Clint Boon is everything that a mid thirties, pop statesman should be, smiling and jovial, winning the crowd right from the off; "This is our best gig, top place!" The songs are exactly what you would expect, Clint Boon had it sussed when he played that organ with the Inspirals, and he's not gonna change now, and why should he? Its easy for people to knock him, saying he's not moved on, not evolved, but it's a trademark. Nobody but Clint Boon could take a sound that plagued my life as a working men's club barman, and turn it into a raucous romping chime, that tickles you from head to tapping toes.

The rest of the band is the perfect complement, easy going, competent, and quite happy to play the game, Clint might be the star turn, but the rest of them are best supporting actors. The crowd sing along, and in between songs, chant for "BOONY!!" like he's a top striker in the cup semi final, and he's just put the ball in the net, with seconds of time added on left to spare. The main impression you get is that Clint Boon is as happy as he could possibly be, a budding television career, on Granada men & motors' "Elvis has left the building" and a cracking band writing cool funky tunes, what more could he ask for.

He's grinning like a Cheshire cat; I'm grinning like a better fed Cheshire cat! The music Clint Boon writes has been accused of being retro, but I feel it acts like a bridge, between the psychedelia of the late sixties, through the post punk of the late Seventies, a swift nod to Madchester, and landing squarely in the hearts and minds of a happy, loved up crowd of nineties revellers eager to dance like dervishes. It rocks, and so what if its not moody and self analysing, its fun, remember fun, that's the thing we used to have before it became passè and we all started worrying about our inner child, well tonight, our inner child has nicked a fiver from his mam's purse, got smashed on cheap lager, kicked a ball around with his mates, and smashed a pane of glass in a greenhouse, and he's loved every sodding minute of it.

Shaun Doane