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The Mules / Last Man Standing / Smoke Fairies
London, the Borderline
Article written by
Paul M - Sep 22, 2008
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The characters are out in force at the home of Americana in London’s West End with Stetsons scattered around, and one old fella with a pipe and trilby could pass as Billy Childish’s barking uncle. And I don’t recall ever going to a gig before where someone is wandering around sketching the acts into a small jotter pad. However fascinating though this motley collection of oddballs is, they couldn’t divert attention away for long from attraction of two young girls on the stage performing the most mesmerising Mississippi swamp blues.
Smoke Fairies
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No bass, no keyboards and the only percussion is the deliberate clip clopping rhythm of their boot heels but the Smoke Fairies make up for the lack of accompaniment with their highly skilled guitar picking and haunting vocals. They are joined about half way through by Neil of Firework Night on viola, a development that sees them become a tad less melancholic, delivering a stripped back form of chamber pop. With such a stark sound, half an hour is probably about as much as I can take but it’s a well spent thirty minutes, wallowing in their brooding brilliance.
The Last Man Standing album currently fills the pound buckets of London’s Music & Video Exchanges and looking at them now on stage I can see why they are unlikely to be picked up by many as the future of rock n roll. The pensioner playing drums looks like Humphrey Littleton, the keyboardist has ridiculous oversized shades and the American frontman has a long tousled perm, chiselled goatee beard and a loud suit. A seven piece, they’re a ragbag of ages and fashion and their sound reflects this; a mishmash of styles, with boogie blues, rock, gypsy punk and soul chucked into the lukewarm pot. While they’re clearly all very competent musicians and I’ve seen a lot worse than these in my time, the overblown nature of too many of the songs and the lack of originality mean that you can’t help but think they are only one step above a pub band. Still, one track, a ska stomper titled Landlady makes up for the rest of their set and I will no doubt be seeking out that one, and that one only, on iTunes.
The Mules
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The Mules’ performance is also eclectic, but in a good way. They cheerily skip between bluegrass hillbilly, indie, rockabilly and art-punk, motored on by the frantic clipped drumming vocalist, Ed. He’s a captivating frontman, his slight skinny frame not obviously suited to the Herculean effort required to perform both roles at the same time with his slicked black hair surfing forward like waves on a Cornish shore. A lot of the songs are relatively new but I pick out the glorious feral snarl of Polly O and enjoy them immensely. It’s the blues that link the three bands but I feel uplifted rather than despondent as I disappear into the night.
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