JULY 1988


HARLEQUYN – Marquee, London

ONE FROM the Far North Music showcase, one half hour of transluscent tops (almost) and one band with half a guitar and a whole set of ideas cramped into a short set in front of a crowd from home who looked keen to travel.

From the oft, vocalist Paul Mother apologises for lack of time, “We haven’t got time to talk, sorry,” but refuses to let it stand between him and the abundance of wimmin at the front. If they were playing to the converted, and that’s just about what the first three rows were, they played it well.

They like them in Wales, where they’re never keen on anyone, and if you can crack it there you have to possess a certain something, usually a gun, and Harlequyn do. Their sound is swimming somewhere in the water that runs off the back of fundamental rock and mingles with the indies while somehow striking for the surface with a guitar solo. Clever.

They’ll draw me back another time when the odds probably won’t be so heavily stacked against them, when they’re standing on their own ground and when they get a full hour to themselves. Then they might really do it. We shall see…


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