This rare appearance from legendary Dogs D'Amour frontman Tyla demonstrated that, in his own words - record sales and chart positions don't matter ****'.

Retaining a small but fanatical following, he's found a niche as a wandering minstrel - part lovelorn Alan-a-Dale, part self-styled English outlaw.

Worlds apart from London's contemporaneous eighties rock'n'roll underworld - no Axl Rose style histrionics or Hollywood hair-extension metal here - The Dogs' appeal lay in real-life, beat-but-not-defeated tales wreathed in massive choruses.

Blighted by bad luck, bad business and bad living The Dogs never broke big but still inspired devotion among die-hards hanging on the tattered heart poetry and doomed romanticism of Errol Flynn, Drunk Like Me, Satellite Kid and How Come It Never Rains.

So last night one man and his Gretsch guitar plundered songs mainly from the treasure chest of his Dogged Pirates of Camden Town days - the majestically plaintive Princess Valium, song for absent friends Johnny Silvers, Back On The Juice's bittersweet bravado and closer Mr. Barfly are despatched with customary buccaneer swagger.

Seemingly relishing his latter-day itinerant blues-bard status, he's an undiscovered saint to many and long may this truly independent maverick wander.

Building a fervent fan-base themselves, The Exorsisters opened with a cherry-popping acoustic set taking their star-burnt sleaze-punk somewhere quiet - like side two of GN'R Lies played back-to-back with T-Rex's bongo-fuelled Summertime Blues.

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