T on the Fringe: Little Man Tate @ Cabaret Voltaire

It is a credit to Little Man Tate that, so far from their Yorkshire heartland, so many are here to see them. They duly launch into a set of vibrant oomph, hosted by gregarious front man Jon Windle; chucking back Magners lest it evaporates, he more shouts than sings through the material. But the band's explosiveness is more slapdash Molotov cocktail than destructive cruise missile acumen. The blast radius expands to the first metre of crowd, but seldom does it break the pockets of resistance in the middle and the back of the Voltaire's catacomb. Still, the whole band look like they're having tremendous fun. At one point Windle gets down on his hands and knees and pays homage to the front portion of crowd that's still with them. Songs about smashing up cars and drinking in the park before coming home after dark reaffirm their Sheffield-made likely lad status and endear them to their partisans. But, ultimately, the same frenetic pace and thrashing guitar stylings makes their songs near indistinguishable from one other. (Michael Duffy)