Song, by Toad

[I actually managed to drag Mrs. Toad along to a gig at long last and guess what? She loved it! So I thought it only polite to leave you in the skilled hands (snigger) of my sparkling jewel, the bright star at the centre of my universe, the lush, the lovely Mrs. Toad for this particular review. Good luck, one and all.]

The pattern of Mr Toad’s life involves many excursions to gigland but I, Mrs Toad, very rarely join him. Why? I guess its partly due to the protocols of gig going, the toe tapping and earnest head nodding amongst the serried ranks. The seriousness with which people seem to take it is rather off putting, not least because the same degree of interested reverence is accorded across the board. The sign of an exceptional gig appears to be a bit of rather self conscious dancing breaking out but it seems like they’ll still stand and toe tap for any old shite where I’d head to the bar and get leathered instead. The Edinburgh public are a terribly, terribly polite bunch. Also, many small gigs tend to have terrible sound. As an unimaginative soul, I reckon that its preferable to sit at home listening to a CD rather than trying to ignore an over strident guitar, muffled vocals and drums that feel like someone is actually hitting you on the head with the ruddy sticks.

So you get the picture, I’m a lazy misanthropic old cow with unfeasibly high expectations. Mr Toad usually leaves me at home after a half-hearted attempt to persuade me join him. So it was with mixed feelings that I slapped on some eyeliner and dragged my carcass to Henry’s Cellar Bar on Saturday. And I had an absolutely great time.

The evening started with a rather novel and enjoyable reinterpretation of Rabbie Burns via Iggy Pop which, more than any evening spent chanting over a flaming haggis gave me the understanding that Rabbie “My love is like a red, red, rose” Burns may not have been such a mawkish, sappy old cunt after all. And I say cunt with some relish because I’m sure that Rabbie , scribe of “Nine Inch Will Please a Lady” was quite fond of the word too.

This was followed by a set by Euonia. I ermm… headed to the bar to get leathered during this one folks. I’m afraid that it just wasn’t my cup of tea. Imagine a short version of a prog rock guitar extravaganza and you’ll get the idea. Everything comes around twice but some things are more welcome than others. Despite a youthful flirtation with Pink Floyd, I can’t get on the end of stuff like this. The chaps beat the shit out of their guitars with some skill and I am usually a sucker for big bastard guitars but the overall concept of instrumental guitar strikes me as a tad self indulgent. Of course, they may be at the bleeding edge of rock for all I know. I’m getting on for an old fart and I once owned a Wet Wet Wet album (please your honour, I was only 12).

Duly oiled, I took my place for the Low Miffs set. Earlier, Mr Toad had stopped to chat with the lead singer, Leo, who struck me as a quiet laid back sort of chap. As soon as he hit the stage though, he was transformed. Cocky, brazen and strutting, he eyes the crowd with a distinctly arrogant eye as the band pile through their thrillingly catchy repertoire. Inciting, pouting and posing, dark of hair and slight of build; imagine Al Pacino does frontman and you get the persona. Now, some would find this irritating but I’m firmly in the school that believe rock stars should be throwing tellies from windows and driving Rolls Royces into swimming pools rather than crying on Oprah and eating trail mix, so I heartily approve of a bit of showboating.

This was the sort of guitar music that does float the Mrs Toad boat: fast, aggressive and perfectly coordinated (the band have bass, two rhythm and Tom on lead guitar and occasional sax).  With the many sudden changes of pace, the drummer made a difficult job look easy and kept his artfully arranged floppy hair in place in a manner that the immaculate Charlie Watts would heartily approve of. The songs are fluid, arch and sardonic. The vocals are inventively and flawlessly delivered. Even the playful guitar battle between the band as the set drew to a close was executed with perfection. In fact, I could imagine that those who prefer their gigs rough around the edges might find the Low Miffs too polished. For this misanthropic old cow however, they were peerless.

The Low Miffs – Cressida[audio http://www.matthewjamesyoung.com/sbt/TheLowMiffs-Cressida.mp3]
The Low Miffs – Also Sprach Vic Galloway (A version of Also Sprach Shareholder performed live on the Vic Galloway show, complete with excellent monologue in the middle.)[audio http://www.matthewjamesyoung.com/sbt/TheLowMiffs-AlsoSprachVicGalloway.mp3]

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