So yeah, Cardinal Fuzz pulled out. Maybe they didn’t like their name being misspelled on the poster. Whatever. Two bands left then that are happy to head off into fantastic psych territory. Teeth Of The Sea spread out in a horizontal line, four dudes and one very dodgy moustache. Only having a couple of stand up drums means their wandering drones never get a proper pummelling, but instead get buffeted nicely by washes of guitar, keyboard noise and melodica. Teeth Of The Sea have a pretty sweet ability to be in all places at once, to exist in one big instrumental cloud, lacking momentum but suddenly smashing out. Benign like a bag or satsumas, they put a dopey grin on my face, and twist my melon further by playing for what feels like ten minutes. Clocks say longer, but what do they know?

There’s little better sight than walking into a crowded room and finding at the back of it Kid Millions bashing holy crap out of a drumkit. Though they have a couple of peripheral players, hugging the sides like the nerds who got lucky, Kid’s steroid octopus act is one third of core Oneida, next to Bobby Matador (frantic, wayward organ) and Hanoi Jane (guitar scree, baldness). Together, in a venue that recognises the value of both hippy visuals and decent ventilation, they’re beautiful, a full on feast of chunky kraut jams fed through several layers of lysergic freakiness. Oneida are just better at everything: antique keyboard lines that repeat forever, repetition that wigs out over the whole room, bubbling, fizzing, killer moves all the time. You know. Jump up and get it. As a bonus, I squeal like a toddler when they play ‘Caeser’s Column’. It’s the one that goes: “DURRRRRR. DURRRRRR. DURRRRRR. Doo doo doo doo.” They are a special band I think you’ll agree.