Calvin Harris

Since Mylo dropped the pressure and Scissor Sisters made Pink Floyd sexy, disco pop has had considerable mass appeal. Sadly, as with so many pop acts who follow a couple of years after a renaissance, Calvin Harris lacks much of the guile or novelty of his predecessors. Tonight, he and his band take to the stage with an off-putting mix of laddish swagger and awkward self-doubt that carries through to the music they play.

Acceptable in the 80s, Harris’ outstanding hit and cracking pop tunes lose much of their potential effect live because he simply can’t hit the high notes of the chorus, leaving that to a stooge-like session player. Harris’ voice is rarely better than a drunk and tuneless kareoke singer, and though there are some first rate hooks scattered about, they fail to hide the stag-night banality of most of the lyrics. Equally though the beat is easy to dance to, but the drummer’s four-four is so resolutely on the thudding downbeat that it quickly becomes dull.

Mind you, the people certainly do dance. In fact, special mention must go to tonight’s crowd, all of whom have it to such an extent that, with the sound turned down, this would look a lot like the best party, ever.