Jeffrey Lewis – Sheffield Polish Catholic Centre. Arriving a little later than planned (Porters Cottage), there was a queue outside the door of around 10 people. A queue? but I was told it would be pay on the door and no trouble. But the management had said the gig wouldn’t start if anyone else was let in. I asked is it ‘one in one out’ but the trembling stewardy student geezer just trembled and said ‘nobody is going in’ … ‘but I’ve come from Bradford’ … still no joy. Wait or head off down Eccleshall aimlessly? Wait … and wait … and wait … people come by, but they had already been in and they get let in ok. We wait … and now the queue is 14 people. With people leaving, am now front of the queue … wait … then another slightly less trembly studardy student type comes out and mumbles to the trembling one, they may let 15 people in but thats it … oh joy oh joy … now the waiting is tinged with optimism, still we wait though. Then news comes – 15 people can enter…there are the 5 who are on the ‘guest list’ bah … then I think it will be me … I try and look large and purposeful … he says ‘yes you can go in’ … and thats it I’m in.

The second support David Thomas Broughton is playing when we get in … sidle through the largely silent crowd seated on Polish Club like chairs to the bar. The ‘music’ is a cacophony of loops and yowls … it is amazing in its discord … at the bar we are looking at each other ‘is it really meant to sound like this?’ and ‘how long is this guy going to play?’ is running through our heads … he is a very tall spindley skinny bearded fellow … ‘young enough to think having a beard will not make him look ancient’ … he starts off loops and then wanders off to the side of the stage … sings a little more … then pours a glass of wine while the loops throb, and balances it on his guitar and looks at it. The audience is still silent … is this art or is this too much? The pieces are starting to fit together though and the audience are warming … if you close your eyes … easy with the fine Polish beer … it can carry you along. He struts around the stage like a gypsy Freddie Mercury doing suggestive things with the mic stand, his backdrop the roll down white shutter of the Polish club leading who knows where. Then it suddenly ends. And he walks away through the crowd. We are bemused and amused.

Jeffrey also is bearded … but his voice is instantly recognisable … his songs and jokes excellent … though it all seemed too short. He sings two songs from his cartoon books – a humourous one about a severed hand and a nun, and a rather more serious one about the history of Communism. Perhaps it was due to the Polish beer but somehow I wish it would happen all again … he has so many songs and only played for an hour – there seemed so many missing.