Gig played on 04/12/06

Pete Doherty's crimes and misdemeanours are legion. From possession of heroin, cocaine and whatever is lying around waiting to be smoked, injected or ingested, through to driving offences and a fine for assaulting a female reporter, Doherty is clearly no angel. These transgressions, however, pale into insignificance when weighed against his crimes against culture. That his tuneless ouevre has been gobbled up is one thing but the fact that it remains inspirational is quite another.

The Others, The Paddingtons, Cazals and countless other urchin no-marks have followed in his soiled steps to deliver music of staggering ineptitude and mediocrity to the deafening sound of mass indifference. Unperturbed, Dundee's upstart quartet The View have stepped up to the plate to carry on a legacy that will either propel them to the big time or back to square one. Certainly, the adoring and boisterously enthusiastic reaction of their constituency - a flying mass of flailing limbs, surfing bodies and sweaty, saucer-eyed faces - suggests the former, as the human stew at the front of the stage threatens to boil over into uncontrollable chaos.

But the bi-polar nature of The View hints at the latter perspective. They are very much a band of two halves. A powerful presence, their youthful exhuberance is exciting to the point of exhaustion and their enthusiasm utterly infectious, as songs collide into each other at 100mph while nary pausing for breath. A huge strength, it's also the band's Achilles Heel, as the lack of texture, depth and single-paced delivery reveals a band whose solitary idea stretches to breaking point over the course of 45 very long minutes. There are, of course, occasional flashes of brilliance.

"Superstar Tradesman" and "Same Jeans" succeed thanks to a successful fusion of a biting, antagonstic lyrical stance and tunes that possess such an immediacy that they can't fail to sear themselves onto the brain. But all too often The View settle for the easy option. With the Doherty default-setting switched firmly on - that'll be third rate sub-ska scratchy guitar chords - the music soon melds into a continual sheet of piercing chords with very little to distinguish one song from another. Moreover, cheap shots such as "Posh Boys" reveal an inverted snobbery that's neither endearing nor sympathetic.

The view from your correspondent's vantage point is an ugly one and as the crowd shout themselves hoarse yelling, "The View! The View! The View are on fire!", the desire for a can of petrol and a lighter becomes overwhelming.

by Julian Marszalek