CityLife

A show that will live long in the memory and is unlikely to be bettered in the city this year. With a band and dance troupe that, especially when they trotted on and off in single file for the encores, resembled a gymnastics display team, David Byrne showed just how a concert should be staged - as long as you have the material to do it, which Byrne does in spades. I've never been a fan of "Bush of Ghosts" but the taster here from it was brilliantly reimagined. The material from "Everything That Happens..." (a really strong album) also stood up well in this context - the yearning One Fine Day and the plaintive title track particular highlights. But it was the Talking Heads material that really blew the roof off the Bridgewater - I Zimbra (again, a piece I've never really loved) took off brilliantly when the eccentric dancers burst onto the stage, old favourites like Once In A Lifetime and Life During Wartime gained new energy, and I was in Heaven when he rolled out a couple of songs from my favourite Heads album, Remain In Light - though my only slight reservation would be that the slightly restrained The Great Curve screamed out for a frenetic guitar solo a la Adrian Belew (the only way this band could have been improved). The multiple encores were, for once, deserved, and could have gone on a lot longer. Finally, another big thank you to the Bridgewater and staff - still the city's best venue.

I saw Jackson in Liverpool, but I don't think the Manchester show would have been substantially different. I can't believe a Liverpool crowd was better behaved than a Manchester one, but there was no heckling at the Philharmonic and Jackson's between-song banter was laid back and informative. Far from rocking softly, he opened with a storming Boulevard, continued with his cod-reggae Everywhere I Go (wonder what his black backing singers and musicians make of his funky chops?) and played a variety of electric guitars throughout, only occasionally sitting down to the piano or strapping on an acoustic. The favourites were (nearly) all here: a beautiful Fountain of Sorrow, For a Dancer, The Pretender and of course These Days. His backing band was the best collection of musicians I have ever seen him play with. Special mention must go to the two "backing" singers whom Jackson generously allowed plenty of the spotlight. The absolute high point was About My Imagination, sung mainly by one of the girls and which closed the first half - it made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. The introspective, sensitive singer-songwriter image is a myth - Jackson is just a great musician with a wealth of great songs to sing.

A unique, thrilling experience - although their act has barely changed since I first saw them in the Free Trade Hall in 1981, Kraftwerk still manage to send chills up your spine, despite the fact that for most of the gig they look like four bored bankers staring at their laptops - paradoxically the show IS a tremendous visual spectacle. Musically, I couldn't fault it - hearing the doomy opening chords of Trans Europe Express, the robotic "boing boom tschack" of Musique Non Stop or the staccato intro to The Man Machine are moments no other band could hope to simulate. Those "moments" keep on coming - the Teutonic count-in to The Model, the lovely Fifties footage behind Tour de France and The Model, the beautiful, lilting melody of Autobahn and, of course the appearance of the GB cycling team though, after several dozen circuits of the Velodrome, one sensed they had bought into the Kraftwerk "repetition" vibe! Steve Reich's support slot was fascinating and invigorating, despite the audience chatter. My only other criticism would be the organisation of the event - the staff did their best in the heat (did I see a steward being treated outside by paramedics?) but we were misdirected to the venue by signs intended (as it turned out) for pedestrians, only to find the car park full (thanks be to Asda - I will shop there for the next month). Inside the venue was like an oven, and understaffed bars attracted queues the like of whiuch I have never seen at a gig. We took our chances with the dehydration. Apart from that well done to the Velodrome and staff, and thank you Kraftwerk.

A great gig in beautiful surroundings - contrast the helpful, unobtrusive staff at the RNCM with that of certain other local venues - Ms Hannigan perhaps demonstrated why her relationship with Damien Rice proved problematic in the end. Rice is an excellent performer and obviously found it difficult to rein in the huge talent onstage with him - Lisa has really come into her own with quirky, original material, a slick, understated band and a comfortable presence that made 75 minutes fly by. I would perhaps quibble with her choice of The Lady Is A Tramp (horrible memories of my father's Dansette record player) - though she did make it her own. Her delicacy may at times have been overwhelmed by the band, especially in the rousing finale, Free Until They Cut Me Down, but she seemed to enjoy losing herslef in the sound. She seemed to enjoy the whole experience in fact and promised to return to the city - I hope she's as good as her word. Solo support Jape was intriguing but possibly the shortest set I have ever seen - a little more would have been welcome.

I wouldn't say I was a dedicated fan of Lucinda's, having seen her at the Apollo about seven years ago and not really been impressed, but I do own several of her albums and there are nuggets to be found on each one. Besides, it doesn't take much to tempt me into the wonderful Bridgewater. Having said all that, this was an enjoyable, value-for-money (at 1hr 45 minutes by the headliner) show. Lucinda has a bad reputation for live performance, with even a Facebook site to that effect, but musically she was on top form last night. Playing in front of an excellent band didn't hurt - each one casually proficient at his instrument, melding together for some great jams (Well Well Well in particular featured an epic guitar workout). Essence was beefed up to good effect, and other tracks from her earliest days up to her latest album, Little Honey, sounded great in this context. One or two slipped by unremarkably, and her between song banter seemed strangely awkward and nervous, but there was no doubting her sincerity. She introduced every song by name and album, which was a nice touch, and seemed to enjoy herself and the reception she received. She promised to come back after her next album - if she plays the Bridgewater, it's a date.

You know when you go to the toilet during a concert and you can still hear the dull thud of the music? That's what this sounded like to me, all the way through. I WAS one of those souls in Block 201, but that's my fault for leaving it till the last minute (I'm not a huge fan, but my wife suddenly decided she was). I don't know what the sound was like elswhere, but all I could hear was a murky, pulsing beat with some reedy vocals over the top. After sitting through the last fifteen minutes of the "support act" (and I use the term loosely) playing his records to us, then a full HOUR watching Madonna's lackeys scurrying about backstage (the one advantage of where we were located) - one of them even came out with a brush to sweep the very floor where her Madgesty would walk - the lights went down and the spectacle (or the cross section of it that we could see) began. Having said all that, give Madonna credit - a long, high-energy show, not reliant on Greatest Hits (I'd say I recognised only a quarter of the songs, having last listened to her properly around Ray of Light), fabulous choreography and great songs. But for the overall experience, topped off by a long sit in traffic at twenty to midnight - two stars.

This was such an anticipated event, it was bound to disappoint, however slightly. I just felt it sagged a little in the middle, the choice of songs a tad predictable (almost all of the live Play album, nearly three decades old, was played). Magazine are a band who marry thought provoking lyrics with soaring melodies, so the choice of one or two of their less tuneful numbers in that central section (Twenty Years Ago has always been a dirge) was the only criticism I could level. Well, maybe also Devoto's surreal monologue about...um... That having been said, it was still one of the better gigs we'll see this year. I last saw them in 1979 at the Apollo and don't remember Devoto being such a great presence on stage. Barry Adamson wore a sinister top hat that made me think of Baron Samedi in Live and Let Die, and Noko was an able replacement for the late John McGeoch. Stand-out moments were the dramatic opening, The Light Pours Out of Me, Song From Under The Floorboards and the fabulous Permafrost, whose lyrics had been slightly altered (perhaps to make them slightly more politically correct). Great to see them back, and no-one could have lived up to such high expectations. All we need now is some new material...

Spot-on review, apart from the fact that Polly is a Dorset lass, not Devon. I found the little-girl "thorn in me foot" thing a tad twee, but apart from that a great performance from Polly and one of the coolest bands you'll ever see. I love it when an artist ditches the Greatest Hits and does something fresh (a la Neil Young's Tonight's the Night and Greendale tours) so kudos to Polly for that. The audience still lapped it up and almost - almost - stayed quiet during the softer, ukulele-driven numbers. The stillness at the end of The Soldier was shattered by the sound of crashing bottles from the bar - Polly's bemused smile was a picture. Last time at the Bridgewater was an "unplugged" White Chalk affair, this time an esoteric setlist from her John Parish repertoire - the girl is nothing if not eclectic.

Quadrophenia is my favourite Who album - yes, I prefer it to Who's Next - and the band's performance of it at the MEN in 1996 is still one of my all time favourite concerts. This performance started uncomfortably for me - stage school brats doing Lionel Blair routines to The Real Me and shouting the lyrics in cut-glass Mockney accents - it put me in mind, for some reason, of the Double Deckers. Plus as far as seats were concerned we were in the, heh heh, "High Numbers" and couldn't see most of the band at the rear of the stage. Added to that a couple of aging Mods beside us who insisted in talking throughout and sitting on the backs of their chairs because, well, it's abaht rebellion, innit? However, we found a couple of better seats at the interval and were able to appreciate the energy and imagination that has gone into this show. The climactic Love Reign O'er Me was pure shouting as opposed to the controlled passion of Daltrey on the album, but otherwise the songs were done justice. 5:15 in particular fared well, opening the second half with a blast of adrenalin, Sea and Sand and Doctor Jimmy, while never threatening to match the originals, fitted well into this medium and were excellently performed by a tight band. I've already booked tickets for later in the summer - this time a lot nearer the stage.

Whilst wasn't quite as underwhelmed as the MEN reviewer (30 year old songs sounding dated? How can this be?) neither was I as ecstatic as the fans here obviously were. I was never a huge fan of Ultravox - I found them a band to be admired rather han loved - I thought them worth catching on a tour of medium sized venues. It was as good as the sum of its parts, no more. The show never threatened to catch fire like the recent David Byrne gig did - Ultravox aren't really engaging enough live for that. In fact, Chris Cross at times stood with one hand in his pocket, playing the keyboard with the other - in terms of showmanship, we're not talking Meatloaf here. All that having been said, the songs are just great - unlike the MEN reviewer, I love Return to Eden and was delighted to see it feature so prominently. The title track was a high point of the show for me. The lighting and background visuals were also top notch, making up for the lack of dynamism by the players - well, almost. I have no regrets about forking out to see Ultravox - it was an entertaining evening, but one that perhaps didn't transport me to the stratosphere.