A Certain Ratio Liverpool Playhouse

A CERTAIN RATIO

LIVERPOOL PLAYHOUSE

THESE DAYS, it's Donald Johnson that wears the shorts in the ACR house. Jeremy Kerr, a skeleton with eyes like death who should immediately consider eating at least three Shredded Wheat, looks like the music once sounded. Thin, white and worried.

Tonight its Johnson’s percussive violence - there is no other word for it - on both drums, and slap-happy bass that holds sway. The music is loud and simply irresistible. The audience remains seated. A Certain Ratio play to 12 million, radio listeners. They are not overly concerned about it. 

There are maybe five songs called things like 'Inside'. These are from a new album called ‘Force’. Right now, that title suits them well. And then Kerr wrests the mantle from the magnificently flailing Donald Johnson for a moment or two. He sings but it doesn’t matter. The rhythm is brutally precise. Tapes and massively distorted guitar spray across it. They do nothing to diminish its power. ACR seem tensed with the brilliance of the groove that slips through their bony fingers. They concentrate madly during some jazz-singed Corea moves, thankfully, a whip-like snare sorts out the mess.

While you’ve been looking elsewhere, A Certain Ratio have forged an endlessly accessible dance music which burns. Forget the misleading cerebral signals - ACR are no individual egg-heads. They never were. Look at your feet. This is the hardest live music being played in Britain today.

No contest.

The latin one is saved til last. A Certain Ratio have earned their colours. They are no dilettantes, no ethnic thieves. They understand. Implicitly. When they go, I clap like a fool. lt’s the least I can do.

Of course, they don’t come back.

John McCready