Dolly TV are splendid. They look and sound a bit like Placebo and a bitlike King Adora, but with far, far, far more poise, attitude and outrightclass than we have any right to expect from either band, or indeed any bandever. They wear pristine white leatherette suits, they have names likeJay-TV and Nick Le Citrus, and their guitarist (Nikki Trash)takes androgyny to new and faintly disturbing extremes. They play sevensongs in 20 minutes. They scream, they yelp, they sneer, they jump around,they stand very, very, VERY still (whilst pouting), and they do not at anypoint look or sound like brickies.
Two of them are linked in the venerable Sheffield Rock Family Tree to thetremendous (and dead) Venini. It figures: here is another band thatspectacularly defies the ungroovy smalltime indie-band orthodoxy that tellsus exactly how we’re not allowed to behave whilst on stage with instruments.In one sense, they’re completely ridiculous, but the sheer flagrancy withwhich they do it means that in its own mad way, it’s completely perfect.Ignoring them is not an option. Stand there in horrified, open-moutheddisbelief if you must (that’s your problem), but you cannot go to the barwhile Dolly TV are playing.
“Is there anyone here who likes us a little bit?” queries the singer at onepoint. Affirmative cheering from the crowd. “And is there anyone here whoreally hates us?” Further affirmative cheering. Hopefully both camps willgrow beyond the confines of the little club in the National Centre forPopular Music where we saw them tonight. There is no shortage of people outthere who deserve to be thoroughly annoyed by DTV. And a whole load more ofus who just deserve them.