Leeds

THE PLACE was wet with anticipation. The first Fun Boy Three gig. All day long I'd been hoping someone would come up to me and say "Have you seen this band before?" To which I could reply "No, which one's Jerry Dammers?"

I assumed a position on the balcony, observing the crushed populace of the front rows and hearing excited shrieks from the massed throats of very young females greeting the end of each interval record. Periodically there were bayings of "Terry, Terry" and, once, an assembly singalong to 'Ghost Town'.

Into the darkness the women instrumentalists emerge. Following a brief pre-recorded vocal snatch of 'Faith, Hope And Charity' they strike up a backing. On run Lynval, Neville and Terry. Big cheers, bright lights.

The atmosphere reminded me of a Jam or Duran Duran gig, events where the fanatical adulation and size of the venue could often occlude any possibility of communication or warmth between audience and performer. Not so with the Fun Boy Three. Neville and Terry are void of the assumed kind of pop 'charisma' and the practised adoption of 'star quality'.

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.