by Terri Sanai

ORANGE JUICE were sparkling tonight. Their antifake persona attitude is so refreshing. Edwyn's elegance was unwittingly marred by a pair of boots which he defended to the bitter end against the hecklers. James's awkward shyness created the gorgeously rippling guitar melodies which trademark the band and distinguished the new single. Their songs were bright and emotional and infectiously buoyant - humour and love and an unadulterated enjoyment frothed out intoxicatingly.

The Undertones are the only living legend around - the only band who effortlessly add to their past repertoire of classics a stream of new songs which have moved on in style - without giving up any of the qualities which made the early ones so potent and unforgettable.

And their qualities are so timeless that nearly three years on 'Teenage Kicks' still grabs you by the throat and pumps the adrenalin through your head - and the urgency - the simple but thickly defined structure of the song - the melody and melodrama - is so per feet that afterwards - when you sit down to translate the feeling into words - you're STUMPED. What can you say about the Undertones that hasn't already been said? They've somehow found the formula for perfection - and are sticking by it while altering and progressing. They have some slow numbers now - steamy and suggestive and holdback so the tension is paralytic. Feargal Sharkey's voice is the rapier instrument - deadly and fluid - hitting the notes with that quivering clarity - the moods spat out in the audience's face. 'Hanna Doot' and 'His Goodlooking Girlfriend' hadn't heard before. But it didn't matter - they held my breath and their immediate accessibility was a mixture of pure hedonism and emotional satiation - a rare mixture which only the Undertones can fully understand and manipulate.

You can't define perfection if you yourself can't create it. The Undertones ARE perfect - and only they themselves can tell us what's behind the magic. All I - and the hundreds of people who kept the band onstage for NINE encores - know is that I left the Palais soaking with sweat and mentally - physically and emotionally drained. Perfect (pop) purging.