It feels like the fucking underground around here sometimes, I can tell you…
No one fucking bothered telling me Brooklyn’s Coachwhips were playing at the Free Butt a few nights ago: a turbulent, fiery, convulsive, frantic mess of abrasion and discarded Billy Childish riffs. They’d have warmed these cold winter nights up, venue steamed and choking. As a poster to the Plan B message board has it, “Like The Monks fronted by some deranged Fifties TV newscaster and had the energy of Jon Spencer at least eight years ago.” Apparently, there had been announcements made here on site, but I’m too myopic to spot it. Jesus, but I’m a wanker sometimes.

I wrote the above as part of my regular column, but I got an email back saying the editor had cut it, explaining that Coachwhips are Californian rich kid tossers and should be starved of the oxygen of publicity. I’m not passing judgement. Just throwing the two viewpoints up side by side.