live review

Finley Quaye Edinburgh, La Belle Angele, Wed 4 Jun fir sir

Tonight’s gig was the perfect opportunity for Finley Quaye to show his home crowd why Sony have invested so much time, money and effort in his career. Despite acres of coverage in the music press and regular appearances on radio and on televison (most notably on T.F./.F.), Quaye remains relatively unknown in his hometown, He may be big Within the industry but he still has a lot to prove here in Edinburgh, where too many people know the difference between media hype and actual reality.

Sadly, tonight’s performance is

Finlay Quaye: capable of more

lacklustre. His unique nu-reggae vocal style remains tightly in check (this may have had something to do with sound problems), lending an unwanted flatness to the proceedings.

Both the singles ’Ultra-Stimulation' and ’Sunday Shining’, get aired early on, followed by a slow, skanking dub number and a weak acoustic version of the excellent ’Even After All'. The eight-strong band are tight and polished but Quaye’s refusal to acknowledge the crowd and the Circumstances of the gig make for overall disappointment.

Success seems secure for Quaye but Edinburgh deserved more tonight and Quaye is capable of delivering it.

(Jim Byers)


Glasgow: Barrowland, Thurs 29 May it t at

'Body C0unt’s in the house,’ and, for veracity’s sake, we’d better add the obligatory ’muthafucka.’ For one night only, a slick slice of South Central Los Angeles has popped into Glasgow to regale the assembled throng of teenage honkies with tales of life in the projects, life on the streets and the incredible quantity of life in Ice-T's pants.

Very good it is too. At least for the first half hour. Ice bounds on stage to a killer metal riff, pretends his hand is a gun and looks royally pissed off. Behind him, Body Count dole out a bass-sodden, rolling rumble that grinds and pounds like every thrash metal

54 THE UST 13—26 Jun 1997

Body Count: ’That's Mr Ice-T'

band in hell being beaten. Ice prowls about, looking menacmg and warning of the grisly demise of anyone who dares to ’fuck wit da B.C.’.

It's a fantastically over the top pantomime, With Ice as an unlikely Cinderella, the poor boy who eventualy triumphs over adversity and gets to go to the ball. With an UZI. Like a good action mowe, it's hugely enjoyable in a dumb way but after a period you can't help longing for a change of tone or pace or just a variation in the relentless aural bludgeoning. But maybe I'm just a bitchass. (Jonathan Trew)

STAR RATINGS * * * * * Outstanding * it t 1: Recommended *** Worth a try i: * So-so i Poor

LIGHT Stilgoe 8: Skellern Glasgow: Royal Concert Hall, Fri 30 May.

Dear Sir,

Please find enclosed an appreciation of the music of Messrs Richard Stilgoe and Peter Skellern, as enjoyed by myself and the ladies of the Newlands Sixty-Plus And Still Going Strong! Activities Club.

I must say these two charming gentlemen really know how to tinkle the ivories, taking turns to tell their amusing anecdotes about Lord Andrew Lloyd-Webber and other eminent songwriters before regaling us with their lyrical tunes. Mr Skellern’s are of a romantic but Cultured nature and Mr Stilgoe's are so comical. I particularly enjoyed the one he made up using words and notes suggested by the audience. He was very right to ignore the suggestions of 'pants' and ’pish’ coming from a certain sector of the auditorium.

As well as being talented tunesmiths, the dapper duo proved themselves adept at visual comedy. The bit when they were trying to play the cello and violin but kept getting in each other’s way was hilarious, and not ’a load of crap’ as suggested by the young folk sitting nearby.

All in all, a most entertaining evening.

Yours, Kitty Bakewell.


The Go-Betweens: thirty something

POP The Go-Betweens Glasgow: Garage, Fri 6 Jun * it

Apparently, in the 80s, everybody loved them but no one bought their records Your correspondent included, but what With all those Mani/rial episodes and games of chap-door run, cosy Antipodean jangIe-pop was never really going to get in. So here, among the misty-eyed and mouthing, it’s like being at a partv full of people you've never met before. And there's an endless slurry of niousy guitar- pop politely chattering from the stereo.

Perhaps some allowance should be made. After all, in the 80s everyone looked like Swedish exchange students and b0ught Level <12 records, so when this lot came along With their meat and two veg, 'classic' songwriting, they must have seemed like a shot in the arm. But remember kids - you can’t get a hit from shooting up lukewarm tea, though tonight’s Wildly partisan crowd appear to disagree. In an age when you can't breathe Without inhaling a shower of guitar- shackled beat combos, who needs a bunch of 30-year-olds strumming through a cache of Jimmy Nail's cast-offs7 Strum + jangle + Australia : the sound of , moccasins padding on varnished floorboards. (Paul \N’hitelaw‘i


Glasgow: Barrowland, Mon 9 Jun 4r at t *

He’s a raunchy little deVil, that Michael Hutchence. Swaggering about in his tight black strides, shirt open to the navel, occasionally checking on his loose change, it's easy to understand why the humidity in the Barrowland is practically tropical. Hell, it’s so hot that even the roadies appear to be wearing little more than bathrobes.

INXS: sexy mutha funkers

Surprised? Well, while it’s tempting to dismiss lNXS's CDs as custom-made for the dinner party that tries too hard to be trendy (and misses the pomt altogethei‘, in a live setting INXS kick ass. Hutchence can serenade well but he can sing the part of the lusty roustabout better. When he opens the throttle on his throat and shows his tonsils you can feel the roar in your chest CaV|ly. The band ain't exactlv wallflowers either. Ripper, mate. (Jonathan Trew)