A bloke in a tatty brown hooded-top approaches the microphone and mumbles rhythmically. Pardon? What's he saying? Who knows? Another bloke with a semi-afro wiggles records about in the background. This, apparently, is A GUY CALLED GERALD and he is giving us some "drum'n'bass". Without the bass. Or, unfortunately, much drums. One assumes that this music is meant to be so throbbingly and nauseatingly LOUD that it induces mass involuntary projectile vomiting of the pelvic girdle. Except it isn't. It's so quiet that you can hear mice scurrying about under the stage. In fact, if you listen real hard, you can just about make out the almost inaudible sound of worms slowly slithering through the soil beneath the Astoria's concrete foundations. This does not, of course, stop several white blokes (with hideously silly little goatee beards) from skanking like maniacs. Strange.

[Reviewer: Steven Wells]