FOR reasons of rock theatrics, Phil set last night's show on a New

York roofscape. You know the deal: rusty heating ducts, blue smoke,

grimy brickwork, overflowing trashcans, skeletal gantries, windblown

sheets of newspaper. Phil emerged in a grey mac and trilby, looking

thoughtful. Then he took them off, looking preoccupied. Acting in full

the part of a preoccupied man who has just removed his mac and trilby in

a thoughtful manner on a New York roofscape.

Then Phil fell into a four-minute drum-duel with his drummer before

singing a song while strolling about, still looking preoccupied,

occasionally kicking sheets of newspaper in a forceful yet absent-minded

manner. Rock theatrics, you see.

Later, Phil from time to time employed an energetic Groucho Marx

running half-crouch. And several bits where he was like an ordinary

geezer down the pub at Sunday-lunchtime karaoke. Throughout, as

bloke-ish Phil unfurled his patchwork quilt of vaguely anthemic songs

with familiar lyrics and even more familiar tunes, he was plainly the

still small voice of everyday suburban suffering: blocked drains, broken

marriages, boffed babysitters.

Phil obviously likes music because he'd brought a proper horn section

with him when they'd be cheaper to sample. He's a good arranger, having

done a fine job with the Mindbenders' Groovy Kind of Love. Easy Lover

was a streamlined pop-funk swinger. Unfortunately, In The Air Tonight

was burdened with extra drums.

Meanwhile, if you see Phil kicking one crumpled bit of newspaper about

the stage extra hard at tonight's second sell-out show, it will be this

page. It will also be a rare bit of joyous unpredictability. Savour it.