Four songs in and it's looking like a disaster. Apart from a glorious reading of "Bang Bang" to start with, Sinatra's voice still crystal with sadness as a lone guitar line picks out the melody that galvanised the "Kill Bill" soundtrack, this isn't the gig most of the audience was expecting. Instead of strings, brass and an expansive ballgown, kicking out style like it's just been invented, we have lumpen LA bar rock and a guitarist who stands in front of the star to take his solos. If it carries on like this, it's going to be a dreadful night.
Astonishingly, this is Nancy Sinatra's debut gig in the United Kingdom. Thirty-eight years after she scored her first British Number One, she's finally here to wow her fans. Why she hasn't made the trip before is a mystery - surely London in the swinging Sixties was built for Nancy Sinatra? It does, however, explain why she imagines we'd swoon for a set of chicken-in-a-basket Clapton-lite mediocrity. Pastiche and guitar solos are clearly what she makes her living from back in the rock-loving USA.
It takes the appearance of her father to liven things up a little. Thank God for Frank, always there when you need him. As Nancy and her suited crew of journeymen (honourable exception: pianist Don Randi, former member of the legendary Wrecking Crew who's been with the singer since year dot), skip through a thankfully tasteful version of "Good Time Girl", highlights of Nancy's movie career flash up on a big screen. There's "poppa", looking cool as the day. There's Peter Fonda, all biker suss. And - cue huge cheers – there's Elvis, snogging Nancy to within an inch of her waistline. "And yes," smirks our girl. "He was a good kisser."
After this, it's mixed blessings - the odd classic interspersed with the pub rock sludge but you feel more generous after such a burst of excitement. "Last Of The Secret Agents" - the title track to the film of the same name, obviously - swings, that voice as sharp as ever. "You Only Live Twice" cries out for an orchestra rather than irritating widdling from the bloke (still) standing in front of Nancy. "These Boots Are Made For Walking" now comes with a pointless bass solo, but is still glorious, prompting a rush of fans to the front when Sinatra comes down from the stage to sing among us. They play it twice and it's worth every second.
Regrets? LAUNCH has a few. I haven't hated a guitarist this much since that David Bowie greatest hits tour that was ruined by the idiot who went on to be in Tin Machine. There's too much rock, not enough class. It would all be much much better in the Albert Hall with an orchestra, a swathe of horns and those kicking Beatles covers ("Daytripper" especially) put back in the set. Maybe now she's been to the UK and understood that we have different cultural values to our American chums, she might give us that. You can only dream.
But ultimately we leave grinning. Which is more than you can say for most evenings (almost) ruined by guitar solos.
