Clayhill

In the world of all things surreal, tonight certainly takes the biscuit.
Upstairs at Cabaret, Bernard Manning is "entertaining" a room full of wifebeating beer monsters, while downstairs an evening of mournfully seductive music is about to take place.

First up are Brighton sextet The Tenderfoot, whose exquisitely crafted melodies echo the more rueful interludes of The Wedding Present ('If You've Nothing Nice To Say Then Say Nothing At All') and the more eclectic virtues of Athlete combined with swirling Hammond psychedelia ('Still Holding My Stomach In') that sets the tone quite admirably for what is about to follow.

If the word cinematic is an overused term - it has been known to be used to describe anything and everything from the structure of Natalie Portman's face to the entire collective works of John Barry - then maybe Clayhill could be cited as being the definitive landmark where film and music collide.

There can't be many artists around who can tell a seemingly inconsequential story about a guy mowing his lawn ('Grasscutter') and yet engage a whole room to be the point of transfixion based on it's every word. Similarly the prodigious 'Alpha Male', which takes an indignant swipe at the superiority complex of the modern day 'Loaded'-era man and turns it into the most uplifting tune the Beta Band never wrote.

Where both of their albums ('Cuban Green' and 'Small Circle') have only marginally hinted at greatness, live, and particularly with the core trio of Gavin Clark, Ali Friend and Ted Barnes expanded to a five-piece this evening, their wistful tales and sturdy observations become potential anthems for the Radio Two generation, while Clark's well-worn rasp elevates The Smiths' 'Please Please Please Let Me Get I What I Want' to the startling magnitude of self-pitying solace Morrissey had always intended it to be.

And that my dear friends, is what cold Tuesday evenings in February were made for.

Check out a preview download for the new Tenderfoot LP here