Rocket From the Crypt: Garage, London

IT BEGAN with a James Brown-style fanfare of horns and an unlikely promise: "Are you ready for one of the best shows of your damn life? Either that or your money back!" The man offering this deal was a burly singer and guitarist with a black quiff and implausible sideburns, rejoicing in the name of Speedo. And, while his spiel was pure fairground huckster, it was clear from the first riff that Rocket From the Crypt meant business.