The Rock Of Travolta

Groop had the sleazepop tag invented for them it seems. Cooing and teasing their way through a dozen songs, with french lisps and drawled out synths, they may be one step too close to fashion and one step too far from music to completely work, but they aren't that far off. The post-apocalyptic ironies of shouting "WAKE UP, YOU'VE BEEN BRAINWASHED" a hundred times at the top of your lungs may be debatable, and at times you are way more transfixed with their snakecharmer dance-acrobatics than the music, but melodies along the lines of Heist or a dancey Velocette convince in just enough places.

The Rock of Travolta is a different story altogether. Playing without singers might be many a guitarist's secret dream: uninhibited solos and freeform melody. But make no mistake, this isn't muso wanking at full gig length. These songs let the instruments speak as loud as any human vocalist, there's nothing missing from them. Sound is richly textured, layered with guitars, keyboards and bass, and the band is a joy to watch, letting go and jumping about like true rock stars.

The white overalls they're wearing call for a projector's picture stream, which isn't there, but the Metro's red stage lights do their best to make this gig visually stunning. Compared to the music however, that is hard going indeed. Wave after wave of intensity washes over you in a frenzy, beautiful key strokes and brutal guitars.

All hail The Rock of Travolta. Brilliant just isn't strong enough a word...