Gary Glitter: Garbage Rock Comes of Age

WHEN THE CURTAIN comes up, the band are all ready there, pumping out a fuzzy, semi-atonal, rhythmically confused version of left-field '50's music. They are swathed in silver lamé, sparkling against hot white super-troupers, lights designed for stardom. There are six of them, guitar, bass, drums, keyboard, two horns. The crowd – which is neither Jethro Tull sophisticated nor quite Slade footballer – is berserk, mostly with impatience.