Terminally Groovie

TERMINALLY GROOVY

NED'S ATOMIC DUSTBIN
CORN EXCHANGE, CAMBRIDGE
NOW that the personal, human side of the Neds has been uncovered, it would be too easy to home in on the fears and insecurities that make them tick in such a glorious way. Energy is the thing after all, the live thrill, the adrenal rush, those pleasing little idiosyncrasies (Mat's bare chest, Alex's skinny frame, Rats whiplashing guitar style) that colour in the experience the morning after. Yet there's no denying that Ned's Atomic Dustbin have blossomed into a thoughtful assault on the senses. No longer mere cartoon popstars, they're now emotional confidants, councillors for the post-Smiths generation. And it shows. Just look at the audience...
The crowd are going mental. Sensibly, sensitively mental, but mental nevertheless. They're shedding their troubles for 60 minutes, letting themselves go. And so are the band. There's a great deal of self-expression involved, Mat and Alex now play separate roles, Mat laying the foundations, Alex providing the melody, while Rat just streaks ahead filling in all the spaces leftover. John, meanwhile, is just holding onto the energy for dear life and hoping that some sense might come out of it eventually. He's not a nervous wreck, but there are hints of it, his face looking like a flood of tears for a few telling moments. Determination prevails, though, and it's a confident figure that faces the world. It's hard, but as the song says, at least he's trying. How this all translates to the songs is really what makes tonight more than just another wild gig for an up-and-coming pop group. "Your Complex" is the familiar sound of someone trying to sort out their life ("Don't go telling me it's gone wrong") while "Nothing Like", with its slightly bewildered sense of disappointment, could even be a metaphor for the price the Neds have had to pay for their success. It's all very precise, very poignant, they're speaking the language that every young adult understands and as a result are striking an awful lot or chords; "What Gives, My Son" is something we've all been through, surely? What really makes the Neds so special, however, is the sheer constructive power of their songs. Rather than wallowing in misery, they're trying to work things out, trying to better themselves. There are no shouts of "loser" tonight, that's for sure.
But let's not forget the band's more primal side, the previously stressed hive of activity, the sheer joy that is blazing electric guitar. "Terminally Groovy" is thrash pop heaven, the chords and melodies more <i>alive</i> than ever, while "Kill Your TV" practically sends the venue spinning off into orbit. For a group of self-confessed shy young lads, it's all rather impressive. And with their midweek Number 11 chart position inspiring them to even greater heights, it shouldn't be long before they really are live by satellite. God Fodder? Deity material more like! Nineteen nervous breakdowns, here they come!!
IAN WATSON