JOHN Otway has made a living over the past 31 years on the back of being a failed pop star.
And, as anyone will tell you, in order to be that bad you have to be good.
Think of Les Dawson's piano playing or Tommy Cooper's magical tricks: behind the jokes and comical personas they were brilliant performers. Otway is like that.
Anyone w
ho can write classic songs like Beware of the Flowers ('Cause I'm Sure They're Going To Get You, Yeh) and Really Free, as well as having his audience in stitches throughout a 20-number, 90-minute set, borders on brilliant.
Last year Led Zeppelin's reunion caused a massive stir among middle-age, middle class hippies.
Why anyone would want to cross the road to see them, never mind pay a fortune in a massive, 15,000-seat arena left me bemused and sad (corporate profiteering ain't rock and roll).
However, Otway and Barrett are a different kettle of fish. A full house in a great, but small venue, is rock and roll to the core.
With Wild Willy Barrett, Otway made two wonderful and memorable LPs in the late 1970s until Barrett, a serious musician, could stand no more of Otway's on-stage craziness.
This, their official reunion until they fall out again, combined Barrett's blues musicianship and bluegrass tinge to Otway's brilliant poetry.
They brought to life great songs like The Alamo, Geneva, a country version of Two Little Boys, Last Of The Mohicans, Dylan's Only A Hobo, and the brilliant Cheryl's Going Home.
As expected this was another insane, but highly-memorable gig.
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