The Buffalo Bar, London
16 March 2003
The Guinea Pig club’s second outing finds the experiment being performed through the strange filter of Hyper Kinako, an Anglo-Japanese power Punk Pop band. As they’ve apparently got classical training to back up their skittish riffs and obscure lyrics, it’s no surprise that the delivery is precise in it’s chaos, a well-drilled cacophony of rattly percussion and reedy keyboards which includes moments of theatrical silliness. Singer Toko is decked out in a pink feather boa, occasionally donning huge googles to sing maniacally fun songs with titles like “Car & Kettle”. Hyper Kinako have a neat ability to leapfrog the 4/4 grind on a track like “Popping Step”, which pounces from sharp-anlged beat to Eighties-infected Art Rock skank with glee, and the introduction of glittery pom-pom waving cheerleaders adds further pantomime humour to their set for the catchy singalong number “Tokyo Invention Registration Office”, This particular number has a chorus of those words, and a satisfying chant of “T.O.K.Y.O. TOKYO!” to overdrive the fuzzy riff into meta-ridiculous bombast on a wave of super-ironic cheap preset fanfares. Definitely one for singing next time a patent needs filing.
Resident group Now take the stage to an appreciative welcome – they’re here every month, but this set turns out to demonstrate the sheer effectiveness of hard work on the practicing and playing together front. Tonight, it’s the turn of multi-limbed drummer Giles Narang to shine; not showily, not with paradiddles and grandstanding, but in a highly subtle powerhouse contribution to keeping matters moving as Now lay down their rippling grooves. There are hunting horn interventions, fruity licks of Mini-Moog bass and thobbing wheezes from Caspar Gordon‘s trombone, but the highlights come from Frances May Morgan‘s violin interplay with both Justin Paton‘s strained vocals and Leee Night‘s guitar skronk – but everyone swaps instruments so often it’s difficult to pin any one musician down. The set ends with a curvaceous percussion workout, all held tightly in shape by Giles, but loose enough to slip into the head trip space of a controlled cosmic jam session.
Observing Guapo‘s drum kit is enough to provke immediate thoughts of Proggishness of the outré Magma variety, especially when studying the massive gong occupying the back of the tiny basement stage. Said instrument is soon being stroked and struck by percussionist Dave Smith while the bass guitar and Danielle de la Lumiere‘s racks of keyboards loom into audibilty. It’s when Dave takes up the sticks and launches off into a percussive trip that things really start to happen though, and the expressions writhing across his features soon rival that other master of the massive drumkit, Charles Hayward – as does his drumming.
While the facial contortions may provoke a mixture of awe and hilarity among the audience, there are also plenty of forthright declarations that Mr. Smith is the best drummer they’ve ever heard too. Debatable as that point may be, it’s certainly and understandable one, and the gurning offers highly convincing evidence of the concentrated energy being meted out to the skins and cymbals. But it’s not all about the drums, as Matt Thompson‘s bass wriggles to the rhythmic explosions kicking off a metre away, and the keening electric pianos and keyboards make their own decisive contribution to the overall live experience which is Guapo. Another comment on their stagecraft is to compare Guapo with a deviant Emmerson, Lake and Palmer mashed up against Black Sabbath, but playing in the basement of a pub in Islington – and while this and the immediate lurch to bracket the band with the illustrious Goblin are good reference points, they have the distinction of gripping the venue hard for what seems like a small aeon on their own highly-charged merits.
-Linus Tossio-
