I have a habit of ending up here at the wrong times - and this hastily arranged trip was no exception as I'd arranged to head back tomorrow missing a Fence show which had an almost dream line-up for me. However, I've also had a fair share of happy accidents which have led to me crossing paths with some interesting new music. This time though, my timing had worked out perfectly in terms of catching up with the progress made by some of my previous exciting discoveries, as under the auspices of the West End Festival, Electric Honey records were curating an evening at Òran Mór which would also serve as the launch for White Heath's album. So, once a large wedding party had been negotiated and everyone had found the right location within the sprawling and beautiful building despite the efforts of security staff to direct us otherwise, the stage was set for a varied and interesting evening of music.

First up were Stirling's Minature Dinosaurs who may yet represent the future of Electric Honey following a single release early this year. I'd not stumbled across this band before, and found them a bit of a strange proposition at first. They appeared on the surface to deliver pretty standard, anthemic indie-pop - albeit with reference points which were as impeccable as their heavily sponsored attire - showing from the outset that they had a clear understanding of the Scottish pop pantheon from Franz Ferdinand right back to touches of Orange Juice. Try as I might though, I just couldn't get used to the curious yelping vocal delivery. Throughout a pretty frantic and busy set, there were touches of promise - lots of driving beats and infectious choruses, and where the space and time was allowed in their short snappy songs, some rather lovely swoons of guitar. When they played slower numbers, there was time to enjoy the potential here, but when they cranked up the pace and rattled through faster songs it became a little bit formulaic. I found myself willing vocalist Barry Maclean to sing in his own voice, which seemed melodic and strong at times, but veered into the affected whooping as things picked up pace. Its fair to say though, that a lot of people clearly enjoyed Miniature Dinosaurs set, and with time and space to develop - which Electric Honey have always seemed adept at providing for bands - they may yet deliver some interesting work.

I've been openly airing my near desperation to see French Wives for some time, and could hardly disguise my joy when they appeared on this bill - along with the news that Electric Honey will release their debut album sometime next year. Sadly, it really wasn't to be French Wives' night, and from the outset they were dogged with sound problems which left things a little muddy and drowned the quieter parts of their set in a hum of feedback. Add to this an over-excited bar area full of Stow College students and their families, all gleefully but inconsiderately chatting - and it wasn't going to be an easy gig. Proceedings began with "Covered in Grace" which promised to burst through the less than perfect conditions with it's soaring violin and vocals. The band played all of their recently released EP on Red Hat Records, including a surprisingly toughened sounding "Big Brave Boy" which seemed bigger and bolder than on record, with chunkier guitars and rather fine bass playing - an element of French Wives I'd perhaps not picked up on until tonight. Despite their clear irritation at the sound situation on stage, French Wives managed to sound nothing less than huge in the hall, and thankfully the wonderful harmonies and Siobhan Anderson's soaring violin work managed to pierce the wall of low-level interference. Throughout the set, it was fascinating to watch the comic interplay of bizarre gurning and odd gestures between guitarist and bass player, who seemed to make the best of a bad lot and were determined to enjoy the experience. "Halloween" from the band's debut single was sadly frustrated almost entirely by the ongoing poor sound and growing audience chatter, but still managed to deliver it's thunderous ending which led swiftly into "Me vs. Me". The angry edge to the performance actually served this tune well, with Stuart Dougan fairly snarling the line "I'm not having fun anymore". I know the band didn't, but most of the audience did. True professionals, one and all - and I'm pleased to have finally managed to see them play.

Woodenbox took to the stage looking fairly relaxed about proceedings. After all, they had a plan to deal with the sound issues - and it seems that was to simply blast on through it at full tilt. Indeed from the moment the mariachi brass and energetic harmonies first slammed through the muddy mix, the plan worked perfectly. The amazing and animated crowd response to "Life From Above" was surprising, after all this is in essence country music delivered with a degree of authenticity, and there was something incongruous about a crowd of young hip students and their folks reacting like this in the curious celebratory atmosphere which was developing in Òran Mór as the night wore on. Woodenbox had the advantage of a huge range of genres to choose from in their sweep across the vast continent of Americana, and things moved swiftly and effortlessly between swampy, southern darkness through whistling spaghetti western themes into moments of off-kilter skiffle and jazz. Vocalist Ali Downer looking every inch the archetypical southern man, but revealed his origins with a strange inter-city accent that could be from anywhere in the Central Belt, as he introduced the fantastic "Draw A Line" as their first ever single. It was delivered triumphantly with a joyous and blaring brass ending which managed to persuade sections of the partying audience onto their feet at last. Finally, a roaring take on "Hang The Noose" defeats the chatterers and the muddy sound once and for all with it's unstoppable howl. They made it look easy tonight, and weirdly the thorough blasting which they gave the PA seemed to have finally cured it of it's frustrating issues!

It was a big night for White Heath as their genuinely stunning debut album was launched at last, marking the culmination of their work with Electric Honey and Stow College. There was a sense that this was a graduation, and the gents from the band were dressed for a formal occasion tonight - making me feel just a little guilty for my description in an earlier live review! They took to the stage at Òran Mór to a remarkable reception, their ranks now including bass guitarist Craig Salter. As a low rumble of noise emerged, for one awful minute it seems the sound issues were back before it became clear that this was the brooding introduction to "Maker". Soon the piano twined its jazzy improvisation around the emerging melody, and the sound began to build via the medium of Sean Watson's soaring vocal, eventually erupting into a tremendous noise. This collapsed directly into the sublime "Election Day" which shuddered and lurched beautifully with the addition of bass. I was struck by how White Heath have developed and changed in the short time since I last saw them play, and how the process of working over these songs in the studio has given them the confidence to experiment and play with their sound. As a perfect example, "GG" tonight becames a punky, joyful thrash with weird electronics jittering and dancing around it's dark pop core. It's utterly exhilarating to watch a band so clearly excited to be playing and comfortable enough with their material to turn some of it on it's head entirely - not least the most reinvented song in White Heath's arsenal, "7:38am". Tonight this adopted a strangely clipped, almost funky and tense edge which sent me back to the recording at the first opportunity to look for the clues that this was hidden in the track all along. The evening's highlight for me arrived with "Past The Satellites, Into the Fray" which sets out tense and controlled but finally and joyously exploded with Shoub's vocal outburst and energetic tom-tom solo, provoking incidents of sudden and spontaneous dancing in front of me - and a bit of keyboard trashing rock'n'roll activity on stage too! With the album played in its entirety and thus well and truly launched, the most exciting aspect of tonight for me was watching these songs continue to evolve beyond their recorded form - and I sense that White Heath are not going to stand still for long.

As a truly wonderful audience reaction echoed around Òran Mór, I left the rather stunned and genuinely delighted looking band to the family and students who were keen to shake hands, hug and congratulate them. It had surely been White Heath's night, and despite a pretty remarkable line-up of bands it seems only right it should have been. It's still early, when I emerge into a chilly but bright evening - and hopping onto a bus which takes the ski-ramp of the A82 and soars by the hulking Stow College building, I wonder not only what's next for the bands I've seen tonight - but what amazing futures are already being dreamed up inside?

It had been a hot day in Glasgow and walking around the city I noticed how quickly the population here adapts to the weather. Around the city centre, Friday night after-work crowds hogged the pavements, usually the preserve of the freezing smokers exiled from the bars. Coats left at the office and umbrellas long since discarded, the city seemed intent on enjoying the rare splash of sunshine. In the midst of all this I'd initially wondered how I'd keep myself out of trouble tonight, but once again, there had ended up being almost too many options for musical entertainment here. However, on the basis that I'd loved Over The Wall's strange but infectious 'Treacherous' album, I finally decided on a trip to Sleazy's for this show. So, after a quiet pint and a bit of people watching upstairs, I was soon installed in a comfortable corner of the dungeon which forms the venue in this near legendary establishment. The enigmatic John Knox Sex Club took the stage unannounced and begin to play almost provisionally - with quiet, uncluttered sounds gently building before a sweeping violin slipped in. Then, as if to dispel any doubts about the band's presence, Sean Cumming arrives. A bearded poet - like a strange genetic hybrid of John Darnielle and Josh T. Pearson, he begins to stalk around the tiny stage while ranting and pointing - into the air, into the audience, indeed at a point in the far distance somewhere under Sauciehall Street. He's almost too tall for the stage, dancing uncomfortably like Ian Curtis, frequently punching the air and occasionally inadvertently boxing with the ceiling beams. Despite how intimidating this could all be, it appears to have the opposite effect on the growing audience, who cluster close around the stage in varying degrees of delight and fascination.

But it would be unfair to cast the rest of this rather special band like some sort of vanity vehicle for their admittedly unique vocalist. They manage to weave a complex sound, from what sometimes appear to be the slightest and gentlest of elements and using fairly traditional instrumentation aside from the violin. But over the course of this short set, John Knox Sex Club show they are capable of a surprising range of approaches - veering from near-traditional and sparsely accompanied folk like arrangements, via a deranged blues swagger to huge noisy epics which sometimes evoke The Twilight Sad at full tilt. All of these are anchored around the complex and often introspective lyrics which show a flair for acute observation and an attraction to the melancholy. A brave accappela opening follows - just Cumming's fragile broken voice in the noisy venue, before it soars above the crowd and descends again to commence a relentless rant. Finally he is sighted briefly standing on the stack of speakers like they're his makeshift pulpit, and suddenly he's gone - out into the audience once again, gratefully and sincerely hugging those around him - and surprisingly getting a fairly warm response from an initially uncertain and somewhat reticent crowd.

It strikes me that it's going to be pretty tricky to follow the theatrics which John Knox Sex Club have just provided, but Over The Wall are in a celebratory mood tonight. It's Day 78 of their eighty day long tour of the British Isles, and after tonight there's just an Edinburgh date before a special live streamed living room gig to be broadcast by Glasgow PodcArt on Sunday. So, tonight feels like something of a homecoming - and there are lots of old friends and family in attendance, to the point I feel like I've gatecrashed someone's wedding reception at one point. To celebrate that it's also the anniversary of five years of Over The Wall, prior to the band taking to the stage, there is a surreal spoken introduction provided by a friend of the band. The detail of this is lost in my bewilderment and surprise, but it involved a mythical third member of Over The Wall who had a head like a spatula. Ultimately we were urged to boo and heckle the band onto the stage to reflect the poor treatment this utensil-headed urchin had recieved. This was duly done, to Gav and Ben's clear amusement and approval.

Live, Over The Wall are a simple proposition - a guitar, a couple of voices and a whole mess of electronica, occasionally supplemented by trumpet or harmonica when the mood demands. Amazingly, this allows a pretty faithful representation of the depth and complexity of 'Treacherous' - and some of it's finest moments are aired tonight. It was always going to be a winner for me, but "A History of British Welfarism 1945-1984" is just as impressive here as it is in recorded form, moving directly from plaintive regret to frustration and anger. The guitar sounds shred through the blips and burbles, before the trumpet drifts in like a the ghost of a distant colliery band recalling the old days. For all the celebratory atmosphere, these are simple heartfelt and crafted songs. It's probably fair to say that "The Crucible" remains likely the only song ever written about an aging snooker professional, but this doesn't detract from it being a strangely emotional and affecting song too. Somehow tonight, everything is becoming a sing-a-long anthem for a delighted crowd, and the band beam back from the stage, clearly very happy to be here. Gav and Ben are briefly joined by Ross and Davy of Three Blind Wolves to provide a chorus line for "Settle Down", which sets off all default Casio sounds, but ends up an urgent plea to "go break free/it's not your responsibility". Of course it all comes to a head with "Thurso" just as you'd expect. I think it was Jim from Aye Tunes who once wrote about the mysterious power this song has to make you hug people. There was lots of hugging, lots of singing and ultimately as this gentle and melancholy folk tune finally erupted into it's epic and life-affirming ending, lots of pretty unhinged dancing too. I'll confess I was part of this merriment - it was almost impossible not to be in the circumstances - despite the fact I've been to Thurso, and it was never like this!

The all-to-brief set closes with "Keyboard Heaven" - an old song which harks back to the band's earliest days, and is essentially a heartfelt but pretty bizarre love song to one of Ben's much missed but now irretrievably broken keyboard. And with that Over The Wall are gone, leaving a spellbound and sweaty audience eager for more. I stumble upstairs into the thankfully cool fresh air and notice to that there is still a surprising amount of light in the sky even at this late hour. I slalom home, through the crowds of sunburned and now totally inebriated revellers. Two very different bands, with two entirely variant approaches to music - but both capable of sweeping up the audience and taking them along for an always surprising ride. It promised to be a special weekend...

Along with most of the rest of the world of music, I've been confidently and rather pompously predicting the death of the single format long while. For me, this is a great shame as I look back on a misspent youth chasing handfuls of vinyl singles imported from the USA at ridiculous cost in the hope of finding some rare and perfect gem. There were home grown efforts too, not least the likes of Bristol's Sarah Records which despite shouldering a fairly hefty stereotype of anorak-pop for misty-eyed loners, actually managed nearly a century of mostly interesting releases. I can't complete my reminiscing without a mention for Seminal Twang too, without which I probably wouldn't be listening to much of the music I write about here at all. Recently though, I've heard a few singles - in the sense of a couple of carefully chosen songs which fit together as a release, rather than individual tracks for download - which have got me just as excited as I used to be when I heard a new band for the first time. Singles were always, after all, about a brief window into a band's world. So I thought perhaps it was time to attempt to share this excitement, and this occasional series of posts will be all about the curious survival of the single - and the delicious risk of making a judgement on just a couple of short songs. Of course it could go wrong and I could end up with copious quantities of egg on my face, but isn't that all part of the fun?

Poor Things - Innocence/18

Glasgow's Poor Things have been touted for some time by label-mates and ardent admirers French Wives, and it's easy to see why they're keen to introduce them to a wider audience. A frighteningly young trio who aren't ashamed to wear their influences fairly openly on their sleeves, Poor Things benefit from having spent a year playing live before committing these songs to record - and there is a genuine sense of impatience and desperation to make themselves heard evident here. "Innocence" kicks off with a rumbling undertow of distorted bass before spirals of joyous guitar join in. This prepares the ground for a triumphant chorus with soaring vocals and jittery guitars. The spirit of early 1990s US guitar pop haunts this track with it's undercurrent of melody and abrasive guitars - it's exuberant, optimistic and playful stuff - but it's also incredibly precise and clever. The flip side is "18", another utterly filthy bass riff underlies a chorus of breathy "oohs" which seem to have arrived directly from radio-friendly 70's classic rock. The lead vocal enters with the rather lovely "We move with the grace of forest fires..." and just a hint of local colour in the inflection. Strangely, for the last decade or so, Glasgow has done Americana better than the natives, and this is another example of just that - a tight, considered pop song filtered through the lens of Pavement or any number of bands on the Merge Records roster. It's a relatively simple construction in some ways, but has some tricks in store as open and guileless vocals echo around a sudden quiet moment while things build to a choir of disenchanted voices and a classic false ending. This dissolves into a full-on assault of grungy noise, powered by urgent drums with soaring swooping guitars. These two brief bursts of Poor Things do just what a single should, leaving the listener wanting to hear more, and intrigued to see where they take this sound next.

Poor Things - 18

You can purchase a physical copy of Poor Things single, or a digital download here at Bandcamp.

Edinburgh School For The Deaf - Orpheus Descending

Despite being interesed in hearing this band for a while, I managed to miss this release in the post-Homegame blues and financial embarrassment which typified most of May here. Unexpectedly, "Orpheus Ascending" shimmers in with nothing more than a delicate, Velvet Underground influenced guitar line, a quiet discordant scratch of violin and a shuffling tambourine. Having seen this band pegged as "the loudest band in Edinburgh" on more than one occasion this a something of a surprise, but behind this low-key instrumentation a slightly woozy and off-kilter, but utterly beguiling female voice sings quietly. The recording is distant, rudimentary and totally atmospheric, and the overall effect is mesmerising. Next, a deeply dirty, overdriven bassline heralds "Orpheus Descending" while a dry snare drum taps out a rhythm, seemingly in a completely different room. The band's two guitar sounds are used to advantage here, with a screed of angular noise sitting alongside a sweeter, chiming and distant counterpoint. But when both guitars erupt together the result is exhilarating, visceral noise. Meanwhile, as strangely formal and stentorian male vocals are half-sung and half-spoken I catch myself thinking about New Zealand, Alastair Galbraith and the wonderful tapes which the Xpressway label produced - as "Orpheus Descending" is a similar triumph of songwriting craft and sheer noise over recording technology. The chorus introduces the slightest fleck of organ and a female vocal foil and the result is a simply structured, but absurdly beautiful noise. Somewhere here the lead vocals soar and provide the concise but beguiling lines "take a candle/join my mass/chase a heart/of broken chapel glass" - and Edinburgh School For The Deaf become one of those bands you always wanted to be in. The entire single clocks in at seven minutes - and every second of it counts.

Edinburgh School for the Deaf - Orpheus Descending

You can download Edinburgh School For The Deaf's single from Bubblegum Records. Their album will be released on 13th June.

I could have spent a little extra time in bed this morning, but old habits die hard and I found myself heading for the 05:48. This, at least, allowed time for breakfast and coffee before picking up today's tour at Bristol Temple Meads. It's rare I manage to do a tour from here at a reasonable hour, and despite the dubious wisdom of not squeezing out every possible mile given the fairly hefty cost, it felt like a nice, relaxing morning - which after the rather messy and difficult week I'd had, was ideal. A few minutes before time, the tell-tale rumble of an unreconstructed Class 37 could be heard, and the tour rounded the corner into platform 6. Boarded and found myself near some familiar faces. Unfortunately ones who won't tolerate open windows which meant I'd likely have a sleepy and quiet day. In any case, concentrated on the journey ahead - pausing to have a few minutes at a drop-light through Highbridge and Bridgwater where a few familiar faces were in evidence. From here, it was a fairly straightforward dash down through Exeter and over the South Devon Banks to Plymouth for a brief leg-stretch before doing the unusual connection from platform 8 southbound, back onto the mainline.

The first object of today's jaunt was Goonbarrow Junction - the complex of china clay sidings just off the Newquay branch. Given that this wasn't a BLS tour and Pathfinder's history of 'paperwork' issues, most of us expected to reach the Network Rail limit and no further. As we creaked and groaned into the yard of Rocks Dries with the concrete pad white with kaolin, I was surprised to note we were continuing into the sidings. We ended up close to the buffer stops, as physically far as the train could reach. Much impressed we awaited the reversal and the run through St. Blazey yard and down to the stub of the Par Harbour branch. As we came to a halt at the road bridge, pretty much where previous tours have reached in fact, I was again rather shocked to find the driver edging forward once again. Passing the Stop Board which marked the start of Imerys territory, we progressed into the complex, coming to a stand well onto the concrete apron near the loading point. Discussed this rather unexpected outcome with my BLS-member table-mate as I spotted a 'Pearns of Par' van in the docks. The pasties had arrived!

After a very long queue for a very good pasty, I settled back in for the next part of the run. A reversal back into St. Blazey, then back onto the mainline to Lostwithiel where we passed slowly through the station and came to a stand in the Up Goods Loop. Once we'd reversed and crossed over the mainline, we began the descent beside the river towards Fowey. Besides being interesting from a railway perspective, this was a stunning run through fine countryside. A boat flying the Saltire kept pace with us as we wound alongside the river through the pretty and tiny village of Golant, which a spellchecker had rendered as 'coolant' in the tour notes! Noted the crowd of drinkers at the Fisherman's Arms out to cheer us on too. Eventually we came to a halt at Carne Point, beyond which passenger trains are forbidden. Once again, we'd gone as far as possible - which was shaping up to be the order of the day. A swift reversal before we headed back to the mainline at Lostwithiel and gathered pace back towards the Royal Albert Bridge and civilisation.

Another brief stop at Plymouth in drizzle and gloom followed, before we set off as far as Lipson Junction where we curved to the right, passing the back of Laira Depot and heading back towards the city. As the tidy but clearly no longer used Turnchapel branch descended to meet us, we realised that once again we were pressing on to the very end of the network. As the former site of Plymouth Friar, the Southern Railway terminus here, opened out, we halted at the buffer stops just short of an impressively proportioned road overbridge. The city centre was a couple of hundred yards beyond - much more convenient that an arrival at distant North Road station! No time to rue the passing of the station though, as we headed back towards Great Western metals and Mount Gould Junction. Here we took the right hand fork onto the 'Speedway Line'. Installed when Laira became a diesel depot, this line divides the main depot from the sidings, and links back to the mainline at Laira Junction. Once back on the mainline we started from a near stand to assault Hemerdon Bank. A noisy, smoky and very satisfying climb indeed.

Once back in the Exeter suburbs we slowed near the rather bleak St. Thomas station to reverse again, this time reversing onto the Alphington Road siding, formerly the line to Heathfield and Newton Abbot avoiding the sea wall section. Dense foliage permitted very little view of our surroundings, but I understand we reached the edge of the scrapyard which this tiny stub now serves, and almost got as far as the large Sainsbury's now built near the trackbed. With the 37s now leading for the ride home, we stopped briefly to set down at Exeter St. Davids before passing through Riverside Yard on the Down Goods line. I readied myself to disembark at Taunton, happy that the day had been a huge success and an enjoyable trip.

A quick - but painfully expensive - ticket purchase at Taunton, then on to a waiting hired-in London Midland Class 153. A bunch of locals were complaining that the train hadn't left yet - despite it not being time for another 15 minutes or so - and the otherwise very well refurbished unit had obviously taken a battering down here, being strewn with litter and torn seat covers. I missed my comfortable Mark I FO as I trundled home.