London Mean Fiddler

I'LL POOP the party later but first note: Los Lobos are the worst dressed and physically most unappealing group I've ever seen the lead singer lets his check shirt flap over his amply waisted trousers one wonders the extent of the excess baggage tariff airlines must surely impose on his stomach.

Their music ranges from the electric blues riffing of 'Don't Worry Baby' – which enlivens the senses on first hearing but slides into plainness after several – to the softer but no less lively acoustic material which occupied the bulk of the second half of the set.

Such sounds are undeniably enjoyable, their very evolution dances and parties decrees that it be so. Yet, oddly, I felt like, embarrassed gawper.

Los Lobos play the music of blue skies and wide open spaces. Obviously the Mean Fiddler can provide neither and, while it may seem an extreme case of contextual snobbery, I failed to succumb to Los Lobos' bountiful charms while choking on cigarette smoke being surrounded by a posse of pseudo cowboys who who yelled "ARRIBA!" every few minutes.

It struck (and hurt) me then that the Los Lobos ‘phenomenon’ game of sorts. As they escalate into the record industry, the music and emotions that run in their blood are being presented to those sections of the comparatively mainstream rock audience ready willing to gorge themselves stupid on anything remotely 'ethnic'.

I thought better of tugging Cesar Rosas' beard. I'm sure it’s genuine as he and his band are. What really troubles me are the number of punters who sprinkled chilli powder on their muesli the following morning.