The Sand Pebbles do to West Coast surf psychedelia what Radio Birdman did to late 60s Motor City punk: namely identify and communicate the essence of the genre with an unassailable sense of rigour and discipline.
The band began their set tonight as a four-piece. Drummer Piet Collins' absence (apparently due to a car accident en route to the gig, rather than any inherent drummer unreliability) accentuated the role that Chris Hollows' relentless, and more than just a little funky, bass plays in providing the foundation for the band's contemporary psych excursions. Even without a drummer, the sound was robust and cohesive.
Guitarist Ben Michael X looks somewhere between John Belushi and Robbie Krieger. Fortunately he displays none of Belushi's madness, but a healthy dose of Krieger's guitar work, most notably in Ripple (which, live, takes the essence of the studio version and magnifies it a thousand fold). Murray Ono's keyboard runs jumped to the fore during '1000 Flowers' like the programmed synthesiser in 'Won't Get Fooled Again'. Andrew Tanner's vocals sprinkle neatly across the top of the music, occasionally producing a genuine West Coast moment that the Beach Boys would even salute.
The only thing wrong with the Sand Pebbles' set tonight was its brevity. We could have spent another hour watching the band blur in and out of focus, but alas after the 12-inute engaging meander through Black Sun Ensemble, the band exited the stage promptly, leaving us hungry for more.

Black Cab came on stage to a visual backdrop of Gimme Shelter, signalling the beginning of the Altamont Diary soundtrack. Gimme Shelter itself is a tragic tale of hate superceding love; Black Cab manage to take the black moment of Altamont and extract from it every last drop of intelligent pop.
A punter (who I'd not met before Saturday night) muttered something about a (musical) resemblance to Tears for Fears early in the set, which was such a left-field call that I struggled to shake it for the rest of the night. Apart from Richard Andrew's possibly foppish haircut, there wasn't much 80s synth pop you could pin on Black Cab. But there was plenty of Jesus and Mary Chain and Echo and the Bunnymen intensity, and the vocal posturing blended Chris Wilson, Jim Morrison and Ian Curtis. As a special bonus we got a brutal cover of the brutal Stooges' Loose, before the band finished with a frantic, frenetic assault that allowed Richard Andrew to demonstrate just why he's been described as the Keith Moon of North Fitzroy.
Shortly after the gig a punter suggested gratuitously that the band's back-to-the-audience illustrated its artistic arrogance and contempt for the crowd. Quite the contrary, the band's enigmatic stage demeanour merely demonstrates the dominance of substance over form.

- Patrick Emery