Thursday 04/08/05 Acoustic Ladyland, Bidgie Reef and The Gas @ The Barfly, Liverpool

Is that really Jack Duckworth up there on stage with his band of suited and goatee-d jazz-nuts, belting out an overblown epic, lamenting the death of his favourite racing pigeon (probably)?  Ah, on closer inspection, no – this is Bidgie Reef and The Gas. It’s a strange yet refreshing experience – an oddball keyboardist eyeballing the crowd like the guy from Sparks, an average age that’s pushing the half-century and a selection of cuts that spans from Blockhead-like rants to vocal-led drum ‘n’ bass.  It’s fair to say that they’ve taken everybody here by surprise, though yet more surprising is the fact that it’s actually quite good – it’s as if someone has let Hard-Fi’s dads loose in their son’s studio with nothing but Ray Davies and Roni Size records for inspiration.  Bizarre? Yes; but very entertaining with it.         

 

Suitably disorientated by Bidgie Reef, this swelling, diverse crowd are well-primed for the assault on the senses that is Acoustic Ladyland. Containing three members of Mercury-shortlisted Polar Bear, including a former BBC Young Jazz Musician of the Year, it’s hard not to look at these facts and think of the horrible words ‘cross-over’ – words that put Gigwise in mind of stalagmite-headed violin mauler Nigel Kennedy and countless other ‘serious’ musicians who chose to ditch dignity in a desperate bid to be accepted by the mainstream. The difference here is Acoustic Ladyland don’t even see themselves a jazz combo (“I don’t know what we are… punk?  Jazz?  I haven’t got a clue!” keyboardist Tom Cawley tells Gigwise after the gig), instead taking a punk aesthetic and twisting it up with improvised abandon. This is all very rock ’n’ roll stuff – saxophonist Pete Wareham leads his Oxfam formal-clad band like Hendrix did his Experience through very familiar riffs (‘Trial and Error’ is a wonderfully-warped take on Kings of Leon), call-and-response-style primal 12-bar (‘Iggy’) and ****ed-up speed-freak rock-outs (‘Ludwig Van Ramone’). It’s where The Stooges meets Zappa, or Primal Scream meets Bitch’s Brew, and it’s a pretty heavy place to be. Crucially though, they blast away any cynicism and hit us with a thrashy, funky sound that banishes the ghosts of Kennedy and other imposters who would have us believe they are punks at heart. And, not once did we feel the urge nor the need to say, in our best ‘Jazz Club’ drawl, “Niiiice…”.