Prague 8.4.2004

I didn't know much about British Sea Power but I was suspicious.

For starters, the band had been foolish enough to leave Cumbria, in the rugged north-west of England, to live among the art students, "name" DJs and smack addicts of Brighton, on England's soft south coast.

And it got worse: They went bird-watching. They liked country walks and climbing trees. They wore uniforms. They decorated the stage with twigs.

It all sounded a bit Blur circa Modern Life is Rubbish - the actions of a bunch of effete, latte-drinking southerners rather than those of a proper northern guitar band.

I began to suspect that the whole Cumbria thing was a fabrication.

It's rare for an upcoming rock band to muddy their shoes in the Czech market, though, so I was surprised when BSP were booked to play Prague's Roxy club, supported by a local act, The Ecstasy of Saint Theresa.

I was even more intrigued when my friend AMP e-mailed to say she was coming to Prague and wanted to see British Sea Power while she was here.

AMP's cool. She runs a zine, writes for hip music magazines and had turned her back on the grubby world of guitar music a long time ago.

What was going on?

All would be revealed at the Roxy: Put simply, British Sea Power rock.

Like most nights at the Roxy, the BSP show attracts a hip, young Czech crowd. The venue bills itself as an "experimental space" and it's housed in a converted 1930s theatre but its default setting is dance club.

For The Ecstasy of Saint Theresa and their slightly wonky trip-hop, this is a natural setting, and it seems like a good portion of the crowd is there to see them rather than the headliners.

EoST's Katerina Winterova sings on the latest British Sea Power single but otherwise it's an odd coupling and it takes BSP a while to win over the more sceptical members of the audience.

What's odd about British Sea Power, apart from the fact that they have a stuffed owl onstage, is how much drama they squeeze out of some fairly familiar elements.

Behind lead singer Yan's Bowie-ish vocals there are hints of pretty much every major British guitar band of the past 20 years.

The most common reference point - Joy Division - probably owes as much to the band's austere look and onstage intensity as it does to its music.

Elsewhere, there are hints of anything from early James to the Psychedelic Furs to Big Country swirling around in the mix, harnessed to a power and passion that makes a BSP show far more than the sum of its parts.

"I'm so glad that guitars are back," my girlfriend yells to me midway through the set, and it's hard to disagree.

Most satisfyingly, there's something about BSP's windswept, strong-but-sad guitar sound that sounds distinctively northern. They really are from Cumbria.

After the show, thanks to AMP, we go "backstage" to a tiny room where BSP and their entourage are hanging out.

There's plenty of Guinness backstage but all the other booze has gone. I suspect that BSP may have only included Guinness on their rider to add to their old world mystique but I'm happy to drink it.

Things get a bit blurry from this point on, though I do remember my girlfriend and our friend Jenne canvassing opinions on cockfighting at one point.

From the Roxy, we head to Marquis de Sade, an expat bar in the Old Town, where the tour party, against our advice, orders absinthes.

When the Marquis closes, someone suggests going on to From Dusk Till Dawn, a bar that stays open all night.

Everybody agrees, then the rest of the party heads off determinedly in the wrong direction towards Old Town Square and the Charles Bridge.

Caroline, Jenne and I head direct to Dusk and wait around until about 4am, hoping they might show up, then catch the night tram home.

Somehow AMP finds her way back to our suburban flat with a member of the band, around 5am, and we wake up with a hungover rock star sleeping in the hall of our apartment.

British Sea Power are more rock 'n' roll than you might think.