The Dead 60s

As the city that spawned the Beatles, Liverpool will always be treated with a certain amount of respect as far as popular culture is concerned. I suppose any place that provided the background and inspiration for such innovative talents as Julian Cope, Ian McCulloch and Lee Mavers deserves its coveted landmark on the map after all.

Unfortunately, for every creative genius the spectres of John, Paul, George and Ringo have bestowed upon us there have also been an unnerving list of bad imitators (anyone for Cast? I thought not somehow) which suggests the burden of expectation may be greater in this part of the country than anywhere else.

Consequently, it's probably a good job that scouse quartet The Dead 60s appear to care little for tradition or honing that Merseybeat sound. Sure, there is a hint of retroism in what they do, but no more than The Killers' fascination with 80s new romanticism or Bloc Party's svelte leanings to the post-punk era of 1979.

What sets the Dead 60s apart from their contemporaries is that they're more concerned with recreating music that they actually like rather than trawling through the art school backpages of what the fashion conscious media darlings might deem to be credible.

Singing guitarist Matt McManamon looks like a hybrid of Suggs junior and some vicious thug that Ray Winstone might have portrayed in some late seventies gangland drama, while organ grinder extraordinaire Ben Gordon only needs the striped pyjamas and grade 3 razorcut and he would become the Boomtown Rats' Johnny Fingers (ask your dad...no really...I did) in an instant.

Musically, no one can argue that 'Riot Radio' sounds like it was lifted off side three of 'Sandinista' or that 'We Get Low' bumps and grinds like The Beat's 'Mirror In The Bathroom' after a ketamine'n'caffeine makeover. In fact, it makes a change to see so many people having the time of their lives - both on and off stage - almost like a Friends Reunited** re-enactment of that school disco moment when _'Baggy Trousers' comes on and all of a sudden you feel obliged to join in the accompanying slow motion skanking fiesta. And then they play their 'Ghost Town', the rumbling dubheavy 'You're Not The Law' and suddenly it all falls into place. They're not having a laugh after all as Blair's vision of 2004 and Thatcher's incongruous 1980 police state stand back-to-back in a four minute warning of toasted terrace chants and obtuse reverb.

And that sums up the Dead 60s really. Almost like a history lesson for a time we'd all rather forget merged with the reality of the present.