Pray for the people inside your head...

'Cause they won't be there when you're dead' sings Johnny Flynn last night, reminding me of a Channel 4 show back in the early 90s on a Sunday morning that characterised all the body's functions with little people. I remember in particular the white blood cells; these were hard nut bouncer type guys battling germs with laser guns. Methinks Johnny may have seen the same show, either that or more likely it’s a metaphor for all the voices in our minds? You decide...

The ICA last night was packed full of city dwelling folk types, each one likely a musician themselves watched in awe as dedicated all round talent Johnny Flynn told a few well crafted witty stories that have more in common with 'ye olde London' than the multicultural sprawling architectural web of tourism that it is today. Commanding rapturous applause, Flynn looked a little surprised at this fairly mature audience who had shown up in force to witness what the press are calling a 'dreamboat' perform with his band The Sussex Wit. With shouts of 'Johnny Johnny,' and lustful glances from dark fringed spindly girls, the night did at moments feel like it was to descend into a scene from 'Skins,' but with Johnny at the reigns it held well & true in the folksy realm, pulling on a variety of musical styles & instruments, that joyfully avoided the electronic squabbles of the florescent trend setters today.

It's fantastic to see new folk on such a populist scale that suggests, with groups like Fleet Foxes already being touted as your 'new favourite band,' 2008 really is going to be the year where traditional music re-enters the vernacular. Even Laura Marling was in attendance, you should have been there...

Dig Yourself!

Crowning a short residency at the Hammersmith Apollo, Nick Cave man of many talents swaggered, leaped and shook his fist like a true caveman curses daylight for dying last night.

Hocking up words like a jive orator, all pivot hipped & handle barred moustache, Cave called upon confession after confession as Warren Ellis, bearded supremo to his right, did things with gorgeous violins that’d make a classicist weep. Ellis thrashed around the floor trying to dig his way back to hell whilst Cave yelled ‘Prolix, Prolix nothing a pair of scissors can’t fix!” during the intense literary screaming’s of ‘We call upon the author.’ The whole thing made we want to flap my limbs around like Brains in the new Drenched advert, Cave makes contemporary dance look easy.

‘Red right hand’ drew particular arousal from the crowd as the first bell chimed and Cave, a tall dark stranger himself on the edge of London town, pulled from a dark dusted suit, a red right hand and come the second encore must’ve shot a glance to the bad seeds and known, “this town is mine.”