Hippies in bush hats. Joining hands. Chanting "Out demons out!" Man, it gets no better than that.
I love the Edgar Broughton Band. I loved them in 1969 when they were the most passionate, opinionated band in the land. I love them now that they're old.
This second in a series of low key gigs was a reminder of how far down the toilet most supposed modern rock music has sunk. That a trio of old-timers can still deliver a musical spanking of the first order is remarkable.
The original power trio of Rob and Steve Broughton and Arthur Grant were joined by Rob's son Luke on keyboards and a talented whippersnapper second guitarist. They played like they'd never been away.
Opening with the classic Hotel Room, the set featured all old material but nostalgia was only a side dish on a comprehensive menu.
Rob Broughton's marvellous voice still has the capacity to range between a sweet croon and a menacing snarl, often within the same song. His guitar playing remains magnificent, a British psychedelic thrumming.
Drawing from all albums released during their first incarnation, we got the obvious classics: Call Me A Liar, American Boy Soldier, Love In The Rain and Green Lights, plus some jewels from the dustier corners of the catalogue. I wept a little when Rob sang the first line of Speak Down The Wire, a song so lovely you want to smell its hair.
We all wanted to hear Out Demons Out, the band's signature song, a mass exorcism of everything ungroovy and we got it at the end.
Disappointingly it was shorter than usual, not the 15 minute marathon I'd prayed for, but the energy released was palpable. I closed my eyes and focussed the chant on all the bad gits in Whitehall and imagined we had stopped the war.
One of the best nights I can remember.
Herb Montana
