December 17, 1999

Glasgow SECC

They don't have Polo Mints in Glasgow. No, they have [B]Swizzel[/B]'s GIANT NAVY MINTS! Which is a much more exciting prospect...

They don't have Polo Mints in Glasgow. No, they have Swizzel's GIANT NAVY MINTS! Which is a much more exciting prospect. And this was a GIANT NAVY MINTS! sort of gig. That's your hack, to the left of the strapping, chisel-cheeked gay couple and just in front of the matching-cardiganed mum'n'dad scoffing choccies. And is he making a twat of himself? Isn't he just! Hollering, "Go west!" at the top of his voice and wiggling his ass like an ebola victim in a 9.5-on-the-Richter-scale earthquake. You see, kids, he's in the Zen-zone. He's experiencing that state of egoless euphoria the ancients called Nirvana. He's in that very special place where only transcendentally great pop music can take you. Please don't laugh at him, he's had to put up with so much mediocre, second-rate, amateur-hour shit this year. Leave him be and further scrutinise the rest of the audience.

Hmm, a lot of old people here tonight. Woah! Hang on! Just had a brilliant idea! You know in The Untouchables when the jury's nobbled and the judge makes them change places with the jury from the court next door? Well Travis, Shack, the Stereophonics or some other prematurely middle-aged and nauseatingly middle-of-the-road purveyors of tediously sensible moth-eaten cardigan music are probably playing somewhere in town tonight. To an audience of young people. We should just swap the two crowds over. At gunpoint. Then the youngsters could enjoy an evening of cutting-edge Space 1999 fucking-wow NOW! music that sounds like it's being beamed in straight from the 23rd Century. Rather than 19fucking65. Brilliant!

The choreography, sound engineering, pacing, performance and baroque sado-minimalist set of the Pet Shop Boys' new road show are the dog's. As you'd expect. The new stuff doesn't go down quite as well as the stone-cold, engraved-in-letters- of-eternal-flame- on-the-sides-of- a-giant-planet classics like 'West End Girls' and 'Go West' and 'Being Boring' and 'Left To My Own Devices' and 'Opportunities (Lets Make Lots Of Money)' (but no 'Suburbia' - boo hiss). That too, you'd expect. But the surprise highlight of an evening of top entertainment comes when Mr Tennant sits down and whips out the devil's instrument - an acoustic guitar. No! Stop! Folk music alert! Arooga arooga! But then he smiles and gently strums his way through the new single 'You Only Tell Me You Love Me When You're Drunk' and it was lovely.

The Stone Roses were never this good. Travis will never be this good. Shack? My arse! The future's bright. The future's pop. But then again - it always has been.