DJs are criminally under-used in a lot of live events in Tokyo so it's with a sense of welcome surprise that we enter to the sounds of a barrage of obscure freakbeat near-classics being lovingly spun by members of tonight's curators, The MooKeeS. As the room approaches capacity The Mercy take positions, a whirlwind of sharp suits, sharper haircuts and tight, jagged garage guitars. They're still at the stage where the sheer thrill of playing on stage seems to be overriding their motivation to write actual songs but nevertheless, there are some promising Clash-do-reggae digressions that suggest that they're thinking in the right direction.

There's another DJ session on the way, but keeping us dancing until then are the rockabilly surf guitar stylings of the Terry Shimamura Group. They look like they're having a lot of fun up on stage together but in the end they sound much too comfortable to engage in any meaningful way.

10 years or so down the line from their rough and ready debut album, The Pebbles must now be pretty close to perfecting their particular brand of breezy, charming sixties-influenced pop that dances enticingly around your frontal lobes but never really goes anywhere. They attack every song with good humour and they spread good vibes like confetti but if you're looking for something with a little meat on the bones, then look elsewhere.

In fact you could do a lot worse than look to The MooKeeS. From the start it's clear that this is a band working within some pretty tight musical restrictions, but the tension that derives from the way they strain against these restrictions results in music as loud and uncompromising as it is primitive and basic. Still in a pretty strict sixties mindset, they don't waste time fannying about with cute flower power cliches, they hack their musical nuggets out from the same brutal rock seams as bands like The Downliner's Sect, The Misunderstood, and The Shadows Of Knight. The driving force of most of the songs comes from the overlapping bass and guitar, both instruments trading riffs in a hypnotic call-and-response mode. It kicks you in the head like a pint of Polish vodka and, like a pint of Polish vodka, leaves you twitching on the floor. Not sure about the name but, hey, you can't have everything. -Ian Martin, Jun.20.04