In the same week that acidic indie genius Luke Haines called for a national strike against pop music, the annual gay celebration that is Mardi Gras attempts to prove his hate of modern pop wrong. But the jury is out this time...
For this year's Mardi Gras has undoubtedly one of the weakest line-ups in recent memory. No torch song set from Marc Almond, no effortless pop genius from All Saints. Not even Boy George could be bothered to put on his slap for the day.
The Human League, a band who once embodied the plastic glamour and addictive hooks of pop music at its best, are wasted in the mid-afternoon graveyard slot. It's reassuring to see they have moved on, however, with Phil Oakey having lost his eighties fringe. Carelessly, he also seems to have lost the rest of his hair. The League grind through a disappointing set, favouring the cheesier later music such as 'Electric Dreams' over the twisted brilliance of earlier hits such as 'Love Action'.
Things don't get better fast. The lovely people at Popstarz have tried a bold experiment, by bringing a second indie stage to the Mardi Gras experience. A bold experiment, but a bolder mistake. The crowd is tiny and stare vacantly into space. Some shiny G.A.Y types - Ilford hairdressers, in all likelihood - have obviously wandered here by mistake: they stare in disbelief at the musical instruments, and you wonder whether they have ever seen one before.
Into the dreary dreay arms of Rialto then. Their music sounds like Suede mixed with Bowie, but they have apparently left the tunes in their local pub. Careless boys. Gay Dad may have an appealing name, but their music is mush. Only Gene understand this crowd: Martin Rossiter camps it up a storm, and sings 'Sleep Well Tonight' with a rage and vigour that makes you think of revolution. Smash authority! End bigotry! Change the world!
Or, alternatively, change Atomic Kitten. Back on the main stage the three girls are bouncing around like supermarket check-out girls after their third Bacardi breezer of the night. They limp through mystery Number One smash 'Whole Again' and then play an energetic little track that appears to sample the Dynasty theme tune. It's rather good, actually, although that could be the Smirnoff Ice talking. It will be interesting to see whether they will be invited back next year, or whether pop's great escalator will return them to Safeways, where they belong.
Sugababes are perhaps the big surprise of the day. They may not have the profile of Atomic Kitten, but they soon will if they continue like this. If Atomic Kitten are Safeways, then Sugababes are Harrods. They are stupidly young but their music has a sultry maturity that their rivals can only dream of. 'Run For Cover' is a dreamy, dubby wonder and the crowd screams appreciation.
Then the inevitable. Thousands of people appear in the field from nowhere. The frontline gets mobbed. People push each other, shove forward, yank at each other's hair. Oh God, No. Its Steps!
Watching Steps at Mardi Gras is nothing like as interesting as watching Mardi Gras watching Steps. Turn your back to the stage and you'll see a sea of adult faces turned up in adoring worship. Ageing leather queens, young pop tarts, tough dykes: each and every one of them appears to know every last word. Worse, they all seem to know the dance moves to Steps' sledgehammer cover of 'Tragedy'. It's a fascinating social experiment, and almost compensates for the nauseating saccharine booming from the band.
My mother said if you can't say anything nice, don't say anything at all. So, in that spirit, Hear'Say appear. They appeared to be popular, and they played their two Number One singles 'Pure & Simple' and 'The Way To Your Love' and some other stuff.
Melanie B meanwhile, looks the part in a skintight pvc catsuit, miming and dancing her energetic, carefully choreographed way through various hits from her 'Hot' album, the likes of 'Lullaby' and 'Feels So Good' proving less memorable than Scary Spice's slinky attire.
Thankfully the day ends with two moments of joyful pop glory. Belinda Carlisle replaces 5ive, and she fills their Nikes more than adequately. Her huge, bombastic pop is a slap in Luke Haines' face, full of uniquely American confidence and, crucially, brilliant tunes. 'Live Your Life Be Free' is the closest we get to a gay anthem today, and it gets the roars of approval that it deserves. The charts miss her, almost as much as she misses them.
And finally, A1 headline. Yes, they are yet another boy band. Yes, their songs are patchy. But they are having the times of their lives up on that stage, and we can't help but join them. Little Paul is a gorgeous bouncing dynamo, and even Fat Ben is appealingly puppyish today. All of which would mean nothing, if it wasn't for the twenty four carat pop gold of 'Same Old Brand New You'. In this age of anorexic American R'n'B, and bulimic balladry, this is pop in peak physical form, fighting fit and muscular. And if their version of 'Take On Me' isn't as good as A-ha's, that is excusable, because what on earth is?
So the punters file away and the few who have heard of Luke Haines ponder his pop strike. And it occurs that pop music is a bit like marrying an alcoholic. It can be volatile, it can be embarrassing, it can spend half of its life sick, but sometimes, when its on form, it can be brilliant, delirious, surreal fun. Don't think it's time for the drying out clinic just yet.
CLICK HERE for dotmusic's Mardi Gras video special.
