Guildford Civic Hall

At times, [a]Terrorvision[/a] are exactly what their name implies  a horror show, a heavy-rock gang bludgeoning their way through the head-banging [B]'Still The Rhythm'[/B] while [B]Leigh[/B] and

Guildford Civic Hall

Robbie Williams'd better watch his back. There's a man onstage running through a repertoire of crowd-pleasing antics that would put even the rubber-faced Panto King himself to shame. He bounds and bounces like Tigger on a springboard, histrionically orchestrating the crowd with incessantly flailing arms, candidly welcoming them with a stream of ingenuously friendly banter. "This is a song about how we're gonna get everybody in the world to buy our new album," he grins, gold tooth glistening in the spotlight, microphone swinging like a pendulum in his hands. "It's called 'Hypnotised'."



This Vegas-worthy showman is Terrorvision's Tony Wright, and his spell appears to be working. They've all come out tonight: the metal kids with kohl-black eye sockets and Sepultura tank tops, the indie kids with baggy jeans and body glitter, the kids who've heard the Mint Royale remix of 'Tequila' (Who hasn't? Zok Ball be cursed) and think perhaps Terrorvision might be a bit like Chumbawamba, only dancier. All of them will leave surprised.



Peel back the high-gloss veneer, the consumer-friendly chart-whore facade, and you'll find that Terrorvision are anything but one-dimensional - and not as stupid as they look. And looks, incidentally, are the key: guitarist Mark is Metal 'Vision with ripped denim and viciously spiked hair, bassist Leigh is Glam 'Vision in a sharp black suit, and Tony and drummer Shutty are 20/20 'Vision, the very embodiment of casual normality in untucked shirts and sloppy jeans. They offer themselves up as a cross-section of cool, a specialised favourite for every fan, whilst displaying their predilection for genre-crossing metal-pop quite literally on their sleeves.



At times, Terrorvision are exactly what their name implies - a horror show, a heavy-rock gang bludgeoning their way through the head-banging 'Still The Rhythm' while Leigh and Mark strike practised poses, leaning together like an Aerosmith snapshot from 1976. Elsewhere, they are sussed pop practitioners, reeling out the infectious hooks of 'Josephine', plucking girls out of the audience to dance onstage to 'Tequila'. By the time they've reached 'Oblivion', a sea of white arms are waving in submission at Tony's feet as he chants, "Oh goodness/My gracious/I hope it's not contagious". It is.



For all their dumb posturing and inane lyrics, Terrorvision have their antennae finely tuned to Channel Zeitgeist. And the picture is always in Technicolor.

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