Baptiste @ The Monarch, London (13th May 2000)

I am quite partial to a bit of self-indulgent droning, me. And suits. Thank god for Baptiste, then. The four-band bill at the Monarch tonight is such that I am rapidly losing the will to live. Until they appear - serious-looking, besuited and in possession of some beautiful songs. No fucking about (bar a few attempts to flog the single) - just half an hour of decent music. They've been compared to Tindersticks (less glossy), Velvet Underground (less ramshackle) and Nick Cave (can't see it myself). You get the picture anyway. Just add a more prominent guitar sound that these comparisons would suggest. They were right about the melancholy though, it hits you even in the midst of all the Saturday night clubbing kitsch. All in all, I was more than happy for them to carry on but they were swiftly ousted by a band fronted by a bad perm and a yellow sequin top. (Radiant Kovacs)

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