大象传媒

Ah, surly youth. The Tides take the stage looking somewhat disinterested, bottom lip pouting as they power through their set. These tender hooligans have a few good tunes up their military jacketed sleeve. However, their influences are all too apparent, there are touches of the Vines, especially Paul McMillan's vocal, Kula Shaker, heavens spare us, and at one point the guitarist unfurls a riff of John Squire proportions, albeit reminiscent of the Seahorses' 'Love Is The Law'. Not mould-breaking then, but 'Other Side of the Road' flags up their promise and if they can muster a greater sense of their own identity they could be an interesting prospect.

Intelligent indie-rock is an increasingly rare commodity, but Panda Kopanda have tapped into a rich vein, this glimmering ore smelted into the superb songs on the 'Oceans of Fire' EP. Their contemporaries from the local scene gather round to watch their performance, keen to weigh up the opposition. It's a good showing, their songs are wonderful acts of musical misdirection, guitars fidget, rhythms itch, they feint one way before swerving to land the devastating blow. With a surfeit of ideas at their disposal Panda Kopanda have commandeered the audience's attention for the duration, an impressive achievement.

It doesn't quite happen for Patiosounds. Peter McFaul's vocal, Robert Smith with added oomph, is quite arresting and they exhibit the odd intriguing guitar lick, very Idlewild circa 'Remote Part', poppy, but with added rock pep. However, there's not quite enough invention and variety to elevate them above the ordinary.

LaFaro bring the sound and the fury. They are loud, pleasingly, unrelentingly so. Remember Nirvana at their most unrefined, 'Bleach' era? Good times. Each and every cut is a raucous rip-snorter, LaFaro just know how to keep a song's momentum building, the guitar and bass lines are scandalous. Jonny Black is mangling those vocals, like he's got a mouth full of drill bits, believe me, it's a good thing. And, in Alan Lynn, they have one of the finest stickmen around. He gives the drumkit a right royal seeing to, the resultant thuds like mortar explosions, the LaFaro sound leaving audience Shellac-shocked. By common consensus they've delivered the set of the night.

The audience has thinned somewhat by the time Olympic Lifts hit the stage. In the face of indifference the Lifts' boys seem a bit dispirited, still they manage to turn in a solid performance, the rhymesters keeping the audience on their toes, demanding we pay our respects to the 'Rock Suitcase'. Certainly they provide pleasing contrast to the hordes of guitar-slingers who've gone before, the souped-up funk of 'Do The Getdown' a tasty palate cleanser. Not their finest night perhaps, but the Lifts have great tunes and charm to spare, enough to see them and audience happily home.

Francis Jones