Birdland: New Cross Venue, London

LET ME tell you a story. The last time I saw Birdland, they filled the Brixton Academy (the support band were some bunch of nohopers called Carter). The first time I saw Birdland, they were trashing a now-defunct dive called Dingwalls, and guitarist Lee (the sexy one) was administering Stanley-knife smiles to the front row with the neck of his guitar, coming away with a nosebleed and not even noticing. They were an image of Warholian perfection in shaggy blonde bobs, hooped tops, spray-on jeans and winklepickers, scattering three minute (and under) punk-pop mini-classics like machine-gun fire. For three months, just knowing that Birdland existed made life a little more exciting.