The queue stretches around the block, some five hundred strong. There's only fifteen minutes to go until the band come onstage for the first time in, ooh, years, so people are getting nervous, itchy. And they all stop the security girl with the same words: "Excuse me, but I'm on the guest list". On the other side of the Astoria, meanwhile, tumbleweed blows across the door reserved for paying punters. Oh dear, you think, this is going to be embarrassing.
As it turns out, the place is rammed, but the balcony is for those with record company laminates and take away the vocal Forest Of Dean posse and you've got another five hundred fans who struggle to remember the words. The Wonderstuff reunion, this is not. There, a clearly insane army of devotees dusted off their kitbags for a mass singalong, Miles Hunt laughing at the stupidity of it all. Here, it's less knowing nostalgia, more desperate comeback.
But still. In the future, all comebacks will be fantastic for fifteen seconds and when 'Children' kicks off with police sirens, flashing blue lights and a buzzing adrenalin rush, it's genuinely exciting. EMF's dance influence was always slightly more instinctive than welding on a funky drummer rhythm and hoping for the best and no matter how primitive the beats and melodies, the fact they're there makes it easier to swallow somehow, easier to forgive.
Indeed, throw in a DJ, some metal guitar and hand singer James back his backwards baseball cap and you're not that far from Limp Bizkit. You almost wonder why they haven't toughened up the sound, got with the nu-metal program, but then James is too floppy and sweet to make a convincing Durst. He's worn well, a little grey, and as coy and camp as ever, and his obvious uncertainty about this whole affair makes the show all the more endearing.
The problem is the songs. 'Children': ace. 'Unbelievable': amazing, gigantic, confident and cool. 'I Believe': infectious, irresistible. But the rest of the tunes just sound like weak demos, all clumsy Northside wah wah guitar and melodies that are uncomfortably close to Billy Idol. Even the new songs feel strangely dated. 'Let's Go' has a sexy charm but little else and 'Incredible' tries to reinvent 'Unbelievable' and fails badly.
In the end, it's James himself who sums up the whole thing. "This is from a long time ago when we were this big," he says, putting his hand by his thigh. "Now we're this big," hand up above his head. And then he stops for second, considers the charm that has people aching to have a good time, the obvious goodwill for this matey run through of old glories, and the blank expressions of the crowd when faced with a non-hit. "No, this big," he grins, hand by his chest. And you just have to nod and think, nuff said.
