The Tailors

I wasn’t around in the early sixties but strangely it seems twin brothers Mike and Pete Bishop still are. Now, either they’ve spiked the Guinness with a particularly clever batch of psychedelics, or I actually am watching two George Harrison’s, dressed in nascent Beatle-suits, shaking their melons and playing fired-up Everly Brothers tunes. Thankfully - just say no, kids - it turns out to be the latter. The Bishops draw incessantly on Liverpool’s heritage of jangling guitar joy, whilst cooking things up with a little more distortion, a little more venom and lots more teeth. The teeth are massive – how the buoyant melody of 'I Don’t Really Know What To Say' manages to scouse its way through those pearly choppers, is sure to remain a mystery. Yet the tight, energetic delivery of The Bishops' material is there for all to see. If some run from the venue in disgust at the parody they see on stage, others will bolt down to Saville Row for a new suit, pop in to the dentist for a quick check-up and be back within an hour chasing the band all the way to The Cavern Club.

Of course, if it’s yelps of adoration you’re looking for, The Rumblestrips mainman Charlie Waller can make his audience whoop within seconds of strapping on his guitar. Bracketed by the stirling musicianship of high-collared trumpet and keys dude Henry Clark, and full bearded sax and bass man Thomas Gorbutt, Waller’s full-on vocals are in extremely good hands. As are the songs – oh yes, the songs. From the double whammy of new single ‘Motorcycle’ and its flipside _ ’No Soul’_ to an unstoppable slew of urgent, high-stepping, pure white soul hits - this band just swing. If you see The Rumblestrips live, I defy you not to have a good time – and that’s what this ‘gig’ malarkey is all about isn’t it?