SIGUR ROS, WESTMINSTER CENTRAL HALL

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Icelandic musical alchemists Sigur Ros hit the capital on the back of their long awaited new album ‘Meo Suo í Eyrum Vio Spilum Endalaust’ for one night only at the Central Hall in Westminster, just metres from the seat of government.

These fey thirty-somethings carry an air of excitement and expectation with them wherever they go and tonight's crowd are not disappointed.

There were five vast glowing orbs at the back of the Central Hall and a stage full of instruments in the middle. While the venue filled up, singer-songwriter (and trombonist in Sigur Ros) Helgi Jonsson took to the stage and strummed a few mediocre numbers with a fey frame and shy eyes, the best song being the penultimate one Dry Run taken from his Aska EP.

The lights dropped and the four lithe Skandinavian figures of Sigur Ros strode onto the stage – drummer Orri sporting a novelty crown and frontman Jonsi, a black tuxedo jacket with red-piping and tassles.

They opened with 'Svefn-G-Englar' - the first (real) song from their second album Agaetis Byrjun – and the crowd was rapt, Jonsi’s vocals soaring through the space effortlessly.

For the second song they were joined on stage by a strong quartet of Icelandic maidens, and then, as the music inevitable climbed, out walked a marching brass band, all dressed in pure white band uniforms.

Before Gigwise had rubbed our eyes they were gone again. The brass band returned a couple of songs later, just in time for ‘that one from the advert’ (Hoppipolla) during which they let loose tubes of ticker tape into the audience to up the epic ante.

Jonsi, Georg, Orri and Kjartan switched instruments effortlessly throughout the gig Jonsi seeming happiest when he was bowing his guitar, and creating the volcanic climaxes they are so famous for.

Before long they had played 14 indecipherabley named songs and decided to get the crowd involved, “We want you to clap” said Jonsi, and clap we did as the whole ensemble took to the stage beating drums, singing ‘las’ and tonking xylophones. Two giant electric fans launched streams of ticker tape into the vast Central Hall, not stopping until the air was full of music AND paper.

After the finale the crowd whooped and hollered so that they couldn’t not come back. They did, and played two more glorious songs before leaving again. The crowd, though tired and emotionally drained after two hours of beauty, continued to whoop and holler.

They came back on again to play one last beautiful, soaring song, before throwing their arms round each other, bowing a low bow and leaving once more.

SUPER TENNIS/GIANT PAW, LONDON BUFFALO BAR

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We've often reflected that there isn't enough sport in music, so when we heard about a band called Super Tennis, we thought we had better dispatch our roving reporter Harold Shiel to the field of play to find out the score.

In the sporting corner of London that is Highbury, the first set (WARNING: excessive tennis puns to follow - Ed) of the night comes from Giant Paw: a mind-bending collective of conspiracy theorists who probably spend their spare time searching for the beast of Bodmin Moor.
After littering the stage with terrifying monster masks they proceed to plough a musical furrow somewhere between late eighties no-wave and early nineties rave (Neu Order anyone?). The results are literally astounding, although at times it sounds like three records playing at once, never a good thing.

Bob, Tom and Kev from Super Tennis hardly rule the stage, but their finely-crafted songs float between intricacy and agit-pop fun, replete with claps and cries for the kids to latch onto. The girls are soon swooning and despite over-indulgence on the knob twiddling, the simple pop melodies are 'ace'. (You've been warned - Ed)

Drummer Bob dedicates the gig to The Bill's troubled PC Reg Hollis before serving up opener 'Deuce Love'. After a playful start the song opens up into an epic flourish, rumbling in the stomach and swirling around the room.

A few songs later a Magic Number bustles about the venue smiling at everyone. Perhaps bewildered by the beaming smile, the band realise they don't know how long they're on for, and with no one stepping up to tell them otherwise, they threaten to play ten more songs.

Tonight's standout is 'Super Tennis Theme', which has a marching beat and claps to get the crowd moving and singing like Sir Cliff Richard on Centre Court. "S-U-P-E-R T-E-N-N-I-S T-O-N-I-G-H-T" they cry in unison before thanking each other rather than the crowd, and we file out into a volley of rain full of love. (You're fired - Ed)

NME AWARDS 2007 LAUNCH NIGHT, LONDON INDIGO2

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With Take That rocking out next door in the mindzone (or whatever it's now called) of the Millennium Dome (or whatever it's now called) there are some jealous glances over the hall as we are forced to head into the little IndigO2 (this IS what it's called) for the launch of the NME Awards. The IndigO2 is not your average venue: housed in one corner of the Dome's enormity, it feels like the room set aside for roller-discos at your local sports centre, writes Harold Shiel.

Joe Lean and the Jing Jang Jong stumble through a quick set that suffers from the lack of character in Joe Lean's voice, but they look pretty cool.

Whispers that something is missing filter through to our ears just at the same time as presenter George Lamb announces that the surprise headliners "might be Babyshambles!" (woop woop, cheer cheer). It turns out the whispers are facts; ol' Dead Eyes Doherty has pulled not a guitar, but a snotty tissue, from his pork-pie hat and cried off sick.

The Wombats take the stage, and the crowd by the scruff of the neck and turn up the pace with wonderful jangle pop. A kind of Busted for the cool kids. Singer Murph leads them through triumphant favourites 'Moving To New York' and 'Kill The Director', and a whirlwind set is extended to include 'Let's Dance To Joy Division'.

The biggest cheer of the night is saved for Jamie. Not heard of him? Jamie is the Babyshambles fan that their long-suffering bassist Drew McConnell dragged out of the crowd to play and sing and great rendition of 'Carry On Up The Morning', in a remarkably accurate Pete voice.

Drew and drummer Adam Ficek bravely played a set that included covers of 'Janie Jones' by The Clash and (Nirvana favourite) 'Molly's Lips' by The Vaselines, joined by Josh Hubbard from the Paddingtons.

We guess this means there'll be no more cancelled 'Shambles gigs now the band have a sub on the bench.

DIGITALISM, LONDON KCLSU


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This 'dance' music resurgence is great, isn't it? Not washed-out, 'love rhymes with dove' dance music - but d-a-n-c-e music - music you can really dance to! Like it or not, nu rave has paved the way for techno and house to brush the dust off their glowsticks and head back to the clubs where they belong. Digitalism are one of the spearheads and these two Germans with an ear for a good riff know how to party.

Tonight's sellout crowd is testament to this; the trendies queue up right down the street in the driving rain, blissfully unaware of the England football team's best efforts to ruin the night for everyone, everywhere (except in Croatia).

The crowd lurch back and forth, index-fingers held aloft and floppy fringes swinging away, as Digitalism deliver a set of modern classics. From behind their hurriedly knocked together 'DJ stand' (it looks like something out of a cooking demo at a village fete) Digitalism hit the ground running playing single 'Pogo' two songs in, closely followed by album title track 'Idealistic'.

Frustratingly, there is very little room to shake your thing. As soon as we secure some space to put our 'moves' into practice the next wave of people hankering for a better view cramp our style.

Something is amiss on stage too. Digitalism give it some, but not all. Jens Moelle, a sort of Gareth-from-The-Office-with-a-smile type announces, in classic broken English, "I have a bit of cold and so you will have to help me to make the party!" but his vocals suffer. His partner Ismail Tuefecki does his best to make up the deficit, batting his drum like a dwarf in a Gunter Grass novel, but it's not quite enough.

After threatening to peak too early they play out with strong album highlights 'Zdarlight' and the euphoric 'Jupiter Room' confirming they have got the tunes. But they are tired and struggle to entertain with their knob twiddling performance. Tonight would have been a fantastic club night, but as a gig it fell some way short.

A. HUMAN, METROCLUB


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Formed through disillusioned work chat in a Clerkenwell boozer A.Human look every part the 20-something Londoners: four crisp-fringed boys and one cute girl, all dressed in funereal black like some sort of trendy wake.

A broody opener gives way to the instantly catchy, Inspiral Carpets-esque single 'Horse With No Name' and suddenly the band come alive. The blips and beeps that combine with the riffs are given extra spice by frontman Dave Human's Ian Curtis meets Brandon Flowers voice. Dave is a sexy geek. Fact.

His act is pure American preacher: all righteous indignation and fiery eyes. Strangely-named guitarist Mellay Human has a touch of a young Elvis about him and while he sings answers to Dave's sermon an eager crowd begins to move.

"Follow me! Follow me!" yells the sexy geek and judging by the eager eyes watching him you begin to think people would literally follow him up the road if he started walking.

And why not? The goth glitchy disco outfit are playing an assured set and Dave displays a winning sense of humour announcing: "I'm gonna be bigger than Jean Claude Van Damme!"

He then adds: "Soon it'll be Friday, but today is only Monday, and they say that you'll be OK, but they don't realise you've given up anyway." Cue the best song about the frustrations of working 9 to 5 since Dolly Parton plus Dave dancing with the nearest worshipping girl.

All too soon we are played out with a soulful number bemoaning the post-postmodern blues and the night is over. No need for encores, just sit back and let it sink in.

A.Human have got some wind in their black sails at the moment and with an album out in January we think 2008 could be their year.