A welcome return for the band who retain the coveted 'thesvenhunter's favourite album of the year' wrestling belt, courtesy of Club Fandango at Great Portland Street's school bingo hall squashed beneath an acre of scaffholding, a.k.a. 229.
The Indelicates have been hanging around in Germany, where they are much more appreciated, for some time, and the results are... interesting.
Firstly though, Keith TOTP, long-time-friend of and (I think) collaborator with The Indelicates and Eddie Argos and their crew, whatever it's called, if they have one...
Keith is, as his name suggests, an unlikely rock star figure, and almost all of his songs seem to be (almost) one man (sort-of) punk assaults geared towards hating on other (more likely) rock star figures, so it's fortunate that he has the personality, and the punchy tunes to carry it off.
His chief targets seem to be Libertines copyists, London bands generally, and The Manic Street Preachers - even more specifically, Nicky Wire. In fact for a whole minute or two he shouts 'Nicky Wire, suck my cock' or something to that effect, while his drummer (the only present member of his alleged band) goes hell for leather.
Brigadier Ambrose are a marginally more complex affair but lack the focus of Keith's stuff. A couple of their songs go down very well indeed as a sort of in-touch-with-their-twee-side Buzzcocks, but the rest seem a little half-hearted and don't quite manage to hit the spot.
It's far too long since I've seen The Indelicates and since their album launch at Madame Jojos they seem to have descended into some kind of delerium. Other than their pretty sober rhythm section they're pretty much all over the place tonight.
Well, that's unfair - the music is up to scratch, but the travelling seems to have taken its toll mentally and makes for an oddly-jumbled setlist. That said, 'Fun is For the Feeble-Minded' is a cracking opener, and neither 'America' nor 'Our Daughters Will Never be Free' suffer from brave audience-involvement clapathons.
'New Art For The People' remains a sublimely moving experience.
Considering their enthusiastic live performances (notably the wolfish guitarist, who I maintain is the driving force behind their mania) and the album - probably the finest critique on music and industry of the century so far (although admittedly I haven't read Bill Drummond's book yet) - I was hoping The Indelicates would be filling stadiums by now. Perhaps they are in Germany?
Oh well, if they remain in venues this size I'll still be able to stagger off to the loos to vomit and return having missed as little of the song as possible.