Calvin Harris

You feel you ought to be wearing some kind of Batman utility belt and cape at a Calvin Harris gig. His brash, comic barnstormers would work a wonder on the stereo of any respectable lycra-clad superhero. Harris in his hoody and foppy Hoxton fringe is not a dry, abstract performer. As if acting the part of one of his own fans, he thrusts his head to and fro like he's about to suffer a serious case of whiplash.

Harris' tracks are built on the tripartite of superb bass, spine-bending synth and his own steely if not wholeheartedly complex voicebox. And the good city dwellers of the London Astoria tonight greeted the Scotsman’s special brand of thunderous techno-colour glamour with all the unrestrained glee of a six year-old on a surprise trip to Monkey World.

There is a danger Harris could go the way of Toploader, with his catchy, snappy tunes worryingly finding favour with TV drama executives who mercilessly slaughter them as backing tracks for Eastenders and its ilk. Undoubtedly his lyrics are somewhat contrived for the plug'n'play soundbite loving media. 'Do we have any journalists in the house?' cried Harris before leaping into the nod that is 'This Is The Industry'.

Harris accompanied by all the shebang of a band is a decent showman, but somehow you can't help feeling the songs grab you better played from the crisp studio-album CD that is I Created Disco. Though even from the stereo, there feels something oddly two dimensional about his tracks. Like good wallpaper, Calvin Harris is instantly noticeable, dominating room, eye and ear. But, before long, you fancy slapping something else on.