Deerhoof

The two kids in front of me, decked out in their Avril LaMinge-approved skater gear, look as if they're going to cry. Dad (possibly) has brought them to a gig - it's the summer holidays for whippersnappers, y'know - without really doing his research. Trencher aren't for kids, of any kind. "This next one's called 'Autopsy'" they announce, before battering us senseless with another crappy keyboard-propelled thrash nightmare. I don't know exactly how to put my feelings for Trencher into words. They make me sick. But it feels nice. Yeah, that'll do.

Deerhoof are something else entirely. They're like musical crazy paving, all jagged lines and mismatched colours and styles, but somehow they work. I like 'em best when they're doing their wigged-out prog-rock thang ('Milk Man'); others down the front (the kids are long lost by now) prefer the cybertronic strut of 'do-I-dance-or-do-I-die' numbers like 'Giga Dance': "Giga dance giga dance da da DA DA DA DA DAAAAAAAA"... and so on and so on and so on. Vocalist Satomi Matsuzaki waves her arms about like she's trying to land a plane. Wouldn't make tonight much weirder than it already is. I want to kiss her on the face to stop her squawking for two minutes. Nah, I just wanna kiss her, full stop.

My head feels all squished like a two-weeks past it melon. The kids are high as kites. Sometimes music is too good.