Ladytron - Live at The Stiff Kitten, Belfast

If they had been around back in the early 1980s, Ladytron would have been the kind of band you would have fallen in love with on watching them perform their latest hit on Top of the Pops, sandwiched between The Human League and Adam and the Ants.

With their infectious blend of electro-pop and fuzzy post-punk, Ladytron exist in the tradition of those few bands that are best characterised by a string of glittering and perfect pop singles. It’s therefore a shame that none of their songs have so far been able to make any significant impact on the pop charts.

Looking as if they had been styled by a Teutonic Mary Quant, Mira Aroyo and Helen Marnie appeared on the Stiff Kitten stage like parallel universe versions of Agnetha Fältskog and Anni-Frid Lyngstad. The hausfrau image sat perfectly alongside the bubbling electronics and squalling guitar. The on-stage roving spotlight that settled on one band member before gliding away to gaze on another cemented the Nuremberg-chic.

We were informed that Mira had broken her ankle that morning, and so remained seated at her keyboard, looking at times as if she was weeping. There would be no blank-faced, Abba-esque back-to-back singing then, which is how I imagined Ladytron would present themselves to a live audience.

Opening with Black Cat the set list mainly concentrated on songs from the last two albums, including Ghosts, Season of Illusions, High Rise, Soft Power, International Dateline, Seventeen and current single, Runaway. The four-members of the band were supplemented by two others, including a live drummer, who provided added punch to the sequenced percussion. At times, the vocals seemed too far back in the mix and much of the top-end sounds were lost amid the thundering bass. It was as if My Bloody Valentine had descended on the sound desk.

Fighting in Built up Areas, with Mira intoning in Bulgarian and Helen on breathy backing vocals, demanded to be immortalised in a stylish horror film, in much the same way that Bauhaus had electrified the opening scenes of Tony Scott’s The Hunger. The spotlight was replaced by a flickering strobe, which sparkled like a million flashbulbs over the attentive audience.

Due, I imagine, to the broken ankle, there was no encore. The performance ended with Ladytron’s best-known single, Destroy Everything You Touch. It’s the sort of song that should have gone to number one and stayed there for weeks; yet, in a world where Top of the Pops has been replaced by the mucky horrors of X-factor song contests, such crimes are to be expected.

Lou Reed's Berlin - Belfast Waterfront Hall

The last time I went to the Waterfront Hall in Belfast, I was greeted by a very lacklustre effort from Sinead O’Connor. Although I had higher hopes for Lou Reed, who brought his Berlin tour to the venue last night, I left disappointed by an average performance and bewildered by the audience’s hysterical reaction.

My main gripe was Reed’s tendency to sing the songs according to whatever lyrical phrasing that pleases him. Okay, they’re his songs and he can do what he likes with them, but I’d have preferred them to sound more like they do on the record. Surely that’s the point of presenting an album in its totality, live on stage. Reed’s delivery is generally conversational but I thought his ambling, talking style ruined The Kids and Caroline Says II.

The Berlin album runs for just under fifty minutes. Reed and his band compensated for this by ensuring the closing bars of nearly every song repeated over and over, while Reed and his guitarist engaged in over-bloated guitar jamming.

The mood improved towards the close of the album. The Bed and Sad Song translated beautifully and Reed sang in time to the music, although the refrain of the latter song seemed to go on for an age.

The encore consisted of near-unrecognisable versions of Rock and Roll and Satellite of Love. Reed’s boredom must have been complete by this point, as he didn’t even bother singing most of the words, leaving these duties to his bass player, backing singer and child-choir. Unfortunately, the final song The Power of the Heart was marred by Reed’s guitar sounding distinctly out of tune with the rest of the band, although Reed seemed aware of this, judging by his perplexed scrutiny of said guitar as he continued to play.

It seems standing ovations are commonplace in the Waterfront Hall. Like O’Connor last month, Reed’s audience was quickly on its feet and clapping like mad. Maybe they were on strong drugs, or something. The people in the row in front of me were waving their arms and whooping. I didn’t quite get it, although the sight of middle aged men dancing in the aisle and supplicating themselves, hands outstretched to their hero was somewhat bemusing.

Maybe I was just spoilt by an excellent Leonard Cohen performance in Dublin the week before.

Sinead O'Connor vs The Ulster Orchestra

I wasn’t a fan of Sinead O’Connor before going to see her performance at Belfast’s Waterfront Hall on Monday night, but I was prepared to be won over. After all, the union of a seasoned artist of some notoriety with the Ulster Orchestra would surely be something special. Sadly, it wasn’t.

The orchestra performed splendidly in reinterpreting a selection of O’Connor’s songs. The only problem was the singer herself. For the entire performance, she remained moored within a three-foot radius at one end of the stage, shuffling lazily back and forth with no attempt at communication with the audience. Such was her detachment, that I felt she might as well have situated herself behind one of those plastic noise-reduction screens that stood across the stage.

Towards the end of the performance, O'Connor stated she hadn’t talked because this wasn’t just her gig, but everyone’s. Yeah, but we came to see you Sinead, even if it was for free. Maybe you have to pay to get a glimpse of the energy that tore up the Pope’s picture, riled against imperialism and converted to the priesthood. You could be forgiven for thinking an impostor had been wheeled on stage. At one point, I couldn’t work out if O’Connor was nervous, bewildered, bored or embarrassed. Maybe, she was all of these things.

As for that voice… Well, where was it? She whispered her way through Don’t Cry For Me Argentina and croaked through Nothing Compares 2 U with the occasional yelp echoing former glories.

Yet, perhaps as a testament to O’Connor’s lack of prowess, both these songs were the strongest of the set. The Emperor’s New Clothes seemed to act as an unwitting sub-title to the tone of the evening. Her own material seemed to just amble along, although the reggae influenced Lamb’s Book of Life acted to lift the torpor towards the end of the set. I couldn’t believe she got a standing ovation. I remained firmly rooted in my seat.

“Oh, but she’s all grown up now and has three or four kids,” said an equally nonplussed friend afterwards, seeking to excuse Sinead’s lack of vitality.

Yeah, but so has Madonna, and she was writhing away like a mad thing on the TV the other night.

That’s entertainment!