"Fucking HELL! [B]Kate[/B] fucking [B]Bush[/B] on CRACK! [I]Or WHAT!?!?!" [/I]

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London Brixton Mass

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London Brixton Mass

Yo! Live rock’n’roll! Pay #15 to watch four [a]Beatles[/a]-fixated boring blokes in tacky tracky tops staring at their crappy off-brand retro trainers for three quarters of a bleeding hour? Fuck off! That’s not entertainment! See this [a]Queen Adreena[/a]? A clinically insane drummer with mad Joker out of [I]Batman [/I]make-up? Check! A ski-slope cheekboned pretty boy guitarist called Crispin who combs his gurly hair [I]during [/I]songs and seems to have never heard of beer or pies or, indeed, the fact that you can legally change your name to something vaguely masculine by deed poll? Check! And have they got a criminally handsome bassist in a peaked KGB hat and pristine purple Catholic priest’s cassock to top it all off? Check!

And, of course, Katie Jane Garside – the mad-hair tossing, torn underwear-sporting shrieking she-devil, “Look at me! No! DON’T look at me!” post-goth one-woman onstage apocalypse banshee who crawled from the flaming wreckage of early-1990s one-hit punk rock wonders Daisy Chainsaw, spent some time in a purple house in the Lake District owned by an old woman called Vanya and then bumped into Chainsaw collaborator Crispin ‘Portrait Of Dorian’ Gray and decided to do it all over again? Yes! Except MADDER this time maybe? Oh yes! Fuck yes!

To be crudely reductive, Queen Adreena have two sorts of songs. They’ve got sharp stabs of guttural punk devil-rock spatter-core dementia like ‘Cold Fish’ and then they’ve got mind-meltingly ooky-spooky ghost-train rides through the darkest corners of the inhuman psyche like tonight’s outro ‘Heavenly Surrender’ and the new single ‘I Adore You’.

Aye up! There she goes again! Radio-mike doo-dah strapped to her thigh with black gaffer tape (making her look like some sort of lo-fi punk-cabaret Borg as fever-dreamed by an opium-traumatised Lewis Carroll) weaving and bopping like a demon-possessed nun with her wimple caught in a live light socket, half shrieking and half sweetly billy-cooing the deranged mantra: [I]”I only make love to Jesus/I only fuck God!”[/I]. Talk about choosy! And Crispin and Jokerman and disgustingly handsome KGB-vicar bloke posture, preen and pose homoerotically but all eyes are on the nightmare escaped from a Victorian children’s nursery that is Katie Jane Garside and all lips are mouthing the horribly inevitable phrase: “Fucking HELL! Kate fucking Bush on CRACK! [I]Or WHAT!?!?!” [/I]

Which is a fair comment.

A star is emphatically reborn.