At last! A blog in which I can settle scores with all those who have wronged the Noble Savage! My enemies will weep, girls will find me interesting and exciting, the walls of the city will crumble, tractors will stop working, doormats will turn into cheese etc.

Actually I'm just bored at work. Still, I've been looking to start one of these for a while, for the same egocentric reasons as everyone else, I imagine. I also imagine that if you're reading it then you know who I am so I'll skip the introductions and just get straight down to telling everyone how Good Sunburned Hand of the Man were at the Void last night.

The Void, for those who don't know, is a house in one of Brighton's less salubrious districts, free from neighbours and, thus, free from complaints about noise. As a result the enerprising young folk who live there have started putting gigs on in the basement. On the 60s West Coast it would have been described as a groovy scene. Brighton being what it is, however, it's probably described by a shallow shrug of the shoulders and the flicking of a greasy fringe.

But anyway, last night it was the turn of American Free-rock legends Sunburned Hand of the Man. I was a bit worried at first as they seemed to be going precisely nowhere. I was also a little alarmed by quite how drunk their spiritual leader, the Reverend John Maloney, appeared to be. Oh me of little faith. After a brief shambolic warmup they soon turned into the magnificent wooden groove machine we know and love. Scything down all in their path with magnificent, groovy boxing gloves of funk. Right on, as I believe the parlance goes.

After the gig I stood around talking to their guitarist for a while. He was a very friendly chap; courteous and unguarded and, just when I thought my night couldn't get any better, The aforementioned Reverend Drunkard gifted me four of their recent albums! For Nothing! What a dude! Needless to say I was pretty stoked and floated home on a cross wind of all round good-vibes. A top night.

More soon people.