A PAINFULLY POOR PIECE OF WRITING

Christ alive, this is a terrible review. I almost gave up whilst typing it up. How depressing. At least I'm better now than I was then.

The running "joke" is embarassing, frankly.

DIE PRETTY/ TARTFUEL/ VERBAL KINK/ DREAMLAB - The Wheatsheaf, 5/03

Hard to recall in these slick automated times, but electronic music was once closely allied to new wave, and synthpop was punk's natural (Oedipal) bedfellow. Watch Dreamlab play and the link is reforged in a whirl of buzzing Casios and yapping vocals.

One man, one minidisc and two keyboards are all that's needed to fuel this rhythmic tirade. To be honest, sometimes it's a bit of a mess, but what matters is that Rob from Dreamlab's performance is completely honest: he doesn't care whether anyone gets it, or whether he's cool (he's not), he just dives in and plays. And he plays some pretty chunky Numan/Foxx stompers, which can't be bad.

Verbal Kink rock along pleasantly enough, but their vocals let them down, and they aren't overburdened with ideas. It's diverting stuff but doesn't really stand up to close scrutiny. Of course, the simple solution is "Don't scrutinise, then", but, hey! I'm a critic. Scrutiny is my job. Not that it's my real job, you understand, but for the purposes of this...

Where was I? Oh, yes: Verbal Kink. Their bassist really should break a string more often, as the ensuing song was more spacious and better for it.

Worse then second rate singer are good singers who don't bother singing, but just shout all the time, and Tartfuel has one of those. Nowt wrong with shouting, of course, as Frank Black, Kurt Cobain, Mark E Smith and Captain Beefheart could testify, but it's a skill just like any other - most people just can't do it very well.

Beyond that Tartfuel are a much more confident and, presumably, experienced outfit than Verbal Kink, and their performance is so much the neater...which is a pity, because it wasn't as interesting. Does that sound patronising? But I'm a critic, patronising is my job. Not that it's my real...

Oh, yes: Tartfuel. Tame the singer, write a few new songs and wash your hair, then we'll see.

Die Pretty, on the other hand, have no homework to do. This, their farewell Oxford gig, is the essence of rock music: take some sweaty people in leather, and have them play visceral driving music. No, it's not very complex, but as the set continues the sequenced drums become more and more insistent, the volume keeps edging up another notch, and the singer gets increasingly animated, and the crowd responds. It really is an art form that lives in the exhilirating moment, and difficult nto describe, the effect is truly electric. But I'm a critic. Describing things is my...

Oh, yes: Die Pretty. A sleazy treat that will be sadly missed.