The dark corridors and country pub atmosphere of the Step Inn is an apt setting for a night of filthy, balls-out delta blues. The Vegas Kings kick off proceedings under the watchful gaze of the Step’s psychedelic curtains and bombard a packed front room with an early blitzkrieg of swamp blues skronk that doesn’t let up. The swinging light above them comes off like an interrogation room and the Kings are up to the questioning, airing new material from their latest EP, Yeah I’m Drunk…So What?, and offering up the same explosively possessed live show that locals would take for granted if it weren’t so visceral every time with these guys. Birthday boy Pete seems in an extra festive spirit as he belts his guitar against the wall and trades wailing guitar screeches with Ben Dougherty, not unlike Jack White guesting with Motorhead. The size of the early crowd along with the rapturous applause speaks volumes for the esteem in which the Kings are held.

A quick break allows one to take in the sights of the Step and amongst the washed-up skater boys and metal heads I swear I see Kim Gordon walk by.

Abbe May is next, a whistling temptress with a black snake moan. Abbe comes across like VV from the Kills with a sort-of scuzzy Nancy Sinatra vocal quality that would benefit from some increased volume tonight. She is backed up solely by her 70’s drum machine and mostly engages the still healthy crowd with her Screaming Jay Hawkins-ish blues. Perhaps it’s that she’s sandwiched between the Kings and Bob Lob tonight or it’s the drum machine but it all seems a little sedate and slightly underwhelming in comparison. There’s no doubting Abbe’s considerable talents but a better-suited venue and fairer time slot would make a better showcase for her than tonight.

Now I’ve done my research and have thus far been unable to come up with any info on Bob Log I or II but wherever they are they certainly instilled some showmanship into the third model. The southern menace II society that is Bob Log III enters via the audience sporting a smart jacket and shirt, his trademark helmet adorning his bonce. After a couple of false starts with his drum set-up we are well and truly away, the outer-wear soon discarded to reveal his shiny jumpsuit in all it’s splendour as he revs up the crowd, his mouth-hole spewing forth slogans in his Cartman-esque vocodered style.

Showcasing some new material from his gloriously titled new album, My Shit is Perfect, Bob Log III’s cartoonish stage presence along with his unique one-man-band brand of speed garage blues have the place jumping. His guitar licks are sharp, double kick drums penetrating, and as a lady in red swaggers onstage to finally unveil Bob tassles covering her lady lumps, it’s officially getting hot in herre.

Bump Pow! Bump Bump Bump Pow! Bump Pow! Bump Bump Bump Pow! Bump Pow! Bump Bump Bump Pow! Bump Pow! Bump Bump Bump is sleazy genius, I Want Your Shit On My Leg hammered out with two female audience members sitting on his lap throughout, one of whom had been up earlier and been kind enough to provide the stirring instrument required so a high octane version of Boobscotch could be played.

Bob’s assured stage presence complements his tunes perfectly, this is a man in full control of his shtick. The band, consisting of his limbs, are given a full introduction as the crowd are then encouraged to “glow on me real good”, the light reflecting from his Daft Punk-ish helmet illustrating this request is met in the affirmative.

I’ve always wondered what would happen if a HAL 9000 computer went for a canoe trip down the Cahulawassee River and got lost with nothing but a truckload of meth and a guitar….. now I know.