Hooker

Picture it: you're at one of the upcoming DiS gigs. You find yourself stuck at the bar with a Kinesis fan; uncomfortable silences ensue. What better way to strike up conversation than a discussion on modern philosophy. A bit rusty? We're here to help. There was this Nietzsche bloke. An all round smart guy. 'Experience, as a desire for experience, does not come off. We must not study ourselves while having an experience,' he reckons.

At the risk of alienating a thousand Manics fans, fuck him. Nietzsche was a bore. Sometimes studying our experiences is all we can do. Nietzsche never stood thrust back against a pillar in a dingy basement, too full of alcohol to salvage any feelings other than 'Jesus alive, this is the greatest moment in my life'.

We, on the other hand, have. We all know how life-affirming it can be. But tonight is something different. It's the knowledge that – Jesus alive – this actually is better than anything you've ever heard. That split-second after a nuclear bomb explodes, just prior to your entire disintegration, you can see the flash and you know. I always dreamed for the perfection of that moment (hey, don’t get me wrong – there’s nothing I hate more than nuclear holocaust). I feel slightly appeased now, for vocalist Zoe McVeigh has offered a prime substitute. The moment she ponders exactly when to open her mouth. How does so much power and vitality come from one small body? It's all sex and jealousy and heartbreak, spitting out lyrics then coaxing them back out from inside me with that voice, Sleater-Kinney circa Dig Me Out.

This cannot be allowed in Manchester, surely? She doesn't even use an acoustic guitar, let alone have a beard. Singer-songwriters sell, the authorities couldn’t afford to lose the Badly Drawn Boy-related tourism. Why would the Sunday supplements want to write about a revolution? But, oh, the kids have it sussed. They've never seen a riot. They come for Hooker. Rock un roll.