MMISL's last gig with Toby

It’s not the end of anything, really – nobody’s died, and we’re all going to walk out into the night in one piece. But there’s still a tiny tingle in the throat, the merest lump; a reminder of achievements to date that are about to be scattered ceremoniously before rebuilding begins. It’s a bit like losing your first crush, or never obtaining their affections at all – it’s a growing pain, and it’ll pass.

It’s Toby – vocalist, dancer, beard ‘til recently – who is the centre of onlookers’ attentions, weird sympathies and best wishes; tonight marks his last show with Meet Me In St Louis, the Surrey five-piece he’s been a pivotal member of since their inception two years ago, and the plan is to go out in explosive style. The room is predictably packed – there’s no doubt that it could have been sold-out three times over, at least – and from the very first instance of finger on string, of stick on skin, the front few rows – a whirlpool of bodies bouncing off one another – erupt into action.

Stood at the back of the room, tip-toes extended beyond their comfort zone, I’m a muddle of pride and sorrow. MMISL’s path has intersected with my own too many times to count, and they’re as much a gang of rabble-rousing mates to me as they are a band I admire, both for their compositional recklessness (apparently not even producer Alex Newport knew what the hell they were playing when he recorded their sole album to date, Variations On Swing) and their ability to win over those sceptical of such technically proficient prefix-rock. It lacks soul, heart, passion say the unmoved; I want them here, in the middle of that, renouncing their misguided opinions past. I want to prove to everyone who’s doubted my lauding of the band in the past that they truly have deserved several thumbs up each and every time I’ve seen fit to sing their praises.

Of course, those who are braving this prickly heat aren’t newcomers, but the hardcore – they’ve stumbled across MMISL playing a supporting role to the likes of These Arms Are Snakes, Rolo Tomassi and Hell Is For Heroes, and an impression has sustained itself ever since. At the bar fans discuss when they first encountered the group; fast-forward five years and you can imagine many more claiming they were here, tonight. It feels special: a necessary step backwards to leap several forwards, you’d wager.

The set’s occasionally scrappy, chaotic, messy – but this is typical (not that it matters too much when placed in context). The conversion of polyrhythms from studio to stage rarely goes smoothly, and as such MMISL have adapted their live sets into visually arresting exhibitions. Battles they’re not, static and professional, but as Toby slides from one corner of the tiny stage to another, bassist Lewis hopping onto his back whenever a four-string break allows, it’s every bit as exciting as seeing that episode of Later in the flesh. Whatever inspirations informed MMISL in their formative stages, they’ve been superseded by a quite singular sound.

Congratulations exchanged, see ya laters and sweaty hugs. It’s all done, dusted, in the past already. MMISL _with _Toby were certainly something unique amongst hard-touring domestic bands – fearless, foolish, funny to be around, furiously unforgettable from time to time. MMISL without Toby? Well, it’s not like the guy’s going anywhere he can’t be found, right?

Just in case.