I've got my dancing shoes on. Well, not really as I don't dance. Or can't dance. Ok, can't dance is more accurate. She informs me that the vast majority of men can't dance until they have a beer or four then they all - to a man - think that they can. I like her thinking on the matter and decide to try the beer approach. Ignorance is bliss after all.
Getting the old toes tapping first were The Paraffins. I suppose that should be Paraffin (singular) as there was only one guy on stage. Then again, he had an array of toys, both electric and otherwise, and used them effectively to bounce chunks of electro pop off the walls with "Life's Too Beautiful" resonating particularly well. Not one to be restrained by a mere stage, our Paraffin lamp went right out into the audience to bring light to the shadows.
Talking of shadows, there is the case of Magic Box Mistress to be considered. She's a curiosity, being one of the warmest and most likeable performers that you are likely to see but her songs are so much darker than you expect hiding all sorts of anguish in looped robotic beats that would be the perfect soundtrack for the late night dance floor. "Bones" especially would be a perfect for for 12 inch vinyl.
Possibly the happiest band in the whole wide world are Sugar Crisis. Lorna and Neil never fail to impress with their innate understanding of how to do candy floss electro pop just right. They balance nearly but not quite boy/girl harmonies with infectious melodies in a way that is guaranteed to make you smile. Even the most battle hardened and cynical reviewer - like me - would have to admit to being overcome with the urge to adopt a stupid smile and bop (badly) to the cuddly charms of "Stuck in Traffic". They're so cute that you want to adopt them.
There is one place where a man can dance badly and not be laughed at. It's called the kebab shop. I'm not sure of the staff there understood why I was singing "We Are Here To Save You" (badly) though.