Windsor Psykik Dancehall

DON'T BE fooled by the name - Curve are a straight down the middle (of the road) '90s pop group, with all the trlmmings.

At the recent London support slot to the unfortunate Boo Radleys, dry ice in quantities that would've made even Andrew Eldritch cough with embarrassment was used to shroud Toni Halliday in a trés gothique pall of mystery. And now, at the impressively seething scout hall that is the Old Trout, Curve have got the wind machine on loan from Simple Minds to contend with. Christ, only lack of space mitigates against a feet-upon-monitors scenario.

And it all fits perfectly. For a start, if the current hysteria continues, it won't be long before Curve are packing out venues a little more compatible with their love of drama - and that'll have a lot to do with the sense of relief that you can virtually smell In the audience tonight.

Relief that after all the stuttering and stammering attempts at this beautiful dislocated pop over the last year or so, here's the band who do all the work for us. No callow youths hunched nervously over guitars, no pale skinny girl who can't sing and finds speaking a bit of an ordeal too - just one-two-three blam! as Alex Mitchell kicks out the sten-gun chatter of the opening 'No Escape From Heaven' and they're off.

Live, Curve are an improvement on their two EPs by virtue of being louder, and that's about it. At times it doesn't really sound as if there are two guitars on the go up there, so those in search of the cauterising power of, say, a My Bloody Valentine are going to be disappointed.

But Curve don't want to make your ears bleed, a faint buzz afterwards will do. They're a pop group - their own, but a pop group nonetheless - who want success and all the stuff it brings.

Can they fail? I think not, for in a mighty mid-set triad of 'I Speak Your Every Word'. 'Coast Is Clear' and 'The Colour Hurts', they nail both of last year's generic coups - Ride's guitar and Weatherall's groove - and stick 'em together without Halliday's voice, but her voice is there, a charged, bruising presence somewhere between Liz Fraser's primal sob and a whispering Kate Bush.

Curve finish with 'Zoo', rocking out at last, then don't return for an encore. That no-one seems particularly bothered about this highlights the one glaring problem here: there's a curious absence of passion about Curve. Sure, they play good songs very well and everyone jumps about and is happy.

But that's it - Curve have harnessed pop's prevailing wind so expertly that there's no room for tension, never any shadow of doubt. They're a musical full-stop - the stadium indie-dance crossover has arrived.

review by Keith Cameron (nicked from 'New Musical Express', dated 18 May 1991)