The start of our pressing interrogation of sound and the space around it. The nods and the glances between us, the blinks and winks, as we search for a kind of musical neutral buoyancy, where we become immersed in the current that pushes our wave of noise towards the audience.…

Bloody hell this band is tight. Tight like the rivets on a supersonic rocket ship. Tight like the barrel that the old crazy lady went over Niagara Falls in, tumbling through the tumult to emerge shaken but smiling.…

This Icelandic saga played out in the music weeklies throughout the spring and summer of last year. A gripping tale of escape, exile, brotherhood and betrayal, like Puzo with puffins.…

This is a winning fruit-machine set. Three cherries every time Puerto Rican band leader Carlos Alomar counts them in: ‘Golden Years’, ‘Fashion’, ‘Let’s Dance’, ‘Life On Mars’ and ‘Sorrow’. And that’s just the first half-an-hour.…

The stage here is very high indeed - anyone planning a fan invasion will need rope and crampons. It sits imperiously above the stalls like an Aztec temple. Appropriately enough, as three and a half thousand Scots scream their approbation, ready to sacrifice themselves to the metal gods.…

This line-up’s spiritual home is Club Left, an evening of “cool bop and swing” that runs at the Whisky-a-Go-Go in London’s Soho. I’ve read about Club Left in the NME. It appears to revolve around wearing dickie bows and listening to old Bobby Darin records.…