verging on protocolic difference: jazz and pop, see, people don't know exactly when to clap: after a solo or after a song without words; and in the groovetastic ambient continuum, does it end at all? It did for the BILL WELLS TRIO last night, but only after some considerable melodic smoothness. Including. Yes, including our man Stevie Jackson, presumably the bespectacled man wearing a blue shirt and playing a harmonica. He looked tall. That's just the stage, I thought. Then he walked past. He is tall, relatively speaking. Gig speakers dispense with the hosiery of the home hi-fidelity and display their curvy plastic black bits to the audience. The stage is clad in what appear to be oversize ceramic tiles. These are, in fact, bits of maroon painted medium density fibre board screwed into the plasterboard. Their acoustic function is dubious, and moreso their decorative one. The toliets are small. The wc cubicle a place, methinks, for private pissing or semi-public puking, to judge from *their* tiles. For any other function one would be wary of the prospect of infection of one sort or another. Back to the stage, under the starlit folds of tented ceiling, and enter a black-clad woman, lugging a double bass. Expectant chatter. Una, Ulla U-something. Whatever her U-value, she does wonders with a double bass; even a wee jazzy improvisation while mister futurepilot sah smiles broadly, wearing shades. What a lovely fellow. He's even supporting a campaign to restore the boat that paddles on Glasgow's resevoir, which is called Katrin. (oops.. wrong bit of water: Loch Lomond, I should have said. The boat that plys Katrin is another).This boat is called the *Maid of the Loch*. http://www.maidoftheloch.co.uk/ The happy Clyde coast collective play their new *99pee* single 'the only thing to make you move is the beat of the drum' which is hardly the point, since the previous track contained a far more moving quality, in the motional rather than emotional sense: a motion picture quality, even, set in the epic Indian sub-continent. A vocalist, who seems to be on a fashion tip fron J-Que? out of Jamiro-Kwhy? has trained in from Glasgow due to the record company Geographic's shortage of air miles. With their latest single, I envisage the funds to hire one of those comfy buses that have the blacked-out windows. I saw Texas in one outside the Queen's Hall in Edinburgh years ago, not that I wish our Pilot an MOR future. Downstairs someone rather excitedly informs me that a couple of members of the Pastels are walking by. My informant is from northern Sweden, and passionate about Glasgow pop. He engages fluently in conversation about the meaning of life too, which I always find handy for chatter over a pint. I miss the train home, and get a hotel room. Which allows me to re-sample some Edinburgh nightlife: City Cafe and La Belle Angele. And full of them it is too. I'm glad I wore my white corduroys for, in here, they glow like the light off an oxy-acetylene torch. The train on the way home. Dreamily perusing the *Observer* to the tune of an accordion-heavy track by Bridget Storm. A few seats in front, a girl gazes out of the window, repeatedly drawing her fingertips through the dark roots of her autumn-tinted hair. Ah.. could she have written this song... I meet a friendly dog on the way up the road. I'm one happy unit. Gordon +-------------------------------------------------------------------------+ +---+ Brought to you by the Sinister mailing list +---+ To send to the list mail sinister@missprint.org. To unsubscribe send "unsubscribe sinister" or "unsubscribe sinister-digest" to majordomo@missprint.org. WWW: http://www.missprint.org/sinister +-+ "sinsietr is a bit freaky" - stuart david, looper +-+ +-+ "legion of bedroom saddo devotees" "peculiarly deranged fanbase" +-+ +-+ "pasty-faced vegan geeks... and we LOST!" - NME April 2000 +-+ +-+ "frighteningly named Sinister List organisation" - NME May 2000 +-+ +-+ Nee, nee mun pish, chan pai dee kwa +-+ +-------------------------------------------------------------------------+