Eight hours is a long flight for one gig

Having weeped at missing the Cut Copy and Black Lips gigs for various reasons including hubris and stupidity, Miss Swiss plus one, Curly Wurly and I instead hit the Mercury Lounge for the Frog Eyes plus others gig.

Not being an NY boy, this was my first time at the Lounge — a long, thin room with a bar along one edge ends in some swing doors; these hide a medium-sized open space with a stage raised enough to see whatever indie rock group has taken your particular fancy that particular night.

On this particular night, we were in for one of those random pleasurable surprises one occasionally meets at a more-or-less random gig.

Being the polite (albeit tall) girl that she is, Miss Swiss moved forward with me until only short people stood in front of her and her ten-foot boyfriend. They then refused to block the view of smaller punters, standing around the middle of the room. Very considerate, and an example to us all.

Carey Mercer doesn't appear to deal well with crowds. Perhaps he knows that he should chat and make pretty with the audience, but he doesn't really want to, and maybe doesn't even know how. So he tells stories. Impressively adept at bullshitting, he crapped on for minutes on end between songs before leaping into his surreal and impassioned and quite impenetrable lyrics with his choked off warble.

Mercer imbues his words with meaning through repetition: "to give the birch birch birch birch back his spring", "with the with the with the", and so on. I wasn't sure what (if anything) he was singing about, but shit he really really really really meant it. Also sweet was his behaviour towards his drummer wife. He's clearly a man smitten, even if Melanie didn't have much to say in response. I don't blame her — I was also struck dumb by his antics.

But, oh my god, Papertrigger. Oh yes. Operatic vocals reminiscent of Jack Bruce of Cream, a plastic pipe used for percussion and so much energy. Add in smart lyrics — fox hunting is a harmonic rhapsody against corruption; We Are Nations Now is a rocking paean to personal independence — and you have the best unsigned (incredibly) band you have heard about for a long time. None of these cuts are rough; their steel has been polished to a humming shine.

Get their RIOT LOVERS EP if you possibly can; go see them if you have to walk across plains of broken glass on your knees. Which you just might, if you see them in Manhattan. I'd enthuse more, but there's that court order...

Now if we could just transplant New York into Switzerland...