September 21, 1998

Bournemouth Opera House

There's a palpable sense of this gig being same shit, different day...

The man in the tank top is a sadist. Perched centrestage, surrounded by homemade candelabras, every time Fuzz Townshend whacks the drums his face lights up. These inanimate objects, it seems have really been asking for it.

Whether we've been asking for a gonzoid speed-beat experience of this kind is less certain, however. Fuzz's speciality is galloping missives which bring fairground rides and cheap amphetamines to mind. But despite the Prodigy-on-a-budget-style speaker bludgeoning and Fuzz's spirited Cozy Powell impersonations, the grim reputation of bands fronted by drummers isn't much improved by this one-dimensional performance.

A shortage of dimensions isn't something the Freestylers are guilty of, though. More an expertly presented rave revue with a cast of hundreds (well, 12) than a standard-issue live set, though there's little that's pioneering in their venture through the old skool, they press all the right buttons and frequently quite a few at once. As they demonstrate when Tenor Fly unleashes his bulldozer-sized voice on 'B Boy Stance'. Also when the band's three dancers get ballistic on the lino, while 'Breaker's Revenge' follows a similarly fast and furious trajectory. Or, comically, when MC Navigator dedicates a track to "all the roughnecks in the house". Because here in Bournemouth, after all, people most probably imagine that's medical complaint suffered by the town's numerous OAPs.

So the Freestylers are a hard act to follow and the Jungle Brothers, it turns out, are not the men for the job. The cultural swing to hip-hop revivalism might have put them on the comeback trail, but there's a palpable sense of this being a prime case of same shit, different day for old-timers. Sartorially, safari hats are still where it's at with them. Whereas verbally, it's reminding us that they are indeed the Jungle Brothers at least a dozen times in every tune. They set a trundling pace at the start and (except for the frisky Urban Takeover mix-style take on 'I'm A Jungle Brother') they stick to it rigidly - through barber's shop vocal routines, much aimless wandering around the stage and, naturally, the odd outburst of panto-rap. OK, oldies like 'Jimbrowski' still sound fine, but you feel you'd be just as happy listening to them on the stereo at home. And come to think of it, the Brothers themselves look like they'd rather be there, too.

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