Friday 23/03/07 Faithless, Calvin Harris @ MEN Arena, Manchester

In the intestines of hell, otherwise known as the MEN Arena, the atmosphere initially rings of an ice hockey game. Sitting politely next to a middle-aged couple with our 4 quid Carlsberg, the supporting set of Calvin Harris is the backdrop to that awkward beginning of a birthday party. It is not Calvin’s fault- the edgy retro sound to his music produces a type of eloquent bop in the standing area, though it is pretty obvious that the restrictions of such a massive arena cannot cater for the sitting crowd, who patiently watch and tap their feet. There was a mild uplift of bodies for their current ‘Acceptable in the 80’s’, but as a DJ not well known by a crowd ranging so wildly in age groups, his set was well received for its vibrancy and quirky dynamics with a very brief applause.

Faithless begin with heavy guitars, electro synths and a disturbing backdrop of what seems to be grainy shots of Nepalese old women. Our lovely little Maxi Jazz is more elated than dour and brooding, beaming to the crowd and bouncing in his trademark suit. The intro gives way to’Insomnia’ and finally the arena gets over their vertigo for a dance. Sitting right next to the speakers, it becomes embarrassingly obvious that more bass would come from an Alba alarm clock; a disappointment for a powerful and energetic beginning.

Increasingly frustrated by having their heads fuzzed with distortion, masses of people head for fags and toilets as Sister Bliss takes on a solo piece. Though her DJ work is massive, people do not seem to care as much for the softer songs and mill around, jumping down the stairs for ‘Mass Destruction’. The mood seems to follow Maxi's actions, his energy as a frontman reviving a crowd suffering from a cruel game of musical chairs. ‘God Is a DJ’ could have been divine, but the austere surroundings would never compare to the arm flinging antics that occur at dance festivals. His charismatic power behind ‘What About Love’ is a turning point in the set, as he seems to win the battle with such shitty acoustics.

‘We Come One’ fizzles through to a determined crowd that clammer over each other and make the best of what they can hear. The mood for encore is richer and darker. ‘Muhammad Ali’ is a final mash up for the kids in the standing area, chucking their glowsticks at a benevolent Maxi who is seems lost in his words. Saving his best until last, ‘Salva Mea’ almost makes us forgive the big brutes that crammed everybody into their stalls for minimal movement, as it all ends on a warm and enthusiastic note. Ever grateful to their fans, they spend a good few minutes thanking us all, ‘loving’ us all, although the majority of people seem to be making a beeline for a much needed smoke.