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To The Greyhound! …on the Winterval evening of Wednesday. It’s that uncomfortable period in-between the turkey stuffing session and the cider fuelled songs, come the chimes of midnight on the 31st. The Devil and the deep blue sea needs some Dylan to cheer us all up.

Judas!

I don’t believe you. You’re a liar.

Better believe it, brother. Rocking the *ahem* Main Stage at The Greyhound on Wednesday was the mighty Huricane, the rag tag Wivenhoe three / come four piece collective of musos that worship at the altar of all things Saint Bob. We’re not talking about Mr Russell, either.

Blimey.

But that’s all a little unfair. Bob may be the main muse for Hurricane, but a man who survives on a vinyl diet of Dylan is a man who probably spends too much time alone staring out towards Alresford Creek.

Um, I rather like Dylan.

The set, of sorts, was littered with songs that fitted the mood. And that mood just happened to be a North Essex estuary boozer with post-Christmas punters that wanted to keep it real, man, and be entertained with some rather fine musicianship before the false smiles of the New Year ding dong and all the crappy music that comes.

Just don’t mention the bloody Bob Dylan Christmas album.

Instead we had Hurricane, or the North Essex Wilburys as some folk have dubbed them. Every song a classic; every chord strum to perfection. Not a a hint of stage make-up in sight. Lead vocals were passed back and forth between rhythm and lead guitar. Plodd-ing along [aha!] at the back was Mr Mule on bass.

But wait! What’s this? The mighty Hurricane have diversified of late, having auditioned for the skills of a hatbox drummer. The boys done good finding Mark, a man with rhino skin hands, not to mention a mean touch at baking the most delicate cakes that this town can offer. You try banging away all night, and then baking some fairy cakes come first light.

Fine work, fella.

Highlights of the mighty Hurricane set included Positively 4th Street, and then a cover of Joe Jackson’s Is She Really Going Out With Him. A bit of a Spinal Tap moment took place mid-set with the bass player becoming otherwise engaged. It wasn’t quite a caught in a catacomb catastrophe, but Mr Mule managed to rescue the moment, and in true Tap style, returned to the Main Stage just in time for the final Thank You and Good Night before the break.

Like father like son for the interval with Wivenhoe locals Brainstorm Wednesday entertaining. Born out of the loins of Hurricane, the duo showed the old dog’s that there’s more to life than a Dylan fixation.

But it was the Bob-ness boys that returned triumphant, playing a Johnny Cash medley, against the backdrop of an improbable Greyhound scene that now accommodated a fancy dress party peaking slightly too early. I could have sworn that the zombie extra doubled up as a mid-life Dylan.

“I’ve got splinters in my fingers!” declared the hatbox hitter, paraphrasing Macca, and keeping in with the set that then explored Beatles territory. That’s what you get from three hours of banging away, Sir.

And so that was the mighty Hurricane, breezing into The Greyhound and conquering the quizzical Wivenhoe crowd with all things Bob. They should be booked in for New Year’s Eve. Anything to stop all that Auld Lang Syne nonsense.

Even Bob.

Blimey.