Sticky Mike’s Frog Bar is a terrible gig venue. The name changed recently from The Jam. The change of name has made it no less shit. Shit, I tell you!
Jeffrey Lewis and the Junkyard was sold out. This is a really sucky situation at Sticky Mike’s. The first four rows were filled with tall people. Is big hair in now, or what? By the time I arrived, punter positions with any kind of view were being defended to the death. As Jeffrey noted, only the first two rows could see more than a fragment of face. The rest of us could simply hope for an extreme event, which might lead to a full line of sight. I didn’t have my machine gun with me. Without putting anyone’s nose out, I managed a third row position at the very far edge of the stage. This, for Madame Fabpants, is poor. Poor, poor, poor.
The man blocking much of my view didn’t even know who Jeffrey was. Annoyingly, he took the role of a loud commentator at a curiosity fayre. Every time he turned to his friend, to share yet another banal observation, his mouth sat just in front of my face. Ya boo. It may have been a pretty mouth, but the sound that came out ruined my general auditory experience. Boy, I'm such a grouch!
Feet ahead maintained a defensive position throughout. No one brought their crowd dispersing weaponry. The line of sight never improved. A mid-height gal, like me, could merely crane for more than a head shot. On occasion, I glimpsed a travel battered guitar. It was worth it. For the band told a tale of failing - for the first time - to sneak the guitar, and all its stickers, onto an aircraft cabin and the inevitable injury that followed. The hold is no place for guitars, bikes or anything that isn’t rock hard or fabric.
Jeffrey looked like a man who had been out of touch with the Western world for a while. Yeah, he often looks a bit that way, but there are extremes. A tour of dice dens, where no one knows who the hell you are, and the songs say nothing to them about their lives, will do that. The Royal Pavilion dictates that all tours of the Far East should include Brighton. China, South Korea, Brighton, then home. It worked out beautifully for us.
Jeffrey was so very pleased to be back with his fans, he was on cracking form. For the most part, the shit tunes, where Jeffrey does the ‘band thing’ with Jack, were out. When Jack tried to get Jeffrey to stop his storytelling (leave it alone Jack!), Jeffrey just continued. And uncurtailed, our man from the East (side) drifted into playing a couple of ancient songs he made up with a Korean chap, with Korean words to boot. They were a delight to behold. After trying to put the brakes on, Jack realised the wires had been cut, and – for me – this is perfect. I like Jeffrey Lewis in unadulterated wandering minstrel form. That’s why I usually prefer his solo gigs.
I have a feeling, the album out in October, A Turn In The Dream-Songs, could be Jeffrey’s best since 2003. I have high hopes. A couple of the songs sounded truly great live. The new tracks played, that I can recall, include ‘Time Trades’ (an inspiring call to make the best of your life), ‘Cult Boyfriend’ (a charming song informing us that Jeff is amazing to a few girls, but not many), ‘Mosquito’ (a silly song evidently inspired by fighting off a lot of mosquitoes), ‘Water Leaking, Water Moving’ (yeah, water does that, and Jeffrey has taken note).
The band opened with White Riot, just after the UK riots, with no commentary to explain the obvious link, and rolled straight into the excellent Cult Boyfriend. I loved the medley of new and old, I revelled in the diversions and the even the covers were charming. Jeffrey was so surprised to be called on for encore; he played an extra handful of old favourites to see us home. Shoot the head, kill the ghoul. Yeah. I’m gonna shoot some heads if I ever have the misfortune to see another great act at Sticky Mike’s.
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If you didn’t know that Jeffrey is also a comic book creator, check out this video combination:
