As the aroma of elaborate stodge pummels the nostrils upon entrance, cascading down from the sterile balconies above the ambience within this slipshod Camden haunt is incontestably more Café than it is in any way Jazzy. The 'Jazz Café' represents a pseudo-plush, plastic-floored temple of nothingness geared toward a generic nondescription and on a night upon which Elvis Costello almost sells out the Royal Albert Hall and the impatiently awaiting here conglomerated stutter stilted qualms over a lack of programmes as Billy Ocean blares over the PA, it's one belonging to some remote aeon and a rather inspiring one at that. For
The Zombies too are of distant epoch; perhaps a time when this NW heckhole may have been considered in some way chic. A London borough off any form of pace whether regarding music or modus vivendi; whatever, if
this month's Camden Crawl fumbled for a palpable pulse Colin Blunstone and Rod Argent – both at the ripe ol' age of 66 – inject intrigue and energy into their psychedelic pop blowout whilst contemporaries may opt to bloat foreheads with botox and forearms with substance significantly more perilous. Certainly witnessing them right here; right now may accentuate an emphasis on the inescapability of withering with age – Argent later alludes to the passing of original guitarist Paul Atkinson – although The Zombies are doing so with dignity, grace, and some bloody great hits.