A need to duck the unseasonably heavy showers en route to Café Oto in Dalston gave me all the excuse I needed to duck into the lovely Scolt’s Head for a pint.   And then maybe another, it still looked a bit grey.  And the toad-in-the-hole?  Why, I don’t mind if I do.  Winds could have blown some more clouds over any second. I (finally) left there feeling rather warmer than I’d entered, and thoroughly looking forward to the diverse line-up ahead of me that evening, with Richard Youngs and Alex Neilsen the nominal headliners according to promoters Miles of Smiles.  Even if it was to turn out that they weren’t on last.

Phil Minton took to the stage with a large glass of red vocal-chord lubricant, and began his display of extended vocal technique with a split-note squeal.  He went through his repertoire of strange noises, which range from those of a duck being terrorised by a swarm of bees whilst mowing the lawn to those of a small puppy being dismembered and having its innards sucked up by a vacuum cleaner.  The intensity of his performance is quite something, and it felt like I was involved in a story in some strange language I didn’t have the capacity to understand, although I’m pretty sure it wasn’t entirely serious.

I’ve seen Richard Youngs playing solo (and very solo) more than once in recent years, and was intrigued as to how he would approach this performance with his on-off collaborator (I particularly enjoy their Life Is Open Road album on , the drumming wunderkind Alex Neilson.  In fact their decision to seemingly shun rehearsal in favour of a spontaneous and improvised set, forever teetering on the verge of shambolic, lent it an air of excitement.  They opened with a sludgy dirge featuring some shouty call-and-response and the wiry Neilson bouncing around in his seat with the energy of Chris Corsano.  They followed this with a ragged version of Youngs’ “Life On A Beam”, a track I’d only ever heard performed a capella, but here it was buried under droning guitar and free drumming.  After a lengthy pause while they worked out what to play next (“we’re actually just discussing whether Ronaldo will stay at Man U”, piped up Neilsen), they opted to keep themselves out past their comfort zone, inviting the Scottish folk singer Alasdair Roberts to the stage to sing something which Youngs and Neilson probably only barely knew.  No pressure, eh?

Contrastingly, Alan Wilkinson, John Edwards and Steve Noble were rather more used to each other’s company, and gave a very different sort of improvised performance, one in which the musicians flew-by-wire with hair trigger sensors finely tuned to respond to the slightest musical signal.  A spluttery note from Wilkinson on alto would cause Edwards to respond with some fluttery arco, and Noble to potter about with a wooden box.  Wilkinson, as is his wont, frequently added bellows and screams to a mix in which no musician was allowed to dominate – nothing here was allowed to escape the ensemble to become a “solo” – although I couldn’t help but be impressed as ever with Edwards tireless efforts, wrestling with the bass like he was fiddling with a bull.  An excellent set from the trio; thunder was duly stolen.