This review from Carling Weekend of Rev and The Makers sounds promising, though.
Arctic Monkeys mentor McClure puts on a show of self-confidence that makes the cocksure, swaggering Johnny Borrell look like Woody Allen. He turned his mike lead into a gun, pow-powing the audience, and shadow-boxed during the instrumentals like Ali before the rumble in the jungle. In between songs, he spewed out poetry that could well have come straight from the crib sheet of his hero, John Cooper Clarke. The band's intelligent funk-punk was like the best Ian Brown solo stuff, but with more intelligible vocals.
Better than: Anything the Stone Roses did after their first album.
Worse than: Seeing the Stone Roses for those brief few months when they were really as good as everyone says they were.
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