Major Matt Mason USA

'_There's a funny taste in my mouth

and it tastes like my dad_'

So sings Major Matt Mason USA, arguably the most shambolic troubadour to emerge from New Yoik Citah in the last twenty years. He's also a bit of a genius.

It's 8:45pm and London's Metro Club is pretty much full. The man on stage is a hefty chap, and looks like Michael Moore after a crash Guided By Voices course. Sounds like? Michael Stipe singing Wendall Gee. Or perhaps he sounds like the front man of REM if he wasn't so horribly pretentious. MMM looks grateful to be here, but equally overwhelmed by the support of a crowd that is ravenous gobbling up every throw-away line, sublime chorus and jesus-that's-really-clever-couplet. The man's got it. Bottle whatever 'it' is, and the world'd be a better place. Or you'd be rich. But this man isn't going to be rich. Rich is for fools and charlatans.

In a short set, Triple M delivers songs from both his inaugural album 'Me Me Me' (easy on the M+M's matey) and his forthcoming second effort 'Honey, Are You Ready For The Ballet?'. Performed with only guitar and keening vocals, the songs sound like the Moldy Peaches but with tunes, substance and a lack of fuck you is-this-art-or-is-this-bollocks nobbery. Slanted, Enchanted and pretty good.

Allegedly from the same anti-folk scene as the aforementioned fancy dress shop-abusers, MMM makes a hash of it by writing tunes, telling stories and making everyone go 'ahhhhhhhh'. But he's not a wishy washy ner-do-well, he's got a sense of humour that could decapitate a Chandler from 50 paces. In fact, if this man was on the stool with his guitar at Central Perk, I may just not walk out the place. Yes, I'm pretty sure I'd stay, he'd be the perfect soundtrack to with which to commit twenty (but really thirty)something genocide.

The new album is out on Shoeshine Records in September. You know what to do.

Nb. Its also on the shelves of Mister CD in Berwick St, downstairs in the promo section. Even better. You can buy it now for a fiver.