"This time around," the PA booms, "the revolution will not be
televised."
Which, unfortunately, means that Skin and co are likely to miss out on it, because
what with their usual friendly media blitz they're more than likely going to be on the
goddamn box, talking about rage with Jo Whiley in between adverts flogging the
latest dishwasher products, while out in the streets kids tie nooses around the lampposts.
Because Skunk Anansie are the single most media-friendly bunch of simps this side
of, I dunno, James. Their whole 'anger' schtick is one that they can take on and
off at will - pump it up when they're moving the crowd, tone it down when it's time for
TV. Even so, you can't help but feel affection for them, they seem so uncomplicated, four
stray musicians who landed a lucky gig and who are clearly enjoying the ride. It doesn't
mean we have to listen to them, though. Oh, wait a minute, it does.
Glasgow, we're reliably informed early on, is Skunk Anansie's "number one
fuckin' place to play!". The reward is a set that's such a masterpiece of
choreography, hits-heavy and dynamic, that the crowd are led around like hapless cows from
the get-go. A five-second countdown announces their arrival, with Skin
materialising out of nowhere, shadow-boxing on the spot. By the time they've hit 'Selling
Jesus', her coat is off and she's mad-bopping, hurling the mic stand overhead and
leaping onto the drum riser. Live, her high-register vocal garglings are even more
ludicrous than on record. If she sang more songs about people's brains falling out and
Egyptian gods, rather than about being messed up and pissed, she'd pass for ex-Iron
Maiden vocalist Bruce Dickinson any day.
So, it's metal, but the kind of metal used to sell cars - slick and self-consciously epic.
The new ballads all sound like advertisements for Flakes and with all that hollow bombast
they'd be a perfect choice for a Bond theme. Skin's still an entertaining
presence, switching from witchy psycho-stares to fits of giggling unselfconscious
enjoyment. But it's not enough to sustain our interest.
Towards the end she introduces a song as an "oldie, but a goldie", it's exactly
the sort of cheese-on-toast sentiment that sums the Skunks up. They haven't got a
nasty bone in their bodies. And that's the problem.
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