It's about god damned time Creedence got some love around here.
Sunday night in the Scala saw a lopsided line-up that nonetheless held plenty of promise for the discerning music lover. Howlin' Rain and Sunburned Hand of the Man have a lot of sun-soaked van-driving West Coast hippy pot smoke synergy going on, but between these two hairy jams someone decided to slot Damon and Naomi, who managed to sound utterly woeful as well as generally out-of-place. I'd dragged my missus along to the gig thinking she might like D+N, but their mawkish wailing was too much even for her oestrogen-addled sensibilities. If we ignore that unfortunate interruption, though, Sunday was a night of uninterrupted old-fashioned rock'n'roll good times, the sort we don't see nearly enough of these days. What's more, in my opinion this particular set of old-fashioned rock'n'roll good times wasn't seen by nearly enough people. The audience was lively, especially for a London crowd, but the assembled check-shirt-and-beard-wearing groovers barely filled half of the Scala. That means that fully half of the venue was made up of empty space, space which could be filled by kids getting an education in ROCK. Rock as it used to be, back in the good old days when it was reasonably common for a band to spend more time writing their songs than choosing their shoes. I can just see the little tykes now: "What's that ballsy raspy hollering noise, mister? Is that… singing? Really? And that weedly-weedly-wee sound? My goodness, that's guitar! Lead guitar! I remember now! This is what awesome sounds like!" Yes Timmy, this is what awesome sounds like. Howlin' Rain's love for Creedence Clearwater Revival shines thorough so clearly that when they take the stage you can almost smell the decades-old stale dust 'n' pot aroma of those vintage LP sleeves. Throw in a heapin' helpin' of the Band, ZZ Top, Steve Miller and even a little Led Zep, top the whole AM-tastic mix off with oh-so-funky slap bass and a smattering of psych fuzz, and you've got a one-band primer on everything that rules about 70s rock. Your dad loves this band. He also loves Grinderman and Tom Waits, and if only he'd kicked your arse once in a while maybe you'd realise how shit the Klaxons are. If there's any justice in the world, next time Howlin' Rain are in town they'll be playing Wembley.
