'Epousing influences from Mississippi Fred Mcdowell and Skip James to PJ Harvey and The Smiths.Lights are one of the most hotly tipped acts around' Manchester Evening News 'Red ,White and Blue ...Lights have just declared independence' Noise merchant 'These guys are gonna be household names in the States' Seymour Stein 'DeepCountryBluesRock'n'RollPlayers - Come see the Lights' City life (RIP)'Who?' Chris Moyles'LIGHTS you boring ,pudgy faced fucking Dimwit!!' Chris Lights

So, stage right I stood, and looked up to see the singer and the guitarist facing each other off; staring each other down; a palpable tension, taut like a string about to snap; what had I missed? Then tap tap tap tap on the drum sticks, tension snaps, grins and the drummer launches into a roll that Animal of the Muppets would have eaten his own furry arse to pull out of the bag and the crowd erupts into cheers for a song they obviously know. The guitarist crashes headlong through the first bars of the song with a sly grin and the singer grabs the microphone by the throat and rams the last song down it. It muscles its way out of the PA for a couple of minutes and then changes tack with a clever sucker punch of a switch into a thumping funky finale with a bass line so clever it had a PhD in chemistry; the guitarist thrashing up the scale, ascending and bending the strings, pursued relentlessly by the drummer, sweating blood and booze behind the kit; I had a rush of adrenaline that made it seem as if the song was going to take off…

A powerful, full bodied drum roll gallops across the stage like the four horsemen of the apocalypse. I looked up; my subconscious mind expecting to see Death; instead I saw Chris, the lead singer, grab the mike by the throat, pull it closer, and ram the first song down its throat. Behind him the drummer brought to mind John Bonham on a very modest drum kit. Talk about getting blood out of a stone. Now, I’m not saying the drummer was good, but let’s just say, if the drum kit was a stone, it would be having a major nose bleed. On a blood theme, oddly enough, the drummer is called Nick; which just leaves Ryan, the guitarist, to be introduced. He threw in power chords as if they were a new range of Black and Decker tools; well designed for the job, but not the sort of thing your grandmother would want unless it came with batteries and was called a rabbit. The song ended with a fuck off dead stop that left a chasm of silence for an instant that your ears could ring away in, and then they were off again, mid applause. The music was strong and muscular and battered into shape by a powerful backbeat. They were a tight combo; reminiscent of Marlon Brando in the Godfather; neat, charismatic, but well executed. Okay, he survived but you get the idea. Lights - They’re not a feminine hygiene product but if they get the success they deserve, they just may well end up inside your sister at some cocaine dusted, celebratory post gig bash in a venue near you. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.