SHARP CUTS are rockabilly revived, unrevised but revitalised with damn fine playing all round. At the generally dead Leadmill, audience wise, a dozen dance: a miracle, gentle reader, as all but Simply Red will know. [...]

In contrast, Pulp are an irritating lot. Continuity is damaged by the singer continually pleading with the mixing desk for alterations which when finally made, seem to make no difference whatsoever to the sound, further mutilated by the versatility of individual band members being demonstrated as they take turns at everything except serving at the bar. Worst of all, half the set comprises quiet numbers in which the singer proves himself unable to croon while the rest of the band play with such apathy that the result would not be out of place in a working man's social club on the night of a 'talent' contest.

However, Pulp are far from bereft of ingenuity. In the morose morass are some well written and well executed pieces. Some are quirky, with a fairground atmosphere or chords that climb and fall hypnotically. Others are near punk, similar to Magazine in their hey-day, our failed crooner showing himself able to punch if not caress. When he screams out his desire to "get back to LA", he throws himself around with such conviction that it seems only someone leaping onstage with a ticket for the next flight out can save him from the nuthouse.

When Pulp have such things to offer, why all the dross?