I’ve just got back from Derby, where I had a lovely time with Sarah, SwissToni and our VERY SPECIAL GUEST Gordon while watching Ungdomskulen rock The Royal. I’d have had an even lovelier time, had I not been suffering the ravages of what seemed on the surface like a perfectly civilised night in the pub on Thursday. Since when did three and a half pints of weak-ish ale, and seven hours of sleep, become such a direct threat to my physical well-being? Then again, the vast majority of my midweek nights out these days are to review gigs, where I stick – almost superstitiously – to my standard quota of two pints of lager. (As someone remarked on ILM the other week, is gig reviewing the last acceptable bastion of drinking on the job?)
Anyhow, it was great to meet Lovely Gordon in the flesh after so many years of online friendship. As I had hoped, the band were very much His Sort Of Thing – heavier than last time, the rest of us thought – and indeed most of us came away with CDs in our pockets. Although I had tried to rein in the pointy-fingered dancing – instead favouring a light percussive fingering on the side of my glass – it was to no avail, as the drummer’s first comment to me was “I saw you dancing”. Well, where’s the shame in that?
Before I go, might I be permitted to alert you to my latest feature for The Guardian’s Friday Film and Music section? In the wake of this week’s shock Sugababes shenanigans, I’ve cast my eye over the peculiar phenomenon of groups who continue working, despite containing no members of their original line-ups. It’s a bit stats-nerdy, but then so am I. Hope you like it.