Crispy Nurse

Our heroine arrived on stage in a rather fetching brown velour v-neck and white combats combo. The blokes were all wearing hats. In a kind of cultural exchange, the English one was in a baseball cap and the Americans sported Last of the Summer Wine flat caps. The women were unadorned by head gear, but the fiddler had quite a line in stripey jumpers and unfeasibly tight jeans.

No, this is not Maurice's Fashion Hour, but the first gig of the year: Kristin Hersh at the Arts Theatre in the Big Smoke. The band consisted of "pretty much" 50 Foot Wave (bass, drums & Kristin) and British-based duo, "pretty much" The McCarricks (violin & cello). But before all that; we arrived with plenty of time for booze, doughy pizza and a touch of record shopping. When we got to the venue I managed to flog a spare ticket to a nice, quiet man, and luckily not to the loud, curly, annoying one who came bounding up, too late, all flailing arms and wide open mouth.

The McCarricks took to the stage in their matching converse trainers and proceeded to sit down in front of a large video screen. The room fell silent as the sense of anticipation rose. Images of disembodied feet, strangers in bunny masks, freaky contortionists and many more fever dreams flashed across the backdrop, as they furiously bowed at their instruments. A slight nagging headache and the early stages of drunkenness helped to induce a trance-like state, so by the end of it I was very dizzy, quite dribbly and more than a little satisfied.

Then, interval! Run to the bar, buy McCarricks CD, try and buy drink. Huge queue, barmy barmaid decides cleaning a skipping CD that no one can hear is more important than serving drinks. Bell rings, seats must be taken, but drinks must be bought and bladders must be emptied. Drinks finally in hand, hands are less plentiful than one would like in order to release fluids successfully without tainting aforementioned newly acquired drinks. Ahhhhhhhh. That's better. Quick, she's on!

Miss Hersh played her forthcoming new album in its entirety, and bloody good it is too, judging by this concert. In Shock and Under the Gun (about a crazy lady, apparently) were my favourites of the night. Then they pretended to say goodbye and buggered off, but we knew they'd be back, and they were. All except bassist Bernard, pronounced berNARD rather than the presumably less cool BERnard (I'm a prostitute robot from the future), who seemed to disappear into thin smoke. He took his time coming back on, but managed it just before it was all over and the mad stampede to the stage began in order to purchase musical treaty souvenirs.


Currently listening: 3 by The McCarricks