TheNeverZine

Bloomfield stans hard for the post-punk Dublin lads as they drop the curtain and raise the roof at Ally Pally

Angeline could not recall to me her life and so instead she recalled to me a dream. The smoky cataract in her ‘good eye’ cleared. She smiled. I glimpsed her wooden dentures. Around me the replicated diners and waiters went through their routines.

Raucous energy from Deadletter get's everyone sweaty in Brixton. Bloomfield reports from the fray.

There are no puns in this article about English Teacher schooling other bands on how it's done.

Night-time within the embrace of the Exxon Valdez. The woman is sleeping with her head on my lap, the bustle of her dress a maroon waterfall. Her lace collar is undone, exposing her neck. Clear sign she is comfortable. No rings on fingers. Loose ringlets in hair. Slender neck. Old and young.

Folk rock storyteller Christian Lee Hutson treats London to a set that is at times piercing, witty, romantic and disaffected but always engaging.