April 14, 1999

London Camden Palace

The darkness and proficiency of their keening riffs places them in near proximity to [a]Radiohead[/a], but [B]Cinjun[/B] is not quite as twisted in his angst as [B]Yorke</B...

Blind date with sexy aliens time. In the US, Birmingham, Alabama-raised five-piece Remy Zero are outsiders loved by Billy Corgan and Courtney Love, yet tonight's raving indie throng meet them for the first time.

The Zero are phenomenal. Super-evolved after playing together since childhood, they have the scale of a mega guitar band and a sensibility solid as black marble. Singer Cinjun Tate downplays his Michael Stipe enigma potential, preferring to let his rock chorister vocals wing to the top balcony.

The darkness and proficiency of their keening riffs places them in near proximity to Radiohead, but Cinjun is not quite as twisted in his angst as Yorke. His is the poetic, opiated version of mental strife. There is room here for your existential pop rocker, as the blissful 'Motorcycle' (very Manics) and speeding 'Problem' demonstrate.

With an astounding drummer, Gregory Slay, who drives the sumptuous scree in a genius nutter style not seen since Reni from the Roses, Remy Zero are the year's most euphoric argument for the reintegration of elegant doom into acceptable rock'n'roll parlance. Like a madhouse gang escaped into adventureland, they have an otherness few bands communicate.

They are family (brothers Cinjun and guitarist Shelby Tate). They do 'sensitive' and 'demented' equally well. The insane devotion posse will find rich pickings here. Everyone stopped and stared at their beautiful explosion.