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Hawkwind: London Astoria
Below Hawkwind's groggy groove there's still a belligerent punk energy at work...
The timewarp begins at eight. The lights go down, a bedraggled crew of fiftysomethings drift unceremoniously on stage and before you know it, the
whole place is willing itself on toward one more sonic seance. Woozy stuff, then, until you realise your ears are throbbing and the band are lurching into the strangled sax and sheet-metal guitars of 'Warriors At The Edge Of Time' like someone's set your head on fire.
Because, bizarre as it seems, below Hawkwind's groggy groove there's still a belligerent punk energy at work which has managed to retain an all-ages crowd and signpost the way for everyone from Spiritualized to Mogwai. Contrary to the last, they end not with the customary 'Silver Machine', but with a gritty blues called 'Hashish' which, were the combined effects of acid-rock and marijuana smoke deadly, would surely have wiped out half of the West End.
Hawkwind, then: approach, as ever, with caution.
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