Sunday 03/10/04 The Vacation, Hard-fi, The Bad Beat Revue @ The Roadhouse, Manchester

What happens on Sunday nights? Who goes anywhere? Where do you go? Well, not the Roadhouse it seems because it’s not just dead tonight it’s as empty as a tramps bladder on a cold night.

Showing no regard for tonight’s attendance inversion is the front man Patrick from The Bad Beat Revue. He takes crowd sleazing to a new level, looking like he’d hump your dog then lick its underbelly for maximum satisfaction. And that’s just what we get, with no atmosphere he manages to manifest the aggression and the uncanny looks of latest Stranglers singer Paul Roberts. It's almost a pastiche of 80’s ‘Back to the future’ fun boy rock, never a dull second for the eyes, plenty for the ears. After "cracking" a gash (oh aye? - Ed) on the ceiling lights it’s all over, shame really.

Hard-fi, apart from the shit name are impressive to say the least. These London based boys instantly convey the passion and feel of what The Killers should be like live. The front man handles his mic not unlike Tim Burgess and manages to captivate the few in attendance with his, and indeed the whole band's matured, tight sound. Often using a backing track of bass, beats and Hammond can overwhelm, but Hard-fi succeed with such ease and grace it looks effortless. ‘Living For The Weekend’ stands proud, a throbbing party tune characterised by a thumping bass and jaded guitars. A new band London can be proud of, it’s just a shame so few tackled the Sunday slump.

The Vacation, hailing from the Hollywood Hills - but showing none of its glitter - are here to rock their skinny arses, crowd or no crowd come heaven or hell. And technically this could be either. Last night it was six hundred, tonight its barely six and most are chairbound and voiceless. A reflection on how the UK is no longer interested in the insurgence of "The" garage rock bands or something closer to home, either way its embarrassing whichever side of the stage you are.

They launch head first into ‘White Noise’ with a fury that only intensifies, as their fifty-minute slap in the face is unleashed. Front man Ben Tegal applies himself as all rock stars should, storming and stamping on tables, leaving ravaged chairs and microphones, a pure swinging simian fuelled by carnage. And it's fab to watch, every twist and fumble is styled out with a swagger that’s as talented as a gymnast on a mat. Apart from the hilarity of this one-man show, the rest of the band cobble together the sum of influences stretching from The Rolling Stones to AC/DC. And that’s basically it, nothing special to add to the multitudes of Garage Rock already heavily peddled across the world.

As expected: The Vacation, a Hollywood affair where style exceeds content.

Photos by Daniel Pratley