Friday 7 June 2002

Lots of bands what play the Yorkie are made up of regulars, but The Hop are not the regular, snot-nosed twenty or thirty-something regulars.

They are the real Yorkshire House people- the ones you don’t see; the people behind the scenes and in front of the bar who make it all possible.

I wanted some sixties style, and I wasn’t disappointed. The guys wore black tie, white shirt, tucked into swinging blue jeans. One was even sporting Mary Quant mascara!

The two guitarists were great- just like a scottish carrot (tight and crunchy.) The up-for-it bass player had a fine pair of lungs- they all did. But the lead singer was best of all. He clapped, hollered and gyrated his penis through the Small Faces, Kinks, Beatles..you name it. I don’t think there was a person there who wasn’t thoroughly turned on.

Though early to mid-sixties britrock predominated, we also got a couple by rootsy Woodstock winos The Band and other inspirations from across the pond.

Of course, if you can remember the 60s lyrics, you weren’t really there, and the front-man was the real deal. Words came thick, fast and on the beat, but the rate of re-invention and deftness of fluff-concealment was the true magic. Even grumpy Bob Dylan would have smiled at some of the ‘new verses’ of ‘I Shall Be Released’, The Hop’s closer.

I had a lovely night. I felt like a bunged-up lavatory- it all came flooding back. I finished my drink and caught the last ferry home.

DNWH