Durutti Column, Cafe Berlin Liverpool

DURUTTI COLUMN

Cafe Berlin, Liverpool

TWO men arrive and make tentative notes and you wonder whether it's started. One of them plays a violin in a way that reminds you of Spanish holiday restaurant tables. The music reminds you of it too but that's because of the one playing electric guitar.

Three songs later, even when a drum machine and keyboards are joined in, you're still wondering whether it's started. The music does little to hold the attention and you find yourself wondering some more. You wonder whether instrumentals are always boring and then remember some you could dance to. There doesn't seem much chance of that happening here.

Durutti Column have got themselves known as making slightly ambient music and these new sounds don't alter that. But what's the ambience? There's an atmosphere that something clever and sensitive is happening (we'll forget about whether it's arty) but I'm not sure.

There's technique of course, but there's not necessarily virtue in virtuosity. And though you feel there's some sort of soul-baring doing on, nothing is revealed. The warmth of communication is not there, just the tepidness of introspection and no reason why anyone else should want to get involved. I wonder again. Nothing here meets me.

This is not quite ambient. The guitar thinks about waking up. It's not quite self-effacing enough to ignore and not quite interesting enough to engage. Somebody throws words about like "fragile" and "beauty" but I've heard real beauty in The Woodentops. The drum machine plays patterns, not a beat. The patterns change. But, even when a voice joins in, I'm still waiting for something to happen.

Something happens. Something called "Bruce Mitchell". Decrepit dishevelledness next to youthfully aesthetic raggedness. A multitude of sticks. Taps on a xylophone. Shakes on a cymbal. Inebriate precision on drums. Technique again. This man could play with his eyes shut, and mostly does. Patterns change but there's still no colour. 

The best thing that happens is the return of the support group, bringing blues harmonica to the proceedings. Unhappily, it only lasts for one number. But things have woken up. The voice goes into something that sounds like a real song, almost middle of the road except for being slightly out of tune in the way that's so popular at present. Towards the end it almost gets a beat and as Vinl attacks keyboards and guitar and sings, it almost gets exciting. I left wondering if anything had happened.

PENNY KILEY