The enduring appeal of Gappy Tooth Industries’ long-running monthly gig club is that it offers the chance to catch not just early gigs by emerging local talent, but an Oxford outlet for a level of out-of-town band who wouldn’t otherwise get a local showing. Sure, you can get the worst as well as the best of new bands, but you pays your (meagre amount of) money and takes your chances.
Tonight might well be The Driftwood Stage’s debut gig, which would excuse much of what we see and hear. The name sounds like a new addition to the WOOD Festival arena (a stage made entirely of beach-combed driftwood and powered by the flapping of seagull wings! How eco-friendly is that?) and you can imagine them inhabiting an early-afternoon slot at that particular event. They’re a slightly ramshackle form of bucolic chamber pop where loosely strummed acoustic guitar goes up against violin and cello, with occasional hints of ‘Sunny Afternoon’ or ‘It’s Now Or Never’, but forever held back by a meandering lack of dynamics and the singer’s inability to, well, sing.
Bristol’s Liftmen are one of those out-of-towners we’d probably never have got to see on an Oxford stage without GTI’s patronage, and while they knock few socks off they’re a welcome antidote to the lackadaisical opening act, seemingly fronted by the eponymous mad-haired star of the old Crystal Tipps And Alistair animation, and in thrall to awkward oddities from post-punk’s creative diaspora. There’s uptight jazz and funk, nonchalantly disinterested vocals, bolshy, angular noise and spaced-out krautrock. The whole is mixed and sometimes ungainly, partway between The Slits and Brummie weirdoes Pram, but you feel that with a tighter rein on proceedings they could do some serious damage.
Damage is something Screaming Joe Jeffersons seem intent on dishing out. Formed from the ashes of King Furnace, and consolidated by former-Epstein chap Stefan, they’re another band, like The Long Insiders, seemingly rediscovering ancient, primal rock’n’roll for the first time, kicking out a garagey form of grunge that comes out streaked in gasoline and bad attitude. Stefan’s versatility keeps things fresh, although they lurch worryingly into almost Bonnie Tyler-like power balladry at one point, and it takes a pounding set closer to rescue their dignity.
And so, another highly mixed bag of styles and abilities on show. Another victory in Gappy Tooth Industries’ singularly anti-commerical bag.