Divine Comedy

BECAUSE he's got a dead posh voice, we should refer to Divine Comedy's new opus, Casanova, as a collection of "erotica". As Neil Hannon (Divine Comedy is not his real name, you understand) stands in the spotlight and sings his lyrics about sexual penetration, and ejaculation, you can't help but think that this high minded approach to rumpy pumpy is really quite whizzo.

He wasn't always as low life as this: in previous works, young Neil came across an arty left bank type, name checking obscure writers and poets in his lyrics and generally behaving like a precocious intellectual who had spent too much time in, bookshops and not enough in pubs. Similarly, the music was bathed in all manner of classical allusions, complete with sweeping strings and other such orchestral nonsense. The net result was something quite wonderful, poignant even, in its sense of arty romanticism.

All of this and more was on display on Saturday night, but the head in the clouds Hannon has now opted for an orthodox rock approach in his live performances. The standard setup of bass, drums and keyboards was augmented by Neil on vocals and guitar and, while this approach lent a grittier feel to the material, you could only shake your head occasionally and wonder where were the strings, the oboes and the grand piano sounds of his recorded work?