Life has been a maelstrom recently, so when I saw that Jerry Thackray a.k.a. Everett True was playing at The Lexington, I dropped him a line and drifted through the rain till I found myself there at 8.30.
It was Scout Niblett's gig really, but The Legend Band (Jerry, Scout and Steven Gullick) were the support act and I couldn't miss the opportunity to see them.
Effects pedals were laid out on the floor like technological children's train sets. I mused on Fuzzboxes, and wondered if it was time we had one called the Dickhead. I thought about the band Fuzzbox, and wondered if Kenickie were a sly response to them.
I wondered if people apart from Geordies knew what kenickies actually are.
Jerry strolled on to the stage with three bottles of water and chatted to Steven; soon Scout joined them, and the twin guitars started up as Jerry verbally riffed on the song Bye and Bye. 'I wish someone had told me that pigs could fly', he sang, intoned and muttered, ideas spilling from his brain direct to the microphone and out to the crowd who soaked them up thirstily.
'The next song will sound just like that one, and so will the one after that. Reinforcement: that's how children learn', announced Jerry.
But he was fibbing; the next song, Sleep School, was entirely different. 'Why go to night school when you can live through the day?'. I'd never thought of that. Damn.
A dark lullaby, the guitar backing built up to a drone with the use of an eBow held over Steven's guitar strings, taking over from the iPhone that had been processing the signal for the first song. Scout held the song together with sliding, rhythmic bar chord work; the two Fender Jaguars complemented each other perfectly by providing a tangled backing for Jerry's unravelling, dystopian narrative.
The next song incited Vincent Gallo to f*ck Jerry's mother, Jerry's sister... Jerry wants to BE Vincent Gallo! The Pablo-Picasso riff thundered in the background and I puzzled over Vincent Gallo's mysterious appeal. Hmmm.
The set came in to land with a reprise of Bye and Bye and the audience gave them a rousing round of applause.
I can't think of a better way to have spent Friday evening. The emotional pendulum swung between despair and humour; the bond between the three performers was obvious and touching. I loved the informality.
Oddly, Ivor Cutler turned up on my randomised iPlayer this afternoon when I was making Fender Telecaster shaped cheese straws (disastrous exercise: don't ask). It was followed by Ding Dong Merrily On High sung by some choir or other, and the juxtaposition took me straight back to the gig.