BROADCAST/DREADZONE
There`s a `60s spy thriller going on somewhere in the metropolis tonight, and lo-fi Velcro groovers Broadcast have written the soundtrack to it. Imagine a composite of John Barry, Lalo Chifrin and Portishead sans hip-hop, played by what worryingly appears to be three Steve Craddock lookalikes, Donna Elastica on vocals, and another bloke on bass, and you`re somewhere near to where the collective Broadcast imagination is currently at.
And though they do a suave line in retro-futurist boho electronic twiddling, there`s a nagging feeling that the film they`re accompanying is happening ten minutes down the Holloway Road. And this studied detatchment doesn`t augur well for the audience appreciation they so obviously deserve. Broadcast should either apply for a job on The Fast Show`s Jazz Club, maybe as Pierre Rybczyinsky Moog Equation or summat, or just cheer up and start enjoying their own music a bit more. After all, everyone else did.A far less interesting proposition are the rootsical Dreadzone. They enter with a fusillade of bowel-bustingly deep bass movements. And then annoyingly proceed to churn out the variety of dance music which patently isn`t the new rock`n`roll, but rather a tired formula of festival-friendly good vibes adorned with `insurrectionary` political platitudes which The Shamen perfected many moons ago.
Indeed, much air-punching and yea-saying breaks out as the `Zone remind the gathered to use their votes in the election (Doh! Must remember that one in the future). But ultimately, it looks like the thriller and the thrills departed with Broadcast's tourbus. There's certainly none in this `Zone.
Kevin Braddock