Review in two parts

The Spinto band at Koko, 15 February 2007

This is a review in two parts:

Part i- The music

The Spinto band are like a box of chocolates- full of soft centres and luxurious fondant. The songs oscillate between the Ray Harryhausen type stop start motion of Direct to Helmet (which tonight seems even more angular than usual; like a military band trooping the colour), and Oh Mandy which creates a swoopy swirly, kaleidoscopic, ‘wall of sound’ effect on the audience, making you want to twirl around and around (a la 1973), and then just fall to the ground exhausted but laughing (those were the days when we made our own fun). Not to mention the surreal triumph of Tiffany's I Think We're Alone Now- the set closer, which made me laugh even more.

Overall the gig tonight makes me reassess the band and hold them in greater esteem than before. They move around the stage with abandon and their set is much more energetic and dynamic than expected. Not that I was expecting them to be weeping and wailing about the stage, but I think I thought they’d be more static somehow. Basically if you’re fond of a dalliance with any of the current peddlers of heart-warming twee indie jinglemasters, e.g. the Delays/Peter, Bjorn and John etc., and indeed, any of their forefathers (Beach Boys, early Beatles) then you’ll definitely like a touch of the Spintos. They’re lovely creatures, they really are (mad as hatters, but).

Part ii- The venue

Koko-the venue, is as disorientating as the music. There are levels, and then more levels, and then even more opportunities to topple headlong into the dizzying depths of the auditorium. As I traverse the precarious edifice I imagine old Victorian gentlemen cavorting with doxies and harlots in secluded corners a hundred and fifty years ago; playing cards with fellow cads and inspecting their winnings with ridiculously large monocles. The giant glitter ball is also one of the biggest I have EVER seen, anywhere.

On the top level I take a weird photo of myself and my friend looking like disembodied corpses, and pass by a stranded barmaid desperate for custom or human interaction. She obviously drew the short straw, poor love.

Lower down we find a suitable stretch of balcony to view tonight’s entertainment and are surprised to find ourselves standing next to a shy and retiring Eddie Argos, of Art Brut fame- unmistakable to any indie-type acolyte worth his or her salt (it's the eyebrows). I find him attractive in an old-fashioned, Rudolf Valentino kind of way- a ‘sitting by the fire holding hands on cold winter evenings’ way; and I cogitate that if he had been born at the beginning of the twentieth century, he could definitely have been a silent movie star.

Throughout the night I wander like a gypsy queen among the rocks and crevices, with a sprinkling of Romany wander lust in my soul. I can see why some might not like Koko, but I enjoy its Victorian theme-park vibe, and wouldn’t be adverse to a second visit, given the right circumstances, the right band, and some rock climbing crampons perhaps.

“To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven” (Ecclesiastes 3:1)