Deer Tick, Brixton Windmill, London

Tis a blustery December evening in Brixton town and super hyped Rhode Island natives Deer Tick, varyingly described as Americana-indie-country-folk-rock, have a last minute gig to promote new album ‘Born on Flag Day’ at the Windmill before they depart for Europe.

The Windmill is a delightfully ramshackle affair, like a derelict Byker Grove, and the pirate barman is having a fight to the death with the eighties air con unit. The crowd are a jolly lost looking bunch with a severe knitwear habit. Deer Tick float to the stage, a motley crew, complete with plaid shirted entourage and heavily bearded drummer. So far so good. Then front man John Joseph McCauley III arranges pants and socks on his head and proclaiming that “every party begins with a stoner metal jam” launches into an impressively rocking intro at which point a middle aged chap in the front row faints. The sycophantic minions are lying on top of each other trying to get the best shot of McCauley and it’s apparent, even this early on, that a one man ego fest is to abound.

‘Baltimore Blues No1.’ does get a great reaction and better live too. Spikier. Then ‘Smith Hill’ shows off the delicious gravel in McCauley’s voice in a clashy wall of a bluesy lament. A terrified looking pullover crowd are cajoled into taking a shot of JD from the leads mouth. One band surely not to be in the front row of if you’re not a fan of audience participation. And yes he’s definitely a bit drunk. ‘Little White Lies’ then starts gently and erupts into a pleasingly fast staccato of tinny country blues and the ‘very nasty ballad about growing up catholic’ ‘Hell on Earth’ is sadly mediocre. Next new song ‘Make Believe’ described as a ‘minor key rocker’ is pretty underwhelming too.

A slow and surprisingly soulful ‘Ashamed’ is packed with beautiful three part harmonies and unfortunately immediately thereafter tacked up by more lead to audience mouth shots. Then a sumptuously oompa version of ‘These Old Shoes’ included a delightfully emphatic piece of three piece screaming. Half way through the song McCauley handed his guitar to an audience member and with a very nonchalant “don’t worry” left her heckled to play as he sprayed the audience with beer. When order is restored ‘Easy’ seems a band favorite and the commitment of deliverance renders it the strongest song of the night. Unfortunately drummer Dennis then leaves to be sick, from which point it just isn’t the same. The only notable songs hereafter are a moderately soulful solo of ‘Shot Gun’ and ‘Dirty Dishes’ which, sans drummer, still manages to leave audience members looking wistful. ‘Houston TX’ does include some admittedly shit-hot guitar and ‘Diamond Rings’ inspires McCauley to croon so hard you can see a gold tooth. Finally (and unfortunately this has felt like too long an evening) a reflective cover of John Prines ‘Mexican Home’ garners some respect.

From here the evening dissolves into complete confusion. Other band members depart and the crowd dissipates as McCauley babbles through a mumbling solo medley and then stands in the audience doing questionable brat pack impressions. The band are tight live but the show is still confusing and disjointed and in direct contradiction to such coherent albums. On this occasion McCauley appears an egomaniac and Deer Tick a cultivated vehicle for his antics. The expectation of a mind blowing show was unfulfilled and the night ended with a disorderly fizzle rather than an unforgettable bang.