London Dominion

"It's like a pub in 'ere, innit?" asks one astonished usher to her colleague after a tiring bout of Cornetto-peddling among the leather-jacketed hordes.

Hordes? Yes, hordes. The Psychedelic Furs are convincingly popular despite what the tirades of the music weeklies would have you think. The Fur-seeking masses far outnumber the Dominion (male) staff all of whom are dressed in the most surreal garb. Would you belived green suits?

The usher at the start of the review is still bemused. "They're filing a b-movie here, I gently reassure her, it's called The Beat Group Invasion of the Picture Palace."

I hadn't seen the Furs before. Going by the records, of which I've the complete collection and love the lot, I expected a hard-nosed wall of raunch with a general air of agression. Instead, I was surprised by the softness of the whole approach.

The opening pair of 'Into You Like A Train' and 'Mr Jones' lacked their recorded punch but gained in depth and substance. So often I've been aurally bombarded by misused volume from bands whose records are great but whose songs become an indistinct blur live. The Furs, in contrast, exercise a complete control.

To continue reading this article and to discover many more (over 140,000 words-worth!), purchase Mick Sinclair’s Adjusting the Stars: Music journalism from post-punk London.