Thomas Truax with Inconsiderate Parking and Alan Coles @ 10 Feet Tall

I do not think that I have ever been to an evening of bands without finding at least one individual or group who has drawn from me harsh criticism. With this in mind, try to understand the magnitude of February 8th, 2012 - the night where I enjoyed every single performer. It's a big deal, honest. 

Alan Coles opened, standing there with his guitar and a ukulele on the floor, beckoning the 15 or so attendees that had arrived by half past eight. He was a somewhat apologetic speaker, explaining his presence with the statement that he is a "songwriter, who can only get his songs heard by playing them live". The only real explanation that was needed was for him to play his guitar. Foregoing the impression that he might be more comfortable playing for disinterested drinkers in a village pub, he produced compelling solo music which advanced with surprising complexity and an excitement that one man and a guitar does not normally warrant. This is not the singer-songwriter meaningless faff of today's Ed Sheerans and James Morrisons. Alan Coles' narrative excelled with his guitaring and although the ukulele based work lacked a little of the engaging spirit of the rest, he played through an admirable and interesting set. 

Then came Inconsiderate Parking, three young lads with a band name adored by the neurotic driver in me. The ukulele returned, with the energy of obvious youth but the maturity of the performance was shocking. The boys played with excellent harmony and understanding which might have seemed impossible in the face the frantic nature of their efforts. They were funny too, and although they, like the rest of the acts, might not have a sound that will ever attract a large audience, they continued strongly in the personal, fun and fascinating sound of the evening. 

The first glimpse of the main attraction was a spindly spectre fiddling with half a bike and a tiny drum at the front of the stage. It was weird - a feeling which quickly became the focus of the evening. Well, that along with hilarious, brilliance and stunning music. From the outset of his set, Thomas Truax seemed like a bubbling pot of untapped genius. Except that someone had just tapped him all over 10 Feet Tall. It was incredible, I was completely blown away with the musical intelligence present in even the simplest song and the utter hilarity of the whole thing. Easily funnier than any stand up I have seen and accompanied by deep, beautiful, entertaining, dance-y, bizarre and transcendental tunes in equal measure. Mr. Truax's smarts were displayed with his junkyard band of Mother Superior (the aforementioned drum-bike), the Hornicator (indescribable really), a bongo-tube thing, the ring on his finger, strings draped from the ceiling for plucking and a spotlight-emitting electric guitar. He traipsed around the stage effortlessly tapping out rhythm loops before heading into the audience, then into the stairwell, then outside, then back to the stage to get tangled in wires whilst relentlessly pressing onwards. An incredible sight, sound and experience. 

Each song was a self contained trip for the stone cold sober, blowing all that came before and after out of consideration, and I cannot claim with 100% certainty that I wasn't having some vivid hallucination.