Concerts are rarely as you’d like them to be. Usually, long periods of tedium are followed by virulent blasts of noise, songs half-formulated by bands (musicians) who seem to take a pride in the fact they have no idea on either presentation or content (much like a Comet store). Cigarette smoke stings your eyes: boorish conversation assails your ears. You don’t feel like talking to anyone much, unless you’re so drunk that you have no memory of what you talked about the next day.

Last night at the Free Butt was near perfection for me. Three bands that played to their strengths, and retained enough individuality to hold attention.

Misty’s Big Adventure - such a delirious, devilish maelstrom of chunky ska rhythms and off-mic vocals, clever (but not annoying) and soulful words, a voice that fucking Franz Ferdinand could do better than lift wholesale, laughter and banter and a gimp dressed in a clown suit, 50 blue hands stitched to his body, trumpets and keyboards and egg whisks all competing for our unabashed admiration. The smiles on everyone watching! The “can you believe what we’re seeing” looks everyone was giving everyone else. Monster Bobby, the man behind The Pipettes (currently Brighton’s finest live act, lest we forget) turned to me in the loo, and said “This is exactly what I wanted to do with The Pipettes, only far better - those 50s girl harmonies, the brass, the songs!” Ah man, they were a sheer delight: afterwards, everyone wandered around as if stoned on the most exquisite weed, offering to record others for free, sharing future dates, buying singles for friends, discussing Jon Slade’s sleeping arrangements… My guitarist Kelly offered up Scissor Sisters as a comparison (minus the Elton John tag, of course) and I made a mental note to quit dismissing all chart stuff out of hand, and check them out.

Magoo had enflamed harmonies, songs that veered between full-on Jam thrust and pull, and sweeping Mercury Rev grandeur - tormented by break-up and helplessness, bolstered by isolation. One member told me the secret password beforehand, and was rewarded with smiles and a free magazine. The singer remarked afterwards that The Legend! reminded him of Robert Wyatt in a lower register and I remarked back that Neil Kulkarni has also made that comparison (which delights me), and he remarked back that Neil wrote a review of Magoo years back that made him walk round with a massive smile for weeks afterwards.

Also, a mum of one of the musicians seated next to me on the couch said she enjoyed The Legend!’s set (Gareth from Misty’s was delighted at our cover of one of his songs, despite its five-second brevity, as that was a first) - because it sounded like someone had just stumbled in from the street and got up on stage and started singing. She hoped I wasn’t offended. Offended???

I was totally made up.
And all this without alcohol.