The Pod, Dublin

Will the real Bell X1 please stand up? An ominous identity crisis besets the hotly tipped Kildare quintet. Are they anaemic Jeff Buckley wannabes, all fey flourishes and granite scowls? Or bone-rattling, neo-industrial noiseniks, dissecting their anthems with red eyes and gritted teeth? Here's the problem: driven by a rumbling rhythm section, Bell X1 thrash out an incendiary live performance. Throbbing instrumental workouts dominate a gutwrenching, white-knuckleride set. But when they mute the feedback and make like sullen tunesmiths, everything dissipates into mush. Languid opener No More Love on the Dancefloor flaps and squawks but, mired in bathos, crashes to earth with a splat. The group's vocalist possesses a modicum of charisma, but the posing quickly grates. The pilfered angst is irritating because it's so unnecessary. If they quit pretending to be great lyricists (they're not) and settle for whipping up a racket, Bell X1 would be near-untouchable .