Dear Nessi

Trilby, Pork Pie or Bowler - whether you’re the group or the audience it seem hats are the thing to wear to a Lion Roses show.

A few years ago, Power Pack and I were at Captain Impossible's loft in the New York metropolitan area (aka New Jersey), having a typical evening of spliff and Guinness, listening the local weirdo radio station wfmu. Or maybe it was the Captain's record collection. Veteran punks Mr and Mrs Tattoo were pulling faces and rolling their eyes at the latest tuneless, beatless noise.

"I bet Power Pack will like it," I said.

When my husband returned from the other end of the loft he said, "Wow, Captain, this is great. What is it?"

"The Lion Roses*" (* bad pseudonym alert)

A few years later, jump to London, and through Mr Flea we meet the group's bass player. Power Pack buys a tuneful Lion Roses CD, and I learn that the unlistenable one was "Spikeheaded Paul*" (* bad pseudonym alert again), a musical which got taken over Mr Thomas, the large Jehovah's witness from Ohio who now lives in Hove. We never make it to the musical, and whenever the Lion Roses play London they instantly sell out. Most of the time they are on tour, from Canada to Australia to Eastern Europe.

Last night we finally saw the Lion Roses. Met bass player's girlfriend in "the Pit" under a major arts/music/cultural place. They were accompanying a dance performance (more like the dancers accompanying the band I'd say) and as it was a kind of erotic thing, Crawdaddy and Izzy turned up - a Valentine's Day surprise from husband to wife. As we entered the small theatre room, Izzy still did not know what she was going to see.

The lights went down and a man slowly waddled onto the stage. I wish I had a canvas and easel, or at least a camera. His face was painted white, with a big bow of bright red lips. His eyes and teeth were yellow. He wore a bowler hat and had a long pigtail down his back. He played a beautiful accordion with tiny delicate hands, and grimaced every word. After the first song his sat down at a piano, and entertained throughout the show, making guttural noises into his cordless microphone when he wasn't singing falsetto. Even better was when after a few songs, the singer went backstage and then turned up in a floor length evening dress. A quilted, theatrical 18th century type dress. Not unlike Power Pack in his wedding dress - big belly, small feet pointing out like Charlie Chaplan. Awkward movement. When I met the guy afterwards all I could say was "you remind me of Power Pack." I'm not sure if he knew who Power Pack was or that he was my husband.

I can see why Mr Flea wasn't keen on going to the show. There was something a bit Mr Flea like about the guy, too, the same age and build. Like an operatic clown version of the miserable folk singer-cum-poet. Maybe the thought of himself in a dress was too much for Mr Flea.

So afterwards we met the rest of the group - yes, how can I not mention the drummer, he had a dead (plastic) chicken attached to his toy drumkit and at one point trashed the entire kit, then reassembled it timing each noise to fit the dancers and other musicians.

Went to the pub afterwards. One of the dancers turned up, leaning sideways, not surprising and they expended a tremendous amount of energy. Not being big fans of modern dance in general (and god, were their feet ugly), we really enjoyed the show.

A bunch of us walked to the bus stop together, including a German guy who was visiting the bass player. He had just arrived and still had his luggage. He was concerned the English had renewed hatred for the Germans, due to their wanting to stop Bush and Blair going to war. We al reassured him it wasn't so, that we think Germany is great, and that a million people will be marching on Saturday.

Meanwhile I have yet another cold - I had 3 days of being well. Ugh. Been feeling sluggish all month, not feeling like painting. With all the space due to almost all my work being out at shows I thought I'd be up for lots of work. But maybe the because I have a big solo show that I don’t' feel like painting. Like its time to step back, take stock, think a bit about the next move. And work on the surf band, which seems to be going rather well right now.

Petra