//Reviews

REVIEW OF THE NEW AISLE16 SHOW!

Birmingham NEC
Reuben Matosis, Sneak Magazine, printed 12/05/05

You can’t blame Aisle16 for being ambitious. Luke-16’s claim that their new show would contain “the best poetry since Thriller” was certainly a grand one, and sadly attracted more than just the right type of attention.

The band seemed to have been forced into a low profile after their recent spat with Lee from Blue at a Gertrude Stein recital, and rumours of their injuries had quickly spread to the tabloids, including one that the cigarette burns on Joel-16’s neck had turned septic. Many wondered if Aisle16 would even manage to make it onto the stage tonight.

However, from the moment the doors close at the NEC, it is clear the boys are keen not to disappoint. Spectacle is the order of the day, with ten minutes of pyrotechnics preceding the band’s entrance. The venue, packed with small slightly charred faces, quickly rises to fever pitch. There is no doubt that the fans are very much behind the ‘Teen.

The show opens with Luke-16’s subtle synth-pop evocation of the Provençal troubadour ballad, "Embrace the Wank”. Luke-16 effortlessly juxtaposes his self-within-self as wiggly bass explodes through the PA like a murderous gypsy. The boys, dressed in personalised togas, bodypop through an impressive light display, in a routine reminiscent of a cramped Modernist sestina.
A quick costume change later, and it is time for Joel-16 to take centre stage with the upcoming single, ‘Britain’s First Paedophile Prime Minister’, an amiably avuncular ballad falling somewhere in-between the fluidity of Savage Garden and the soul clustering of Hugo Williams. Joel struts across the stage in a space-helmet, firing his shadowy hallway of the soul over the screaming crowd.
Barely has the arena caught its breath when Ross-16 drops into ‘Experiment to Determine the Existence of Love’. The front row instantly melts, in an experience akin to listening to Missy Elliot's "Pass the Dutch", Madonna’s “Music” and Carol Anne Duffy’s “The World’s Wife” simultaneously while being pumped with Oestrogen. Ross throws his handkerchief into the audience, soiled with the sheer-fucking-ART that leaks from his brow.

Chris-16’s surging metaphysical masterpiece, ‘Fuck-You Apple’ closes off the show. A funky doo-wop meditation on the history of language and the chaos of human experience, Chris slides across the stage, rocking his groin against the possibility of there being no God. The crowd are elated, fainting, tearing themselves apart. A flare goes off in the mind.

Aisle16 may not have topped Michael Jackson, but there’s no denying the dancefloor appeal of their highly skilled verse. As the boys exit the Birmingham NEC, the kids are already chanting their new-found text, one that may even survive till next Summer. And as the last spotlight fades, this reviewer sees a new dawn. One of frustration, irreverence, irony… and hope.