Gig Review - The Junipers/John Stammers, The Deaf Institute, Manchester

Okay. There were more bands on last night... but being the half baked idiot that I am, I completely missed 'em. Thanks to a combination of drinking and fawning. Instead of promoting the 'you really should see every band on a line-up because that's the right thing to do', I simply watched the two acts that demanded that I leave the house for once, and those people were The Junipers and John Stammers.

Leaving the house on a confusingly pleasant evening, I met up with the super cool people also bracing themselves for quite possibly the greatest gig Manchester will see this year, and sat down in the sumptuous surroundings of The Deaf Institute near the BBC in Manchester. Expectations were high as The Junipers' 'Cut Your Key' LP has now become firmly lodged in my psyche as The Best Debut Album Ever Made. Also, I'd seen John Stammers on numerous occasions and he's always cookin' with the good stuff. Metaphorically, my pen hovered for dishing up a kicking...

You see, I'm one of those annoying brain donors who likes to show that I'm offering no favours by being needlessly mean and justifying it with 'I trust my readers too much to peddle crap their way'. However, last night was all about succumbing to the amazing music on offer, and boy, it was more than work it. Y'see, like many (I suspect), when the sun comes out, my tastes in music change. Summer brings out my pastoral, playful side, as opposed to demanding fuzz guitar kicks and people getting up in the faces of the crowd. John Stammers (and his live band) and The Junipers were the perfect soundtrack to the big ol' sun coming out, and my subsequent sunny state.

I caught up with The Junipers before they played their set and talked about the review I'd done, as well as covering should varied topics as Harold Shipman, Mark Wirtz's 'Grocer Jack', recording techniques (Jeez, I can be one dull fugger), knee-high fur trimmed boots and nerves. The Junipers are clearly a buncha misfit who source crude power from nervous energy and talkin' complete nonsense. As a result, I like this band more and more by the second. After some more chat, they ambled on-stage, and for a second, I completely forgot why I was there. From being these lads snorting with laughter and taking the piss outta each other, they transformed into the psychedelic council of toy town.

With the LP being such a rich weave of sounds, it seemed unlikely that they would be able to recreate with five musicians. However, somehow they did. All striking impressive figures on-stage, they summoned some false God, right there in the room. It stopped being a fun night out into something more other-worldly and trippy. Three part harmonies shimmered over delicate acoustic, while the keys, bass and drums provided solid psychedelic pop sounds, that left me feeling a bit pointless. I mean, man, I'm jus' some bozo who likes music... these people are music... and not jus' any ol' tat. The Junipers are the best band on the planet right now. I even stood up at the close of their final song to shout it to everyone in a foolish fit of peak. They look good and sound even better. The talkers at the gig will be sorry they didn't pay more attention.

So, after reeling around on the floor a while, on came Manchester's Number One Troudabour, John Stammers. Now, Mr Stammers has gone through more line-up changes than the Spinal Tap drumstool. This latest band of bruthas and one sista, we assembled for the recording of his debut LP. If this was an experiment, then man, it was one that worked. Not that the band would ever let on. Mellow and self deprecating, shrugs of shoulder and mumbled half sentences tried to tell all that they were jus' going through the motions and, y'know, 'nuthin' to see here...

Sadly for them, if they didn't really want the attention, they shouldn't provide staggering music that saw the talkers humbled into silent reverie and everyone else either drooling or wondering where the hell their jaws had gotten to. Beautiful lilting songs rolled high, with beautiful phrasing and heartache pedal steel and cello. Keeping things funky fresh was some seriously elastic bass and skittering jazz drums. Man, this was the sound of real, innovative, proper, folk-jazz-blues. I swear down that the ghost of Tim Buckley hovered over them during the final song to give them a coupla thumbs up... but the band never noticed... just heads down and quietly getting on with business. What business? The business of making beautifully bruised music to melt your heart and put a big stupid smile on your face. When John Stammers gets his debut out, the world better be ready.