Gonzo Tour

"What did you think of that?" a complete stranger asks me in the bar after tonight's show. Voicing a negative response, he nods in agreement. "Shite" he says. We look at the Gonzo Tour poster and feel short-changed, as though Liverpool has been misused. It's a Friday night, yet everyone is bored to tears.

MTV can only really take half of the blame. Presumably, they booked The Automatic long before their latest album came out, and they probably chose Iglu & Hartly after catching a whiff of their radio-friendly 'In This City' single. Regardless, it makes for a wincing combination of one-hit wonders old and new.

The Barfly is about two-thirds full despite the presence of TV cameras and Zane Lowe, which are usually enough to draw a crowd however fickle they may be. Only three songs get the people going all night: the aforementioned 'In This City', and The Automatic's biggest singles: 'Monster' and 'Steve McQueen'. Barely anything else musters a bounce or a cheer or a shimmy from a crowd who look like the life is visibly being sucked out of them.

Iglu & Hartly are totally out of their depth in the Capital Of Culture. Their Crazy Town-style hip-pop is saccharine, unadventurous and pure California: all surface, no substance. They look like idiots, and as they peel off their layers of clothing, trousers slung dangerously low, it's impossible to take them seriously. They're a living, breathing joke, and they're surely about to take a drastic U-turn into obscurity.

The Automatic are a band on the precipice. In fact, we'd venture that they may not last another year. The warning comes early when their 'fans' don’t even recognise 'Raoul', and the band look drained of both enthusiasm and belief. Rob Hawkins' vocal is the same on every single track, and it sounds especially grainy and weak-willed in comparison to Paul Mullen's. It's uncomfortable. Hawkins looks done, Mullen looks like he's fighting for his life. There's no team dynamic whatsoever; no stage presence or audience interaction. The Automatic don't want to be here, plain and simple, and their attitude makes the audience feel the same way.

'Magazines' is the pick of the night, but no one here has bought the new album, and therefore no one has heard it. The shiny zeal of the chorus is dulled by the static bodies down the front, and only 'Monster', the penultimate song before 'Steve McQueen' ends the awkwardness, can get them jumping. It's easy to see what will make it onto the edited MTV highlights.

Make no mistake: this is a disastrous night of epic proportions. On this evidence, if The Automatic manage to rally themselves and survive to album number three, it'll be a genuine shock.