Still the resistance continues - the kick back against austerity, idleness and complacency. Tonight's gig was always going to be a struggle, tis a Monday, effort is a thing done on personal terms, commitment is a con in the greater part. The fact still remains though that the gig happened, the artistes involved knew the risk but still put their arses in gear and a few heads popped down to support - that is worth its weight in gold to this much rankled and observant Fungaloid git. No car tonight so a good walk and a bus ride got me to the fine gaff in time to enjoy a quiet pint and a chinwag with some good folk. The pluckers and fuckers arrived, the gigging game was afoot - although when I do what I do I never consider it a game, this is always full bloodied, stout hearted and well meant, even when I am running on empty! And so to the event...

Johnny Half A Day - a man clinging on to the pains of being a 55 year old and turning up tonight and doing his stuff with a twinkle in the peeper and a winning smile on the oral opening. His set was what you would expect, a combination of the serious, the silly and the sweet and he tickled his way to triumph with many memorable moments. The first 2 ditties regarding relationships and the Ebola virus exhibited what a range of subjects and tonal tamperings he would cover. He placed many firm and crisp strums amidst an equal abundance of softer manipulations and could well be compared to a seedy pervert with a decomposed corpse on his hands - a prod here, a caress there, a penetration of the inner core obvious. The few in attendance were warmed by the player’s charm and ability and a song about ladyboys and a wandering work colleague brought much gratification to the more deviant amongst us. A song about murdering ones wife seemed like an eye-opening confessional, a sad home-grown yarn wept sexual madness and came as an odd corruption whereas after John had groomed the lasses in the room with chocolate his ravings about the price of certain amphibian related treats was a gem. Fact of the Day -Freddo the Frog was previously known as Tadpole Trevor and spent several years shacked up with fellow pond mate Dicky Duckweed and ran up gambling debts of 45p - madness. The songs continued, one about a car, one about working in a warehouse (a particular favourite) and a classic that was appropriately entitled 'We Shall Overcome', a serious note was had, it was delivered with sincerity and articulation and exposed a greater layer of spirit, a heartfelt desire and sharp spitting fire in the belly. It would have been a choice finish but 'Fuck Off John' was what full-stopped the show and what a worthy finish it was - what a chap!

The Yoghurt Weavers - a lesson in combining the firm with the delicate, the gossamer with the gritted, the vulnerable with the self-assured. 'Feel The Vibration' and 'Iron Shirt' tickled the set to a treasured start with the second song a real fluttering and textured treat that was delivered with precious technique and cultured know how. 'I Don't Need You' was tender shimmering that became emboldened as the song developed and lodged itself right into the noggin. A hardy zephyr it evolved into and led into the soft leaf rustles of 'Time Is Change' with ease. Tamsin at the fore timidly dripped with quality accents whilst Dan on tympanic duty rolled a rear rhythm on which to progress. Many subtle condiments were applied - this was a joy! 'Old Pendle' was a classic song of yore softly tattooed with the bands blessing, 'Why Do I Do This To Myself' pulsed with character and proved to be an irresistible charmer that navigated the senses with grand stature and 'Old Face' was a colossal moment that exposed the front lasses tonal talent to the greatest degree and emphasised the cohesion of the performing duo who really are becoming a very impressive unit.  'ATV' is an astounding cover that outstrips the original and 'Police On My Back' is a prestigious pinnacle that is so simplistically lovable and fluent that surely it competes for the pick of the pack. Another genius moment. 'Crooked Man' escorted us out from the set with folked and well harvested tones, it came as something akin to a Wicker Man/Ripper Street theme tune hybrid and was quite bare, real and very much alive. The set tonight by The Yoghurt Weavers was incredible and I lapped it up. Like an oceanic movement that had much hidden depth and power this one rose, fell, swelled and foamed with moments of extreme placidity thrown in - a cracking inclusion and a two-piece who will keep on mesmerising!

The landlady Pauline Town invaded the stage here and told us a tale of the remarkable work going down and how the little bit we do is all helping many suffering folk - excellent to know and thanks lass for thy hospitality and continued support!

And lastly, but now leastly - as the buggers say...Pardon Us!

This 3 piece are a band I have put on a couple of times already and have seen elsewhere and, so far, they really do cut the red hot mustard. I have been taken aback - would the state of stance still be the same? Here is my raving review!

'Lost Weekend' opened, the lights were set to glare, the pedal pushed down on the accelerator, the desire levels set to extreme - the first slam dunk of the evening was slapped home and I reeled at the brisk, tight and darned effective start to the showcase. 'Flightless' was a wicked torrent of twat hammering pop delivered in double quick time by a crew with their nadgers on fire - ooh the scent of sizzling scrotums and those bits the lasses have (I remain polite)! 'Time Gentlemen Please' was bass driven, tub tortured and vocally animated and was the best of the opening hat-trick by the width of a tadpoles todger. The band were proving their undeniable quality and tumbled into 'Brains' with breathless exhilarating efficiency that avoided drifting into hardcore territory but kept things highly melodic and tuneful. Gob duties were switched, we had a gruffer edge whilst wires were bent all ways and the stick lass hammered away like a lumberjack on viagra - oh the rumpy pumpiness of it all! 'Fumin' came next, a fiery favourite awash with irritation and bass wanking goodness. 'Goodnight Adam 12' strummed in to follow, the neck of the bass was wandered along, the steady skip maintained musical sense and the rise with control was expected but still applauded with gusto. What a fine set! 'Stinkin' Rich' is a reliable classic that is stylish, surging and raw with many olden tones and retro rhythms invading the fine fiasco. 'Wayfarin' Blues' is another reliable piece and moved the set along nicely and upheld the untouchable quality on parade before our aural peepers. An anti-Thatcher tirade was apt and a real buzz bomb thrown into our mugs with the stick chick still a slamming joy and the wire weavers at their riffing best. The articulation, adhesiveness and persistently moving effect continued until the last blast when the stunning 'We Are The Champions' clubbed home the fact that the band are a class act and have many flavours to adore. The encore was deserved, the headline slot equally so, the number of punters to pay homage to this stunning unit was an insult but there ya go. Too much good stuff tonight to get down though - thank you Pardon Us - your efforts will not go unnoticed.

And that is that, a night that had a disappointing turn-out but which did its bit for WSO and showcased some fuckin' marvellous talent. I am a fan of all three acts like I am a fan of The Station and the landlady Pauline Town - it seems to make sense. On we must go, never playing games but doing things with love, respect and no time for users and abusers. I was happy as I lay my head on the pillow at the days end, sincere thanks to all who helped raise that smile – you are diamonds in a shitheap and I am happy to stink to help keep thee shining.

Review by Fungalpunk/OMD (4 October 2016)