The Jezebels are an acquired taste. Like sucking a penny chewy, you've got to suffer the outer monotony to get to the fizzy bit near the middle. So Michael Aston haunts the stage in a white satin creation for half the set while around him some drippy guitars wail ever so ambiently. Even the hordes of black-clad girls pick their wicked nails with boredom, checking serious boyfriends trying desperately hard to 'get into' it. 

Yet, just when the Jezebels are tottering on the brink of torpidity they break into these rash, rousing guitar-driven rock numbers, firing on all five cylinders, their double vocals reverberating to smash the moribund mirrors of sound they've been preening themselves in up until now. 

Vital numbers, like "Desire' and 'Motion Of Love', bubble along in a cascade of hip-jerking as the band prove they're just about worth tasting… 

Unlike Underneath What, who are totally throbbing all the way. Loud, hairy and twisted, the trio upset the goth hairdos with shuddering blasts of warped metal. Even T Rex's 'Telegram Sam' gets vandalized by their bastard son, Firebomb Telecom'. 
 
 

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