That Moist feeling

This morning's crush on the Northern line (thanks to the imbecile reading Proust for that) was tempered by the thoughts of last night's rather splendid gig by London's number one prog jazz metal band - Moist. Now due to the fact that half the band's line-up consists of my colleagues or ex-colleagues and the fact that I supported them a while back I've been kinda loath to write about the boys for fear of seeming merely creepy. But after over a year of Garrick Theatre-style residency at East London's Fleapit on Columbia Road these muthas are still on a rather fine upward curve.
It was probably helped by the fact that the support act last night were the newly-minted Linear B who have another ex-colleague as their leader/pianist. LB were awesomely good in a Stan Tracey-ish rather moody sax, piano drum 'n' bass kinda way. Despite a slightly tentative sax player they are , like, REAL jazz (man).
Goaded on by such stuff, Moist seemed to come alive in a way that was quite wondrous to behold. Sax monster, Ralph Littlejohn wailed most cosmically, drummer Andy Cato was tighter, louder and more engaged than I've ever heard him, and goddam it, guitarist Simon Hopkins was staggeringly together: Elements of Frisell and Hillage all put through a big raga-inflected blender. Oh, the bass player (on antique fiddle, natch) was pretty fecking hot also ;-).
Dunno when the next night will be, but if you like a bit of cosmic stew in your jazz, get down there. You'll thank me! (ps: guys, make the cheque out to 'Jonesisdying'. Oh, and I'm sorry but the above photo is rather old. The band all now have beards and wear dresses.)