After battling through the crowd of a sold out gig, I managed to pull myself to the front. Despite being surrounded by over excited girls, I was quite looking forward to Patrick’s entrance. The atmosphere was overwhelming; the organic sound of the deep cellos and seductive violins rose and fell though the room, contrasting with a sampler at the back of the stage, and serving to build the crowd's anticipation for a still AWOL Patrick Wolf. Anticipation turned to mild bemusement, as an oddly dressed and crazily coiffured figure emerged and took up position behind the piano. Before long however, he was gyrating around the microphone stand like a man possessed whilst, at the same time, effortlessly enrapturing the crowd with his hypnotic stage presence. The set itself began quietly, with a crooned, early 80s indie sound but midway, it took a violently leftfield turn, shattering any lazy Ian McCulloch comparisons that a budding journalist might be tempted to use. It was this ‘second act’ which defined him, giving him his own identity. Wiping the glitter from his eyes, Wolf sang Magic Position whilst inducing a clap-along, before exiting, the crowed screeching for more. They got a brief reprise, but in truth, the gig was short but very sweet. You'll never hear anything quite like this. | 
