The Beast & Probing Cranks at The Libertine

I'm always disappointed by my favourite bands when they allow their songs to be used in TV adverts. To be fair, maybe they don't even have a say in the matter these days. On Saturday afternoon then, while watching The Railway Children for the umpteenth time with my seven year old daughter and daydreaming that my name was David and after a walking trip with my friend on the Yorkshire Moors, in which we are both attacked by a wild animal, I had been woken in my hospital bed by a nightmare only to see Jenny Agutter rushing to my bedside..... where was I?.....Oh, yeah, so on Saturday afternoon More Heroes by The Stranglers, albeit without a vocal, is advertising, of all things, bread; baked for you by Hovis. No more heroes? Too right.

No more heroes, apart from Probing Cranks, of course, who, judging by those gathered at The Libertine to support them on Saturday night, are treated as such on their own little scene in SE-Whatever-it-is. They however, will never get the chance to 'sell out'. They will never be faced with the moral dilemma over whether to licence their music to advertise margarine or marmalade or muesli. This is both good and bad; good because I don't want to associate Probing Cranks with my breakfast, or vice-versa; and bad because Probing Cranks deserve the commercial success that might face them with such dilemmas. I get the sense though, that they are beyond giving a damn about commercial success.

When spooning the aural casserole that boils on the Probing Cranks' hob, one is reminded of quirk-mongering bands such as The Pixies, The Fall and The Wedding Present. Of songs like Love Buzz by Nirvana. Skip Steps 1 & 3, by Superchunk. It's music produced by Steve Albini. It's the sound of a band supporting Jesus Lizard or Sebadoh. Probing Cranks also remind me a lot of the band I was in in the early 90s, called 67. Heavy, quirky, intense and edgy. So that's nice, for me, anyway.

The Beast may be penniless, but what they don't have in their pockets, they make up for in noise, passion and classic-rock riffola.

Toby Nuttall's voice rises and squeezes Brian Johnson-style between the down-beating AC/DC guitar riffs. John Grant on drums and Beanz on bass provide the Led Zep-style backbone.

Having lent my amp to my namesake for the night, I had the pleasure of his company during a lift to the gig. It was a chance to hear another version of the Carol Street squat story - one I love. About Camden in the late-70s. I do wish I had been there. Even earlier. '68 would have been good, in time to see the Doors at the Roundhouse. But '76 would have been just fine; in time to see The Ramones there, and The Stranglers, for a couple of quid.

I empathise with Toby. Not just cos we share the same first name, which incidentally causes some confusion during the evening. No, he, like me had a band on the verge of 'something'. And it came to nothing. Tonight, I feel the release he gets from unleashing The Beast. You sense his regression to the twenty (something) year old version of the same person. One with fewer worries. The untouchable one. The one with nothing more money-wise, but all that a young musician needs, that is: a bunch of hippy-punk friends, a squat scene, some booze, hash and acid, a 1960s Stratocaster and an AC-30.

Squats and drugs and rock and roll.