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The first support band featured a bloke with the microphone cable draped over his shoulder, which was off-putting, to be honest.
But once Kit Ashton got going, all manner of frenzy started. Turning out to be five people, his bass player is tall and stationary and having sound-checked wearing a duffle coat, full of eastern promise. His playing style included once excellent song during which he plucked chords all the way up and down the fret board. Rather different.
The guitarist make a late decision about which axe to spank, but did a good job. Mark 'two fingers' Edwards wasn't exactly over-stretched in this line-up, taking exactly nil solos and only two riffs.
In contrast, the diminutive southpaw cymbal-thrashing road-drilling rhythmmeister sat behind and worked up a mighty sweat, bringing vibrant life to already good jangly songs. Ashton himself performed with passion and confidence, presenting his tunes to a warmly-receptive crowd of interested musician-type blokes and lots of fine-looking 'CCK evening service' women.
Kit's speech about world trade injustice and his evident concern for the poor was compelling. It's great that Christians get active in political issues which stir the heart of God, and we can be certain he's bothered about injustice and poverty. Good on you, Kit!
The other act of the evening was called Gisli, who looked like Mark Fowler dressed as Angus Young from AC/DC. He started by announcing that he came from Iceland, which was met with unrestrained Bjorkophobia. But his approach was a sort of punky rock'n'roll with rap and interesting chords. The plectrum-driven bassist was refreshing, and when he started messing about with a Theramin, fears of Bjorkness returned despite the fun factor. But Gisli's language waxed a littlestrong, and his in-ear monitoring was over-emphasised. It was a bit of a shame that nearly all of the Ashtonophiles had gone home for an early night before the main act.