Sandy Pubes?

Appearing as part of In The City we find ourselves making the short journey from Dry Bar (on the other side of the road!) to Piccadilly Records to see what Beach Fuzz are all about. There can’t be more than fifteen people milling around amongst the record racks, whilst over in one corner the racks have been pushed back to make way for Beach Fuzz.

Things are a little odd from the start, the slide guitarist is sitting sideways on to the crowd (and for much of the set plays the strings with a violin bow), opposite sits the drummer and in-between, sitting on the floor, with his head bowed throughout so you can’t actually see him under his mop of hair, is singer (loose term) and keyboard player (again, loose term) Nick. They begin with an experimental drone piece, over which drummer Barry plays a rambling beat, that occasionally speeds up for a few bars but soon returns to accompany the rather monotonous drone of the others.

Depending what mood you are in Beach Fuzz are either fabulously avant garde and just way too cool or they are completely rubbish and pointless. For the first five or six minutes I’m opting with the former, I hear shades of early Amon Duul in places and I can see Andy Warhol sitting in a wicker chair jacking off to it. Getting on for fifteen minutes later they are still on the same song/noise/drone with little change in the way of dynamics and it all becomes rather boring. Nick sporadically picks up a microphone and mumbles something incoherent into it, preferring to plonk away on his little Casio keyboard and twiddling the odd effect button.

They describe themselves as psychedelic and experimental and you can’t really argue with that but like most bands of that ilk they are an acquired taste and if you’re not in the right headspace for it then it’s extremely hard work.