Live reviews published in Record Collector 2004 0nwards (small selection)

July 20, 2009

Delays

Southampton University

9 / 3 / 05

It’s lovely for the folk of Southampton to have a band to champion at last. Previously, they had to pretend to be proud of Craig David.

Warmed up by the gorgeous retro chic of Winchester’s Scarlet Soho, the crowd felt like one big family as the appropriate intro music of the Stones’ “We LoveYou” wafted out. Like a cross between the Four Seasons and the Small Faces, these guys are so tiny that they are almost obscured behind the bouncers standing a metre lower than them. “You And Me”, the first track on the new album (which the audience mysteriously already knows by heart) demonstrates Greg Gilbert’s falsetto in all its glory. This is classic pop summed up in three minutes, and with two albums under their belts, they have an array of glittering tunes to choose from. New single “Valentine” breezes along like Odyssey-era Zombies. Behind the faded glamour there’s real craftsmanship at work; they know their way round a hook, but they can rock out and charm an audience as well.

Little blokes with bouffants rule, yes?

Eels

Royal Festival Hall, London

23 / 5 / 05

Since Eels concerts have been known to feature fist fights because of E’s insistence on a seated, silent audience, the RFH must be his ideal venue. And the “special guests” turn out to be a Russian animated children’s film. Eels’ unpredictability is almost becoming predictable.

To be fair, he couldn’t turn up at some rock dive with this Butch-less (i.e. drummer-less, not really Eels at all) band, complete with nubile string quartet. Hardly a song on “Blinking Lights” is more than two minutes long, so there’s very much a “classical” feel, with each brief “movement” being politely applauded. With his crumpled Charlie Chaplin suit, cane and ever-present cigarette, it’s purely the E Show, although sometthing that is new and works brilliantly is the blending of strings, pedal steel and saw.

Apologizing for maybe disappointing us (he even disguised “Bus stop Boxer”. “Birds” and “Dog Faced Boy” as rquests for the Queen), E really needs to learn that he can actually do what he likes and we WON’T MIND!

The Hollies

Basingstoke Anvil

20 / 10 / 05

View: From the Bus Stop (only kidding, folks)

Stylish threads, snappy guitars, cracking tunes and cool haircuts … it could only be Franz Ferdinand. Or, indeed, the Hollies. With a new deal, their first original album in two decades due in February, and offical endorsement from the likes of My Morning Jacket and Fountains of Wayne, the Hollies are on quite a roll.

Peter Howarth might have been born to front the Hollies, so perfectly does he fill the role. In among all the hits (many now expanded from three to four part harmonies), he unexpectedly inserts solo acoustic adaptations of “Here I Go Again” and Springsteen’s “Sandy” which contend with any of today’s singer-songwriters and knock spots off James Blunt (ironic, in view of the fact that their best new song is called “So Damn Beautiful”).

Both Bobby Elliott and Tony Hicks have drunk from the fountain of youth, and the new young Hollies members have rejuvenated the band. To be chucking in vital-sounding new songs and reinterpreting most of the old ones is pretty energetic stuff after 42 years on the road. And as Hicks launches into a spectacular Lynyrd Skynyrd style coda on “Look Through Any Window”, you wonder why they’ve never been treated with the respect they deserve. Michael Eavis, put them on the Pyramid Stage on Sunday afternoon at Glastonbury 2007. Imagine that lot singing along with “He Ain’t Heavy, He’s My Brother”.

Cerys Matthews

Wedgewood Rooms, Portsmouth

21 / 7 / 06

Cerys claimed that she’d been the first band member to reach the hotel lobby, so keen was she to get onstage after a six-year absence. How pleasing it is to report that what seemed to be one of the UK’s lost treasures is back in style, beauty, good health and fine voice. A small frisson passed over the crowd as, three songs in, Cerys and her crack band of long-haired instrument-swopping Nashville musos treated us to “Lost Cat”, but it was the only reference to either her Catatonia past or her more recent country dabblings. Clutching a guitar for most of the hour-long set, and with the occasional false start and nervous glance revealing that this was the start of a new project, she proved she certainly hasn’t lost her way with a tune. With both the little girl lost falsetto and the Rhondda Roar fully intact (albeit with an accent which combines Tennessee and Swansea), a good-humoured Cerys gave notice that her new “Never Said Goodbye” album is going to be a cracker and that her new career is going to be as exciting as the old one. Who’d have thought it?

End Of The Road Festival

Dorset, UK

17 / 9 / 06

View: Scrumpy-addled

Just when we thought there was no gimmick left to plunder, we realize we’d overlooked tap dancing. The unfairly pulchritudinous Tilly On The Wall are certainly the first band since Mungo Jerry to feature miked-up stomping boards. It would scream “short-lived gimmick” were it not for some super Abba-style tunes and harmonies.

Howe Gelb can be either slick or shambolic. Today (sans moustache and gospel choir), he was in semi-shambolioc mode, but that’s when he is at his most endearing. His version of PJ Harvey’s “The Desperate Kingdom Of Love” squared the circle between Arizona and Dorset.

Despite (or probably because of) Ryan Adams “drumming”, Jolie Holland was a major disappointment, but Richard Hawley’s modern-day crooning cheered things up a lot, as did the harmony pop of Jim Noir, by no means as bleak as his name might imply. Plus, he had stolen Howe Gelb’s moustache.

As Ryan Adams carpet techs hit the stage (don’t ask), the word was that he was being “an arse” backstage, but this turned out to be a measured and incident-free performance. Neal Casal has brought equilibrium with him and traded extended licks with the main man on “Cold Roses” and on numerous examples of what Adams terms his “new jams”. Inspiring stuff, and a great coup for a new festival which, in the words of Chris TT, is “run by human beings and not a beer company”.

Steve Winwood

Wedgewood Rooms, Portsmouth

25 / 4 / 2007

The warm atmosphere and the billing of this three-hour show as “An Evening With Steve Winwood” revealed Steve as a man comfortable with all stages of his career. In no particular order, we were treated to Spencer Davis hits (a throwaway “Somebody Help Me” and a monstrous “Gimme Some Loving”), Traffic classics from early (“Medicated Goo”) to later (“Light Up Or Leave Me Alone”) via Blind Faith (“Can’t Find My Way Home”). Landing at the Winwood solo years, his most commercially successful period (“Higher Love” etc.) now sounds his artistically weakest, while the latest album shows an artist at the peak of his powers (his cover of Timmy Thomas’ “Why Can’t We Live Together” being an unexpected highlight of a set with may highs). The evergreen Winwood can afford to surround himself with the cream of sessioners, and by any standards, saxist Paul Booth and stand-in guitarist Tim Cansfield are sensationally funky. From the very first note, the silken Hammond, the glorious work on the bass pedals and that voice – seemingly unchanged since he was sixteen – caused the audience to pinch itself at being so close to a legend. Dear Mr Fantasy indeed.

Spencer Davis Group

100 Club, London

3 / 2 / 07

View: Very close

The current version of the Spencer Davis Group has been together far longer than the original one, and contains such great musicians that it’s a mystery why their profile isn’t higher. The answer is, of course, No Winwood, but Eddie Hardin remains as excellent a replacement as he was in 1967, teasing out the huge Hammond sound to accompany the towering guitar of the evergreen and ever-dexterous Miller Anderson. The genial Colin Hodgkinson on bass gels nicely with the newest member, drummer Stef Porzel, while Spencer … well, he remains Spencer, the catalyst figure, still addicted to life on the road when he could well have been forgiven for slipping into a comfortable retirement. Warmed up by a fantastic London mod trio called The Turn, SDG’s act is the hits and more, of course, with my favourite being Hardin’s reflective interlude “Deep In My Despair”. As they blasted out “Gimme Some Lovin’”, the sweaty R & B atmosphere was probably much as it was when they were playing such subterranean London clubs in the Sixties. How nice to know that some things never change.

The Twang

Joiners Arms, Southampton

March 28 2007

View: Unimpeded

This should have been a lot better. The Twang is the new buzz band – front of the NME after just one single, for goodness’ sake – but there was a surprisingly low-key atmosphere among the mostly male and – whisper it – largely middle-aged audience. The sparse instrumentation and Brum-accented spoken vocals attempt to give a 2-Tone feel but the effect is more The Streets played by Duran Duran. Yes, the dated guitar effects are pure eighties and laughable if we weren’t convinced that these are cool dudes. They aren’t even convinced themselves, with front man Phil Etheridge only waking up two songs before the end and the guitarist and bassist looking terrified throughout. The audience only recognized one song, unsurprisingly the single “Wide Awake”, and there wasn’t much in the set of similar quality. One doesn’t like to be pessimistic, but a long and successful career seems unlikely.

Isle of Wight Festival 2007

The festival started with a tenth-rate Supertramp (The Feeling) and some music for TV ads (Groove Armada). Snow Patrol’s anthems were too squeaky-clean for their headlining slot.

Saturday featured the original IOW troubadour, Donovan. The mass singalong to “Sunshine Superman” suited the mood perfectly. The impressive funk and ska of the charming Amy Winehouse had the whole field jumping. Total fun, as were Wolfmother, who brazenly usurped the approach of the island’s honorary patron saint, Jimi Hendrix.

Ash blew it by trying out new material on an inappropriate occasion, while Kasabian came close to stealing the show with a set of deceptive subtlety. Sadly, this competed directly with the island’s own brilliant Bees. Muse’s preposterous pomp-rock triumphed because of its sheer bravado, the Persil-white Matt Bellamy being second only to Jagger in the showmanship stakes. The plan was to blow the audience away, and it worked.

Sunday was a delightful mish-mash of contrasts. Country Joe followed by Melanie C, anyone? The distressingly bland James Morrison caused mass dozing, but more exciting was cheery Scotsman Paolo Nutini, with his sideways approach, cool image, daft demeanour and willingness to rock. The frantic Fratellis seem to be in a career cul-de-sac like the similar (but better) Supergrass. Keane’s huge singalongs and undeniable quality made them a perfect warm-up for the rock and roll maelstrom that was to follow (see this page).

Wonderful music, great organisation, nice environment; this was one damn good festival.

End Of The Road Festival

Dorset, England

14 – 16 September 2007

Voted Best New Festival of 2006, this year’s End Of The Road reaped the reward with a hugely increased audience and fine weather conditions. Being entirely about music, there are no big stars or egos, as artists jam with each other and pop up for impromptu sessions all over the place. The setting, in the beautiful Larmer Tree Gardens, is surely one of the loveliest festival sites in the world, and the line-up of mainly Americana, indie and folk artists was adventurous and clever.

The most exciting things about EOTR this year were the unexpected surprises. Here are some of the highlights: Jeffrey Lewis’ multi-media show featured wall-to-wall covers of songs by Crass. Dawn Landes concluded her set with a joyful duet with the unbilled Josh Ritter. The good-natured genuineness of blues plucker Charlie Parr succeeded in trumping the less subtle excursions of flavour-of-the-moment Seasick Steve. On a noisier note, the three-piece Charlie Bronson Outfit almost equalled the mad eclecticism of Yo La Tengo, who rampaged between the quietly melodic and the sonically insane. Howe Gelb curated the first day, guesting with every artist he presented, including the crazy but sensational Albini-prouced Scout Niblett, PJ Harvey collaborator John Parish and the magnificently atmospheric Jesse Sykes and the Sweet Hereafter, arguably the best band of the weekend. Howe Gelb’s own set on the main stage featured gorgeous lounge piano excursions. The grooviest, most danceable band of the festival was undoubtedly the Isle of Wight’s Bees, whilst new discoveries included My Brightest Diamond, a Drugstore for the 21^st century, the Flaming Lips-lite of Sweden’s I’m From Barcelona (beaten in the quirkiness stakes by Misty’s Big Adventure), the Proclaimers-like harmony anthems of King Creosote and the ethereal beauty of Midlake, all the way from Denton, Texas. That’s just for starters, and all of them put the bigger names like Super Furry Animals and British Sea Power, both of whom seemed to be over-egging the “professionalism”, in the shade.

EOTR 2007 was a non-stop feast of music with no pretensions and no airs or graces. What a privilege to have been there.

Richard Thompson Band

The Brook, Southampton

9 / 8 / 07

“What a band!” enthuses Richard Thompson at the end of the first song. “What? A band?” adds double-bassist Danny Thompson, sardonically. Yes, it’s rare for RT to tour with a band nowadays, so this sold-out performance was a thrilling way for the Brook to announce that it’s back in business. All the real and would-be guitarists in the audience were in ecstasy, and it’s true that there can’t be a guitar player in the world to match Thompson today, playing all those extraordinary sequences of notes which shouldn’t work, yet are somehow perfect. The emphasis was very much on the new album “Sweet Warrior”, standouts being the Iraq war song “Daddy’s Gonna Kill Me” and the less serious but equally engaging “Too Late To Come Fishing”. There’s something for fans of all aspects of Thomson’s career, from the acoustic whimsy of “Al Bowlly’s In Heaven” to perennial favourite “Vincent Black Lightening 1952”, but he’s always at his best on the twisted electric guitar ballads like “I Still Dream”. The evening climaxed with the irresistible sing-along of “Tear Stained Letter” which turned into a Pete Zorn saxophone wig-out. Thompson is a national treasure and never lets us down.

Joseph Arthur

Talking Heads, Southampton

22 November 2007

Panicking about a PA buzz and adding a six-song encore are all part of the show for Joseph Arthur, whose live performances go on sale in CD form at the end of each gig. A DVD might have been a better idea on this tour though, as his band consists largely of enthusiastic supermodel rock chicks (one of them pricelessly called Sybil), who contrast dramatically with the downbeat, greasy-haired, trilby-hatted image of the man himself. Looking like a younger Richard Ashcroft and sounding like a mixture of Jesse Malin and David Gray, Arthur’s voice is certainly striking, even if the lyrics and some of the song structures are disturbingly AOR in style. The most enjoyable moments, apart from the Stonesy “Diamond Ring” and “Let’s Just Be”, were his solo acoustic efforts and when, for a momentary relief from the onslaught of echo and extended codas, he handed over the vocals to guitarist Kraig Jarret Johnson. The response to the show from the assembled Arthur fans was surprisingly muted, almost as if the intended spirit hadn’t made the journey from stage to audience in the way his solo performances can.

Andy Burrows

Union Chapel, London

28 May 2008

Razorlight drummer Andy Burrows’ charming new charity album “The Colour Of My Dreams” is a charity record in aid of children’s hospice Naomi House.

The full-scale launch of this initially low-key idea came out of left field, elevating Johnny Borrell’s co-writer to a pre-eminent position, yet it is typical that the project is altruistic, self-effacing and unpretentious. It’s a measure of Andy’s popularity among his peers that the Union Chapel’s stage was occupied by the likes of Fyfe Dangerfield (Guillemots), Dom Howard (Muse), Tom Smith (Editors) and the Bluetones’ Mark Morris, whilst the hot dogs were served by Jamie Oliver.

Harmonizing with each of the guests, Andy’s songs came across as concise vignettes with little to do with rock and roll and everything to do with empathy and humanity. He displayed unexpected guitar skills and a voice which makes comparisons with the late Elliott Smith not as unlikely as they may seem. In the “secret” Razorlight finale, even the unfairly maligned Johnny Borrell seemed perfectly content to be playing second fiddle to his mate (and the raffle).

In short, a magic evening.

Johnny Flynn

Railway Inn, Winchester

13 / 5 / 08

Frank Turner, Andy Burrows and now Johnny Flynn: Respectable young gentlemen from Winchester are the cool new thing – who would have thought it? Whoever decided to invest in the young charmer with the folksy vibe, the Prince William good looks and the already faithful following has made a wise move. The age of the multi-instrumentalist is back (Johnny displays skills in guitar, banjo, mandolin, violin and some pretty spectacular trumpet, while sister Lillie looks after flute). Johnny’s songs are wry and lyrically unconventional and he has a pleasingly un-showbiz manner, the only current problem being an over-busy drummer turning almost every song into a shuffle. When he moves to keyboards and the cellist tackles the drums (are you following this?), more open possibilities immediately open up. If you thought “new folk” was a passing fad, the imminent success of Johnny will extend its currency.

Hop Farm Festival

Kent

5 / 7 / 08

Only Rufus Wainwright singing Leonard Cohen’s “Halleluja” could make you feel warm and cosy during a monsoon in Kent. My Morning Jacket’s silken amalgamation of Crosby, Stills and Nash with Lynryd Skynryd was well up to following Rufus, and ideal for this audience. Jim James finished the show as a demented, caped falsetto vampire.

Flatteringly introduced by Steve Lamacq as “a national institution”, Supergrass (who, like everyone else, sacrificed much of their sound to the wind) were their usual selves: tuneful but unexciting. By this time, a serious chill was setting in, so the cockle-warming rock and roll of the ever-reliable Primal Scream was spot-on. They may be old-school but they’ll be cool forever.

Uniquely brilliant and worshipped by all, Neil Young’s lengthy set included a pleasing number of favourites like “Needle and the Damage Done” and “Heart of Gold”. One moment, he’s wrenching out astonishing guitar effects, the next he’s sitting at a pipe organ like a cross between Rick Wakeman and the local parish organist. The jaw-dropping climax consisted of a 25 minute version of “No Hidden Path” with an endless coda that you genuinely didn’t want to stop, followed by a truly mind-blowing take on the Beatles’ “A Day In The Life”.

Apart from the car parking fiasco (organisational incompetence, basically), this was a great day out.

White Denim / Micah P. Hinson

Borderline, London

15/7/08

In this battle of the Texan titans, it was a points victory for the self-effacing flat-capped romantic over the sonic bully-boys. White Denim certainly are impressive, incredible virtuosos rather wasting their talents on screamed rifferama with few hints of a tune. Guitarist and singer James Patralli is obsessed with wah-wah and double-tracking, making the overall effect a cross between the Jesus and Mary Chain, speeded-up Explosions In The Sky and Motorhead. At the end, you felt satisfied with the short set and generally bludgeoned into submission.

The solo Micah, on the other hand, apologized for sounding like Simon and Garfunkel compared to the lush instrumental depth of his “Micah P Hinson and the Red Empire Orchestra” album, but he still held the room spellbound with his quietly emotional songs, sparse yet still full of resonance. It was ironic that, afterwards, his was the performance you remembered.

Ash

Wedgewood Rooms, Portsmouth

4/6/09

It seems like no time since Ash were pipsqueak upstart sixth-formers, yet already their audience consists of paunchy middle-aged blokes like me. They can still innovate though, with their schedule of 26 singles in a year. New songs like “Space Shot”, “True Love 1980” and “Return Of White Rabbit” cleverly spruce up the Ash sound without straying too fear from the traditional template, which is basically just a fine way with a tune. You realize what an amazing back catalogue they have when they can launch their set with the killer double whammy of “Walking Barefoot” and “Girl From Mars”, with Tim Wheeler still looking like a teenager and lanky bassist Mark Hamilton, despite illness, doing his admirable double-jointed stick insect impersonation. Masters of the singalong anthem, songs like “Oh Yeah” and “Shining Light” mark Ash down as the ultimate summer band.

Juliette Lewis

Talking Heads, Southampton, UK

19 / 5 / 09

Five dates into a year-long world tour and Juliette Lewis is already looking the worse for wear, not to mention profoundly scary. The disappointing truth is that she doesn’t sing very well. The last person to perform so consistently flat was Louise Wener of Sleeper, although Louise wouldn’t even have attempted Juliette’s Janis Joplin-style blueswailing on “Hard Lovin’ Woman”. She still puts on an entertaining show, though. With a new band (the New Romantiques) which wouldn’t look or sound out of place in your local pub, she has audience empathy in abundance, leaping into the crowd as often as possible, removing and replacing sunglasses and sparkly veil, leering suggestively and sweating like a waterfall. Featuring a raft of not very tuneful new songs from the Terra Incognita album, it certainly is rock and roll, and the sardine-like crowd does indeed love it.

White Denim

Talking Heads, Southampton

5 / 7 / 09

A pleasingly young audience belied a distinct seventies vibe on this evening, heads shaking and dandruff cascading. Some of us old lags were trying to find a reference point for a noodling power guitar trio like White Denim. Taste? Similar energy but more bluesy. Groundhogs? Similar attitude but a bit more psychedelic. Spirit? That’s more like it. In the figure of bandana-ed guitarist James Petralli there’s even a hint of Randy California.

A White Denim show consists of three “medleys”, in which songs from their albums “Workout Holiday” and “Fits” merge into each other in a bewildering series of time signature changes which keep the head shakers on their toes. In great jazz tradition, there’s strict discipline in the arrangements, leaving room for improvisation between musicians who are impressively attuned to each other. Ugly Betty bassist Steve Terebecki and elaborate drummer Joshua Block are a powerhouse rhythm section very much in the mould of Bruce and Baker, while Petralli yelps enthusiastically in a mix of soul and garage styles.

Sounds unlikely? Well, this band sure is different and it makes for exciting viewing and listening. Whether the general public will become so enthused remains to be seen.

Joe Jackson

Shepherds Bush Empire

2 / 3/ 08

Three songs in, the incongruous sound of “Chinatown” with completely inaudible piano and bass led to fears of the show being slaughtered by the soundman. Luckily Jackson (together with the faithful and fantastic rhythm section of Dave Houghton and Graham Maby) remains one of the most thrilling live performers anywhere in the world. His persona – a strange mixture of lanky, lugubrious, serious and convivial – draws in the crowd and the songs are allowed to blossom in the sparse trio setting. Irresistible oldies like the cold war commentary of “The Obvious Song” and “Stranger Than Fiction” (with the brilliant line “love shows God has a sense of humour”) mingle comfortably with a selection from the new album “Rain”, of which the finest track is the first, “Invisible Man”.

An inspired choice of covers (“Knowing Me Knowing You” – really – and “Scary Monsters – honestly), plus the obligatory climax of “Is She Really Going Out With Him?” and the tear-jerking “Slow Song” insured that victory was indeed wrested from the jaws of disaster.

Jason Lytle

Islington Academy

28 / 5 / 09

What a relief it is for Grandaddy followers that Jason Lytle sounds exactly like his ex-band. He’s on record as saying he was uncomfortable with the sheen of professionalism forced on them by major label status, but with his current band of downbeats, it’s right back to the seat-of-the-pants glory days of early Grandaddy, The only slick item on show was the lengthy and dramatic intro tape, leading into probably one of the lowest-key shows this venue has ever seen. Shoulders hunched, with head down and obscured by the omnipresent cap, Lytle crouches stage right, seemingly joined at the hip with main cohort Rusty Miller. It’s hard to equate the figure with glorious songs like “Yours Truly The Commuter” and “Brand New Sun”, eccentrically glittering gems from his new album. What with the between song backing-track mayhem, the gear all held together with pink gaffa tape, it took a good kicking administered to a recalcitrant synth to finally allow them to splutter into their rapturously-received original greatest hit “AM 180”. Thank goodness there are still a few true rock and roll characters about.

South By South West Festival

Austin, Texas

18 – 22 March 2009

Each year you think sxsw can’t get any better and each year it confounds you. Where else could you wander in the sunshine between the hillbilly folk of Justin Townes Earle and the studded leather jumpsuits of Hot Leg, Justin Hawkins’ post-Darkness parody? If you wanted, you could queue for Metallica or Kanye West, but as usual, the most fun was to be had stumbling on unannounced gems on the fringes. Here you could find the two drummers of a crazed And You Will Know Us By The Trail Of Dead being outgunned by the five bass guitars of Shout Out Out Out Out in the multiple instrument stakes, or the pomp of the Decemberists being outclassed by the sublime shoegazing of Shearwater.

Ah, Shearwater. They made me fear the alcohol had finally taken too much of a toll on me. Having heard their late-night performance at the plushy Hilton Garden Inn, I walked the next morning the hour and a half to the Mean Eyed Cat, to find them in the middle of performing the same (very good) show to a different audience. Talk about Groundhog Day.

AUK readers are well aware of Toronto’s Six Shooter Records and their artists. Equally legendary is the Tequila-drenched annual afternoon hootenanny they host at Headhunters Club, where their artists, hung-over but still buzzing from their label showcase the night before, play short sets of their favourite songs. The likes of Luke Doucet, Melissa McClelland and NQ Arbuckle spread the fun around. The previous evening, Elliott Brood had issued the audience with baking trays and wooden spoons, creating percussion mayhem.

Other oddities were the surreal experience of Bauhaus goth hero Pete Murphy, complete with uncool bald patch and eccentric speechmaking. In a similar vein, the Blue Aeroplanes’ Gerard Langley was reading his lyrics from a printed crib-sheet, much like a politician with an autocue. Portland’s Peter Broderick is the first virtuoso of the saw since Mercury Rev’s Jonathan Donahue. And of course, there were the inevitable disappointments. I waked miles to catch current vogue bands The Soft Pack, Black Lips and Delta Spirit, and all of them were nondescript.

Selecting highlights is tough, but here goes. Best new discovery: Copenhagen’s Asteroids Galaxy Tour, who have charm, beauty, cool pop songs and funky horns. Most exciting moment: nearly being asphyxiated in the moshpit for a gloriously decadent Primal Scream in a venue the size of a matchbox. Most moving music: A massively hung-over Jason Lytle making his post-Grandaddy comeback at the Mohawk Patio at Saturday lunchtime. Best show: A knockout blow by PJ Harvey and John Parish, completely flattening the capacity crowd at Stubbs, previously baffled by a washed-up Razorlight.

Now surely sxsw 2010 can’t get any better?

The Asteroids Galaxy Tour

Luminaire, London

15 / 5 / 09

The likes of Little Boots and Lady Ga Ga had better watch out, because in the pulchritude stakes, they are about to be obliterated by the extraordinary Mette Lindberg. Copenhagen’s finest ever band have the lot: funky horns providing Stax riffs, some pleasingly catchy and irresistibly danceable songs and the knockout blow of a riveting visual and vocal presence. Mette can warble Bjork-like but doesn’t over-do it, instead sweetly avoiding Mariah Carey-style woah woahs in favout of brief and punchy ohs and heys. It’s unique and totally charming. Nominally a duo of Mette and Lars Iversen, live, the band is a nicely analogue six-piece collective with an eccentric dress sense. Among a treasure trove of songs, “Push The Envelope” and the iPod commercial, “Around The Bend” are that rare phenomenon, tunes that you go home singing after just one hearing. This Tour truly is heading for the stars.

PJ Harvey and John Parish

Bridport Arts Centre

12 / 3 / 09

Among family and friends in this quaint converted chapel is the traditional point of departure for all PJ Harvey world tours. Addressing the wardrobe issues caused by her belted shroud with good humour, Polly was on sparkling form, safely surrounded by some of the world’s most outstanding musicians. Sporting more trilbies and mafia suits than a Leonard Cohen convention, John Parish and his colleagues helped Polly to take flight on almost all the new album and, pleasingly, a good chunk of 1996’s Dance Hall At Louse Point as well. Extraordinary variety was the keynote, from the gentle falsetto of “Leaving California” to the expletive-laden lunacy of “A Woman A Man Walked By” and the genuinely barking “Pig Will Not” (yes, she barks). Particularly exciting was the revival of fantastic older songs like the lugubrious “Rope Bridge Crossing” (one of this duo’s finest hours) and “Circles Around The Sun”, but most thrilling of all was the confirmation that music of this outstanding quality can still command a large and enthusiastic audience. A satisfying triumph all round.