<< Back To Press Melody Maker : Live Review : Camden Falcon : London 1990 The guitars are powerful, not just loud. Vocalist Fergal McKee lunges towards the mike, screws up his pale face and utters a little philosophical cynicism before staggering backwards, yanking the microphone stand from its position. Whipping Boy put as much energy and emotion into the first song as most bands put into their entire set. They certainly don’t have their mind on the party afterwards. When this Dublin-based crew are in town, you can guarantee that music will be allying with her sister performer, theatre, to create a spectacle that is immediate, sexual , rough, and sometimes magical. But there is nothing you can expect from Fergal except the unexpected. His whole body shudders. His face twitches. And then he’s banging his head on that imaginary brick wall again, showing us the whites of his eyes. From the pain comes beauty. The pitch of Paul Page’s guitar is oddly euphoric. The sound wanders like swirling smoke, mingling with your every breath. If you missed Mercury Rev live, catch up with Whipping Boy, because everything music has forgotten about in its rush to be friendly and have a good time is here. "Astronaut Blues" brings to mind Spacemen 3, and although the rhythms of "Safari" or "Buffalo" are determined and angry, they're soon flirting with a sound evoking suggestions of the Cocteaus and My Bloody Valentine. This is music that aims to mesmerise, but only so they can turn around and flaunt feelings ever more vital and dangerous, unsettling our smiling faces. Whipping Boy’s essential irrationality manifests itself live in the band’s peculiar sartorial dispositions as much as Fergal’s convulsions. Bass player Myles chooses to sweat in a pink feral jumper, Fergal decides to put his navy blue blazer back on half way through the performance. During the final "Sushi", he spends all of its extended instrumental break staring out the audience. And when the music grows to become the soundtrack to all your worst fears, he grabs the mike from its stand, wielding it like a killer with a knife. The song ends. Myles swings his bass out over the audience. We all duck. NGAIRE