Mika

Cockpit, Leeds

There’s only one way to find out why there’s all this fuss over Mika and that’s in the flesh. And from the minute the tousle-haired tosser steps onstage, clad in red shirt and white trousers like the twisted and unwelcome result of a Jack White/Leo Sayer tryst, we’re wishing we hadn’t bothered at all.


What follows is an hour of sub-Bee Gees disco pap and the kind of falsetto harmonising that should really be punishable by castration, followed by an horrific finale full of comedy masks, balloons and one big clown, palatable only because the attention-seeking bastard hasn’t been singing for a few seconds. Huge single ‘Grace Kelly’ has him asking “Why don’t you like me?” ad nauseum. The answer to your question perfectly simple, Mika, your music is the most uninspired tosh we’ve heard passed off as ‘pop’ in years. Now please go away.


Rob Webb