had been described to me as 'Japanese noise or something' by the barman. There was a Japanese theme to the night in fact, with all but Teta Mona's singer getting on board (I think she was Italian). Any one of Bo Ningen's three musicians could easily have filled in for that scary girl who crawls from the TV in the Japanese horror film Ring, with luscious rock-god hair in full effect. Why am I talking about the band's hair? Well to be honest with you, I have no idea what most of them were playing. The drummer had not only his kit but also two beer kegs (Full? Empty? I don't know) and a gas canister (Full? Empty? I don't know). The dude who I thought of as lead guitar had not a guitar but a shiny little two-deck keyboardy thing, with what looked like a gear stick at one end. And the other dude had not a bass but a couple of pedals and a load of buttons, and once the band got going I at first thought that he was also Vulcan death gripping his own throat as part of the performance, or else auto-asphyxiating for our entertainment, but I later realised that he was throat singing. Throat singing! Anyway, fortunately the gas canister didn't explode (unfortunately neither did the beer kegs), and Bo Ningen did indeed make some Japanese noise. Their first track I can only describe as like a haunted house having a stereo-off with a heavy metal band, and the set only got more enjoyable from there. At one point the guy with the keyboardy thing started hitting it with a drum stick, baffling me still further, and he then got out and started similarly whacking a series of bells dangling from the end of length of wood, reminding me wierdly of the two tin cans that my work mate has attached to her pair of scissors with a length of string, so that nobody can steal them without making an awful racket. Anyway, Bo Ningen made some excellent noise right up until the drummer slung his gas canister into one of his beer kegs for effect, but accidently dominoed the second keg into the amp, bringing things to a premature end. Oh well, no permanent harm done presumably, and it was time to go home anyway.

Before I go, have I mentioned that all of this was free? I don't know how the Windmill decides what will be free and what won't - generally things cost a few quid there - but the fact that all of this quality music was ours without costing us so much as a penny was nothing short of amazing. I would happily pay a tenner to see Sekaiteki Na Band again, so a big thank you to the Windmill for helping me find them.

What a Tuesday night.