Various album reviews

Barry Adamson ‘As Above So Below’
Former Magazine bassist and part-time Bad Seed, the man whose name sounds too much like Bryan Adams continues to explore his widescreen vistas of sound, mixing a range of diverse influences with his own inimitable style, from recent single 'Can't Get Loose' to a cover of Suicide's 'Girl'. This separates 'As Above So Below' from the multitude commonly described as soundtracks for unmade films, and if David Lynch ever finds the time again, you never know what could be achieved.

Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds ‘The Best Of Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds’
Since the collapse of the Birthday Party, Nick Cave has released a staggering number of albums, and no, none of them are goth. This compilation offers all the hits (well, 'Where The Wild Roses Grow'), alongside a number of truly classic moments, such as the monumental 'Red Right Hand', the ode to the electric chair that is 'The Mercy Seat', and the reworking of 'Henry Lee', featuring the awe-inspiring Polly Harvey. He may not believe in an interventionist god, but if such thing did exist, that deity may well be known as Nick Cave.

Ani Difranco ‘Little Plastic Castle’
According to people who know this sort of thing, Ani Difranco has a sound not dissimilar to Alanis Morissette, although aspiring to be that particular spoilt, whining, overly menstrual Canadian must be considered akin to a football team wanting to be Doncaster Rovers. Unfortunately for us, unlike the Rovers, it's possible that Ani Difranco won't have dived into obscurity and financial ruin by June.

Duffy ‘I Love My Friends’
Another year, another attempt at a Duffy revival, only this time Duffy has enticed contributions from Alex James, Justin Welch, and, more worryingly, Aimee Mann. Unfortunately, this means yet more rehashes of the same old, tried, tested and tired Britpop tricks, with a touch of Simon & Garfunkel thrown in for variation. Not even the promisingly titled 'One Day One Of These Fucks Will Change Your Life' has any energy in it, and the intro sounds far too much like Weller's 'Changing Man' for anyone's comfort. Duffy even sees fit to namecheck his former band, the Lilac Time, and Camden Town. Frankly, darling, it's just so 1995.

The Geraldine Fibbers ‘Butch’
It would appear that the attention the press gives to Carla Bozulich's voice is merely a marketing ploy to distract us from the Geraldine Fibbers' obvious lack of songs. This is confounded by their best moments essentially belonging to someone else - the Pixies-esque intro to 'Toybox', the Cardiacs' style syncopation of 'I Killed The Cuckoo' and a cover of Can's 'You Doo Right'. And if you're going to bother writing a song in tribute to Claudine Longet, you're presumably not looking to insult her, and therefore really should have considered writing some lyrics for it. So, Carla, you might think I hate you, but, on the basis of this offering, you're not really worth the effort.

Girls Against Boys ‘Freak*On*Ica ‘
'Freak*On*Ica' sees New York City's primary purveyors of the finest sex-muzik sleazing their way out of the underground and on to a major label, resulting in the merging of GvsB's distinctive garage sound and twin bass onslaught with a new found obsession with electronica. The carnal caress of Scott McCloud's sexually implicit vocals are thrust against a hedonistic background of samples and loops, turning 'Freak*On*Ica' into an attack of delirious desire and amphetamine psychosis sounds.

Mick Harvey ‘Pink Elephants’
At a time when every third-rate indie band is turning to string arrangements and horn sections in an attempt to compensate for a lack of talent and originality, along comes 'Pink Elephants' to show how they should be used. Mick Harvey continues to bring the songs of Serge Gainsbourg to a new audience and the sixteen tracks here present a bittersweet side probably unexpected from a member of the infamously morbid Bad Seeds, although the overall tone is still rather mournful. However, in spite of Mick Harvey's sterling efforts, the album's most obvious highlight is 'I Love You...Nor Do I' which pairs Nick Cave with Anita Lane, and proves itself a worthy successor to his recent duets with Polly Harvey and Kylie Minogue.

The High Llamas ‘Cold and Bouncy’
It must be hard when one band has perfected a sound to the extent that they become the benchmark to which all others are judged. Unfortunately for the High Llamas, that band is Stereolab. However, when long time 'Lab collaborator Sean O'Hagan takes time off to concentrate on his own band, the High Llamas produce their own subtly effervescent take on Krautrock's less stroppy younger brother. If Laetetia Sadier had woken up on Christmas morning hoping for Kraftwerk's back catalogue, only to find the Kinks' greatest hits, and then decided to get the Moog out anyway, this is what Stereolab would sound like. In Utopia, this is the music that lifts would choose to play.

James Iha ‘Let It Come Down’
It's always a risk when a guitarist decides it's time to leave his songwriting partnership behind. Johnny Marr gave us Electronic (like, cheers), and Bernard Butler decided that everyone else just wanted to stop him having any fun, so things can't have been looking good for little James Iha, whipping boy of the Smashing Pumpkins. Would he be able to survive not having anyone to argue with? Would he get in a strop and refuse to work with himself? Would we be able to pronounce his name properly? Fortunately, by ditching the electric guitars, and asking his mates round for tea (including D’Arcy Pumpkin, and Nina Gordon of Veruca Salt), James Iha has made an album of plaintive Neil Young tinged love songs that have well and truly made the Butler redundant.

The Jesus & Mary Chain ‘Munki’
As always, the Mary Chain sound like the Beach Boys having a threesome with Suicide and the Stooges, only this time around it seems that Brian Wilson got to play the dominant role. Although not matching the pure devastation of 'Psychocandy' or 'Honey's Dead', the more accessible 'Munki' proves that the Mary Chain can still deliver near perfect barbed-wire bubblegum invectives, all saccharin coated and strychnine centred. Despite Warner's refusal to release this album three years ago, Jim and William's razorblade edged bitterness plucks their crown of thorns back from the midst of the horde of contemporaries that they have been at least partly responsible for inspiring during the last fifteen years.

Kid Loco ‘A Grand Love Story’
The French revolution continues anew. Following in the steps of Etienne de Crecy and Air, Kid Loco has (quite rightly) decided that Stereolab hued retro-futurist easy listening is the only way that France will break from it's reputation for drivelling Euro-pap nonsense. Pausing only to imbibe some passing substances; catch up on cult British films (as the inlay says - Kid Loco plays on full Camberwell Carrot); and to rope in Katrina from the Pastels on guest vocals, Kid Loco sets himself up as a lounge-core Beck, and ‘A Grand Love Story’ provides a near perfect morning after to Odelay's big night out.

Komputer ‘The World Of Tomorrow’
Falling somewhere between Air and vintage Kraftwerk, 'The World Of Tomorrow' is music for the stilted generation, a soundtrack reflecting the transition from man to automaton, losing hours staring blankly at computer screens. By shunning the organic in favour of the bionic, Komputer have authentically replicated Kraftwerk's post-punk sound that was so far ahead of it's time twenty years ago. This pristine, Krautrock motorik may be too synthesized for the dull and dour Ocean Colour Scene brigade, but this is real music, played by real people, who quite probably really believe that they're robots.

Lo-Fidelity Allstars ‘How To Operate With A Blown Mind’
As the leading exponents of the scene that, for about four days last year, was known as skunk rock, the Lo-Fi's are baggy's bigger brother, the Happy Mondays down the Big Beat Boutique, wired, looking for a fight, and definitely not offering to buy you a lager. 'How To Operate With A Blown Mind' is a declaration of intent, willing to bludgeon you raw until you relent to its dark grooves and sinister beats. All we need now is for Norman Cook to listen to this and learn.

Pere Ubu ’Pennsylvania’
Pere Ubu number among that select few who are responsible for the sound of many of the bands around today, being one of the first to take the punk template and force it against droning guitars and monotonous beats, though unfortunately no-one really remembers them for it. While there is nothing essentially wrong with the album, other than not being interesting enough to justify 70 minutes, 'Pennsylvania' comes across as just another variation of the theme so well defined both by the likes of Girls Against Boys and the Jesus and Mary Chain, and more recent hopefuls such as Six By Seven and Mogwai, reducing one time innovators to a bunch of aging musos who used sound like they knew better.

The Warm JetsFleece & Firkin, Bristol

It must be terrible to gain recognition purely on the basis of who you used to go out with. So now that Zoe Ball is merely that girl off the radio that used to go out with Louis Jones, the Warm Jets are able to concentrate on being themselves again, without having to worry about being seen as some sort of media side-show, deemed worthy only of passing mention in yet another piece of sensationalized tabloid gossip.

From the moment the Jets step onto the stage, the difference is not merely apparent, it plucks you from the crowd, grabs you by the throat, screams in your ears, and pokes you in the eyes. The media distractions have been cast aside, the mild-mannered approach has been ditched, and the old bassist has left, allowing room for the newer, more acerbic incarnation that was first seen towards the end of last year to grow and fulfill the potential that had been long suggested.

Maybe it was a consequence of the tabloid attention, but Louis is no longer the slightly apologetic singer of old, but now holds centre-stage as if he was born there, slung round his guitar, meeting the audience of fans and curious onlookers with a look of true belief, while the atmosphere onstage is further complemented by the addition of new bassist Aki, and Beatrice Hatherly on keyboards, both of them effortlessly cool, and so integral to the tonight’s performance.

Whatever effect these changes have had doesn't end with the image. The songs have expanded, becoming more focused and explosive. From set opener 'Down Down Down', through the singles, album tracks and new songs, up to the encore of the colossal epic 'Dead Star Boys', none of the songs suffer from being unfamiliar, every one of them reaching out across the venue and ripping through the walls as if they are never to be heard again.

It would appear that the metamorphosis is complete, the old skin has been shrugged away having served it's purpose, and their true colours have been exposed to the world. You'd better watch out, because, as Brian Eno once said, here come the Warm Jets.

Beyond the Valley of the Proles

Many myths exist within the music industry, such as the belief that Embrace are a good band; that Oasis' meagre talent in any way deserves the attention and acclaim that they are afforded; and that every album that the Beatles released was listenable, let alone any good. However, all of these pale into insignificance when compared to the almost slanderous nature of one of the biggest myths of current music journalism - that, in 1998, there is a healthy and innovative music scene in South Wales.

This falsehood may even have been a contributing factor for your presence in this university, you could easily have been sucked in by the belief that, as one of the largest urban centres in Wales, Swansea would be able to provide an environment in which music was allowed to be anything other than a sound-track to the desperate masses found roaming the Kingsway most nights of the week.

While Manchester, Seattle, Glasgow and even Camden were able to provide the evidence justifying the claims, all Wales has been able to offer so far has been the Manic Street Preachers, Super Furry Animals, Helen Love and a number of third rate indie bands. When a scene is represented by the likes of Stereophonics, alarm bells should be ringing, even if Richard Branson now believes the future of music is Welsh (it should however be remembered he also believes he can travel the world by hot air balloon).

The opinions expressed by Stereophonics should give be giving you further cause for concern - they want to be compared to 'great' bands like Creedence Clearwater Revival and Live; and that every band in London just wants to please the music industry - and if you're such a hard-working band, then why was the b-side to your first single re-released as your third, and your second single re-released as your sixth (ever thought that maybe you're just working to please your record label)?

It would appear to that Newport and Cardiff are largely responsible for the misguided notion that Wales has anything to offer us musically. Surely if two of the largest cities in Wales regularly attract big names then there must be some substance to their lies. Sadly this is not the case, and if your International Arena has a maximum capacity of seven thousand, then whom are you trying to fool.

It is time for the music industry to admit they were wrong. It may only take one tree to make a thousand matches, and one match to burn down a thousand trees; but it will take more than a thousand pub-rock bands to convince me that Wales is anything other than cultural vacuum, for the most part incapable of generating anything more innovative than apathy and mediocrity amongst the masses.

Top of the Pops

"It's what I always dreamed of as a kid. This is more important to us than breaking America. You know you've really made it when you play Top of the Pops."

You've all heard your favourite bands say it, and within certain circles Top of the Pops is still as revered as your average awe-inspiring deity… but have these people seen it recently? Have you seen it recently? Do you even want to any more? For years, Top of the Pops has held its own special place in our hearts because nothing else can offer that incomparable pop rush. Yeah right, in that case, what went wrong? Since when has a programme so dull deserved this level of adulation?

The first few Top of the Pops of last year showed promise - Blur slacking their way through 'Beetlebum'; Placebo's alien sex fiend chart attack of 'Nancy Boy' (twice); and Eels' toy instrument performance of 'Novocaine For The Soul'. But this was merely a teasing reminder of what could be.

Where are these great Top of the Pops moments that we're so desperate for, those glimpses of true pop genius to help us through the week? This has been a great year for singles, so where were the likes of Stereolab or Spiritualized, Cornershop or Belle and Sebastian. I know I can't expect every band on Top of the Pops to be great, but surely we can demand the right to see at least a handful of the bands that provide the soundtrack to our lives on what is supposedly the country's leading music programme, preferably without the token 'indie band' attitude that seems to exist at the moment.

Appearances on Top of the Pops are supposedly by invitation, if this is still true, why do the last few months give the impression that the programme has become yet another marketing tool used purely to plug last months knackered artists for another couple of weeks - special price singles for the first week of release; second CD flogging lame remixes and live tracks; fourth consecutive performance on Top of the Pops in an effort to reach that elusive top 20. If this must continue, and it seems that it must, then can we at least be given a new recording of the performance? For all their crimes, at least bloody Aqua managed this, although this was probably because no one else would have them.

So, what have we gained from the sacrifice of Top of the Pops few redeeming features? Better presenting? Improved chart coverage? An emphasis on newer artists? No, in the place of this loss came... bugger all really. Nauseating links (Jo Whiley reduced to presenting Sheryl Crow with whatever colour disc it is you get for selling more than eleven albums to pre-pubescents these days); the chart run-down cut to the top 20 with a voice over from Mark Goodier, just so we can't see how badly last week's Euro-toss dog-shite is selling; and a series of safe conservative little one hit blunders. Oh yeah, and Teenage Fanclub, a band so consistently good its taken them ten years to get an appearance.

If our favourite bands had sunk this low we'd be calling for blood, so surely it's only fair to issue an ultimatum: the time has come for the producers to either rapidly reinvent the programme (preferably without trying to emulate MTV yet again) or just fuck off forever.

The Stone Roses'The Stone Roses'

With the continuing, and inexplicable, rise of the Seahorses, and the re-emergence of Ian Brown, it’s time to remind us how great the Stone Roses once were. Their debut album is one of the few of our time to truly deserve its place among the greatest records ever. From John Squire's artwork to the dying reprise of the epochal 'I Am The Resurrection', the Stone Roses redefined music and, unusually for an album that reflected and influenced a time to such an extent, the brilliance has not been diminished over the passing years.

This is an album without tarnish, and it is still possible to listen to these songs and feel like you've just discovered them for the first time, such is the awe-inspiring nature of the genius contained within. The opening salvo of 'I Wanna Be Adored', 'She Bangs The Drums' and 'Waterfall' remains the most perfect introduction to an album ever recorded, with Ian Brown's distinctive vocals (remember, flawed is beautiful) mixing perfectly with John Squire's prodigious guitar playing, and the dynamic, elephantine backbone provided by Mani and Reni. Never before, and certainly not since (no matter who you think you are, xeroxing always degrades the quality), have arrogance, death-threats to the monarchy, and watching car-crashes sounded so sweet, so fulfilling, and so essential.

The Stone Roses followed the great musical tradition of the Beatles, the Rolling Stones, Burt Bacharach and the Smiths; loaded them up on Ecstasy and PCP, and took them to a rave. By mixing indie and dance, the Stone Roses created their own world, which they then proceeded to joyride out of Manchester and into the mainstream. Without this album, today's music scene would be unrecognisable, even if the originality and insight has been reduced to mediocrity and narrow-mindedness.

For once the hype is justified, this album set the precedent to which everyone strives and so often fail to glimpse, let alone reach. The Stone Roses provided the soundtrack to which our dreams were conceived, realised, and ultimately lost to. I'm not one for reverence, but for once my vocabulary fails me - the way they played, there are no words to describe the way I feel.

The Unbelievable Truth

The arguments have been going on for years: all the best bands come from London; Manchester bands are better; Camden is the centre of the music business; Glasgow is the new Seattle; Newport is the new Seattle. And all this time there's Oxford, just sitting there, getting on with things, and giving bands us Ride, Radiohead, Supergrass, and now one of the most promising new bands around, the Unbelievable Truth. Fronted by a certain Andy Yorke (vocals, guitar), the younger brother of the singer of some band of which you may already have heard (though if the rumours that a gig on their last tour was cancelled at the last moment because they were advertised on this basis rather being allowed their own identity are true, it may not wise to remind them of that fact) the line up is completed by Nigel Powell (drums, keyboards, guitar), and Jason Moulster (bass).

Instead of taking the normal route for forming a band, they waited until Andy was studying in Russia, while his friend from school, Nigel, remained in Oxford. "Andy was away in Moscow on his university course," Nigel says. "And he wrote to me saying he'd started writing some songs, why don't I get a band together and we'd play them when he got back home. I got Jason because he's the best. Basically it was us three and it was a slow start, we just kind of wrote and recorded, made some demos, played them to some people, and got offered a publishing deal."

It was at this stage that things went a bit unusual. "Andy decided he wasn't ready, he left, and went back to Moscow as that was what he had enjoyed," explain Nigel. "Ironically, he started writing some more songs when he was out there, and when he came back again he stayed at my house. We were still playing the stuff we had demoed and he was starting to think it was quite good." Given this uncommon approach to dealing with record companies, attention soon turned back to the band, and this time they were signed to Virgin.

Andy's main reason for turning down the publishing deal has been put down to his confidence in the songs, and the way in which the industry was closing in around them, an unease which was shared by the rest of the band. "Once you start signing deals, it's a job, you have to deal with the business side of it. The main thing we all feel is the visual thing, you have to have pictures taken of you, appear in videos, it's not something we want to do."

As well as three singles on Virgin, the Unbelievable Truth's involvement with the music industry has so far also included releases on the ultra-cool Fierce Panda record label (the 'Cry Me a Liver' EP, on which they featured alongside Velocette and theaudience), and Oxford's own Shifty Disco singles club, partly to gauge the reaction to their music, and to support the new label. "We had to rush that one through so we could get it out before we signed to Virgin, just to avoid any legal problems. I've been a musician in Oxford for so long that I know everybody there, and I wanted to be a part of it. Shifty Disco is run by the guy that writes Nightshift, Oxford's local music paper; the guy who used to manage Ride; and the guy who promoted the Jericho Tavern, and I wanted to be involved with that."

Another band featuring in the Shifty Disco singles club were Beaker, with whom Nigel has become further involved in his continued support for the Oxford music scene. "They're fantastic, they've got a new single coming out on Fierce Panda which I think is good, but then I would because I produced it." Oxford bands have always seemed fond of their hometown because, as Nigel puts it, "it is such a tight-knit community, you all help each other. It gives you a sense of community, which is nice, because otherwise you're a band on your own against the entire music industry."

The Unbelievable Truth have had a great deal of press attention for a band who have so recently embarked on their musical career, and most of the music press has picked them out as one the bands to watch this year. This has generated a lot of curiosity surrounding the band. "Its cooled down now, but it was going quite strongly at the beginning of the year, though we never egged it on. I think it's getting to the point now where people are genuinely liking us or not, and hopefully that will happen much more after the album." This curiosity has meant that gigs in so much demand that the Unbelievable Truth are now a tour ahead of themselves in London, with the dates for successive tours being advertised early in order to cater for the number of people trying to get tickets, after selling out the Borderline, and they have since developed their own method of judging audience reaction. "I think we gauge our gigs by the really quiet songs, see how quiet the audience is. Our last song is our most sparse one, and it was absolutely silent, which was really good. It's a pretty big place, there's like five or six hundred people there, and it was completely silent. It's such a quiet song you can hear if anybody's even whispering."

The debut album will be released this month, and is set to win them yet more fans and critical acclaim. However, the band are not idly sitting around waiting for success, with further touring taking its place alongside songwriting, which has led to a number of new songs being aired on the recent tour. "We've bought Andy an electric guitar so some of them will be a bit harder. We're very aware of never trying to think about anything too much when being creative. It's got to be natural, so any changes that happen are going to be organic. It's not like we've made our acoustic, folk-pop album, and the next one's going to be our techno, jazz, be-bop album. We're happy that because we're doing it naturally it will just progress because we're learning more; we understand music better than we did when we were recording this album. As long as you remain open-minded and inquisitive, you'll always manage to carry on."

ScarfoThe Zone, SwanseaOctober 1997

So, they sound "just like Placebo" then do they? (Well, that's the obligatory reference out of the way.) Not only were Scarfo the first to release singles (and were then followed by Brian Molko) on both Fierce Panda and Deceptive Records, where Placebo offer an enjoyable, if toned-down, rewriting of Sonic Youth's finest moments, Scarfo knuckle down to an aggressive and intruding sound stripped of American pretensions and loaded with London attitude and arrogance.

Fortunately, Jamie Hince has the tunes to match the claims (even if the majority of them are comprised of the same couple of notes), and when freed of a restrictive studio atmosphere, these songs are capable of answering the critics, and raising the stakes to their own level. Improving on a lack-lustre Reading Festival appearance, tonight Scarfo rip through their set with an energy not seen in Swansea for far too long. In this setting, the songs sound more compelling and more desperate than ever, especially highlights such as 'Alkaline', 'Cosmonaut No.7', and current closer 'Prison Architect'.

Despite the decision to omit any tracks released before their return at the beginning of the year (however, any band that can afford to leave out the likes of 'Skinny' and 'Wailing Words' must be showing their worth), Scarfo prove that it is possible to create an atmosphere in Swansea where innovative music can exist, even if only briefly, and that is an important factor. The way they drove they might have died, but for now at least, they could be everything to us.

The HitchersThe Zone, SwanseaJanuary 1998

The Hitchers play that kind of old-school indie that your older brother used to listen to whilst hiding in his bedroom.

Undeterred by the lack of interest that they’re shown tonight, the Hitchers wear their hearts on their sleeve and their pants on their head (well, are you paying enough attention to tell me they aren’t?). Despite not playing 'Strachan' (easily one of the greatest football songs of all time), the seditionary likes of 'Killed It With My Bare Hands' and 'You Can Only Love Someone So Much' are thrown out into the crowd with vigour and vitriol before closing with an explosive rendition of 'Mama Mia'.

Your older brother would have loved it.

Royal TruxTJ's, Newport

The path chosen by Royal Trux has been a hard one. Following his self-proclaimed national service with Pussy Galore, Neil Hagerty teamed up with girlfriend Jennifer Herrema to realise their dream of reclaiming rock'n'roll excess as an expressive artform. After a history in which hits have more often referred to coke than record sales, the Trux have returned to Domino Records after pulling off the biggest record label scam since the Sex Pistols, and despite acting like they've been through rehab at least once to often, the Trux are a revelation when they slouch onto the stage.

Sounding like the bastard offspring of the Stooges and the Rolling Stones, with Neil's slacker chic acting as the perfect foil to Jennifer as she prowls the stage, looking like Nico pulling Joey Ramone poses, Royal Trux impose a mighty P-Funk backing onto the rampant psychedelia screaming from the guitar amps, while remaining more fucked up than funked up. 'Morphine Resident' and other past glories are ram-raided from the back catalogue and thrust among more recent material like 'Liar' and 'I'm Ready', showing that it's possible to pillage the past and not sound like Ocean Colour Scene. If this is what living like hermits half way up a mountain does for your music, then I'll be off up Snowdon.

IdlewildLouisiana, Bristol

We were somewhere around Bristol when the drugs began to wear off. It was early evening and we still had many miles to go, mainly to be spent driving aimlessly around in circles looking for a pub we had no idea how to find. And so begins another chapter in the Waterfront Idlewild diary. Having previously been held back by knackered PA's and inept box office staff (good morning, Newport Centre), we find ourselves hampered by a footballing injury, a lack of pain-killers, and the wrong address for the venue, but there was no going back and no time to rest.

This time however, luck was with us, and the quest that had taken us across new and alien pastures is over. The venue allegedly owned by Salvatore Schillaci's brother is a disaster waiting to happen; 500 people crammed against a stage, surrounded by lights that shake and stagger with every note, and ceiling fans low enough to decapitate the more energetic in the moshpit (at last, a venue with a sensible crowd surfing policy).

There was a terrible roar around us, and venue was full of what sounded like huge bats, albeit fantastically punked up, adrenaline-junkie bats, swooping and screeching and diving around the stage. Live, Idlewild are one of those bands you spend a lifetime searching for - the dynamics of Nirvana melded with the garage sensibilities of Girls Against Boys and the exuberance of Huggy Bear. Roddy Woomble stumbles across the stage, screaming at his microphone as if it has murdered his family, and then come back to stir-fry his cat. Colin and Rod thrash and trash their instruments as all the best performers should, and Bob ... well, as usual, Bob looks drunk and confused as only he knows how. Somewhere, in the midst of the chaotic moshing and pogoing, the voice of an Italian footballing hero was possibly heard screaming: "Holy Jesus! What are these goddamm animals?"

...with apologies to HST

Cornershop'Elvis Sex-Change'

Five years before you even knew that they existed, a group of lo-fi desperadoes came slouching out of Wolverhampton, bringing with them the 'In The Days Of The Ford Cortina' and 'Lock, Stock And Double-Barrel' EPs. Later re-issued as the 'Elvis Sex-Change' mini album, Cornershop's first two singles fused riot grrrl ethics with a mix of English and Punjabi lyrics, while lavishing abuse upon their sitars and guitars, promoting insurrection and eclecticism over such trivialities as musical aptitude or marketing strategies.

Led to London by producer and punk svengali John Robb, "the most inept band of their generation" thrust themselves into the attention of the music press by burning pictures of Morrissey outside his record company at the time of his ill-advised Finsbury Park antics. Name-checking the likes of Hanif Kureishi, Mahatma Ghandi and Huggy Bear (the band, not the pimp), quoting Jon Savage, and parodying racial stereotypes (the band name, song titles such as 'Summer Fun In A Beat Up Datsun'), 'Elvis Sex-Change' centres on the seditionary 'England's Dreaming'. From the opening Godzilla sample ("people, we finally have to fight, we don't want to, but the people of Earth leave us no choice"), to the blatant call-to-arms lyric ("shut up shop, get on the streets and fight the powers that be"), 'England's Dreaming' set out to get it's message heard, even if it was hidden beneath atonal guitars and feedback-riven white noise, a Jesus and Mary Chain for a pissed off generation fighting for a voice.

Despite being stuck in what Tjinder described as the "maggot stage" of their career, and lacking the genre jumping approach that they now employ, 'Elvis Sex-Change' added to the impetus for girl-boy revolutionaries across Britain, and is the blueprint from which Cornershop's "exotic moth" has finally hatched.

Catherine WheelThe Zone, SwanseaFebruary 1998

Catherine Wheel: (1) noun, flat coiled firework spinning when lit; (2) band, flat spoilt sound, spinning when hit in the face (hopefully).

Apparently, in America they play to 2,000 people for two hours and no one gets bored. In Swansea, they play to about 200 people, and we go to the bar, to the toilet, to sleep….

At indeterminate stages during their hour long set (strange how I can't remember what time as I seemed to spend most of the night looking at my watch) they treat us to their hit ("the colour of your skin is black metallic?" surely not, for that would shine, and therefore could not be Catherine Wheel), and some more songs that they'd really like us to make hits for them.

Ultimately, it was the crowd that provided the highlight of the performance, altogether now – Taxi for Cartherine Wheel!

Blur, Super Furry Animals, Warm JetsCardiff International ArenaDecember 1997

Don't believe the type - second time I've been to the arena, second time the opening time printed on the tickets has been wrong. However, now augmented on stage by a fifth member (and no, it's not the ubiquitous Zoë Ball), the Warm Jets sound great during the two and a half songs we get to see, including the fabulous set closer ‘Never Never’, although they don't yet appear to have mastered the art of performance as demonstrated so regularly by Louis' more infamous girlfriend.

Fortunately for us, with last year's transition from live rehearsal session to entertainment, and not having television presenting girlfriends (maybe it's got something to do with being able to stay in bed all morning) this is no longer a problem for the Super Furry Animals. Tonight's mix of hits past, present and future proves that their blend of hippy wibblings, punk-pop and psych-rock is now capable of soaring where it once had to be content with boring and, at last, there is indeed a reason for the man to give a fuck.

On the verge of not playing live ever again, Blur have finally stripped themselves of the cartoon pretensions and fake cockney accents, that bloody song from ‘Modern Life is Rubbish’ and those bloody songs from ‘The Great Escape’, though unfortunately not that bloody song from ‘Parklife’, and have discovered their lo-fi underground math-rock pop genius. Live, Blur are capable of being the epitome of entertainment (I suppose when your girlfriend is either a member of the now defunct Huggy Bear, or just can't be arsed to record a second album, you get to spend all day in bed as well) but this depends on how drunk and energetic Graham is, and tonight his spiked up droning guitar assault does seem less of the eagerly anticipated attack and more of a slack.

In spite of this, the back catalogue is dragged out of the closet, stuffed through the effects pedals and thrown in with the more recent material like the proverbial prisoner to the lions, where it promptly has it head bitten off, chewed up and spat out as the distortion laden dissonance it should always have been. This allows the likes of ’There's No Other Way’ and ‘For Tomorrow’ to stand kicking and screaming alongside ‘Popscene’, ‘Beetlebum’ and ‘Swallows In The Heatwave’ where they belong. Unfortunately, as this reincarnation of Blur is very much belongs to Graham, the performance is effected by his subdued mood, and tonight Blur seem content to inflict a bit of minor ABH rather than become killers for our love.