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Manchester Hacienda 6 March 1989

As if Hawkwind had never happened, Spacemen 3 bound onstage. Four Rugby chemistry graduates leaping on in their shuffling, slow motion manner.

The hulking introverts grapple with their Yamaha stools, and remain stock still for an hour of sonic overdrive that ends with the pulsing blip of a haywire keyboard fed through an eternal digital delay with the controls set to the heart of the scrum.

Each ditty drives along a tidal wave of filthy sound, an effortless drone featuring the crispest slices of guitar sound since the Stooges. The drone waits to be kicked into life by the pulsating drummer, like a gigantic intro to a heaven-sent anthem that never arrives. All it would take is for Ringo to come smashing in and we would have lift off, but the sticksman knows the band’s greatest strength and keeps the inert pulverising tension rising without succumbing to rock tricks.

Only on the single, ‘Revolution’, do they clamber anywhere near to the standard rock structure, with at least two drum rolls and the kind of Billy Idol brat lyrics that will have a thousand bedridden fans clenching their fists in mock anger. ‘Revolution’ ended, like every song, in an eerie silence floating around the Hacienda’s crapo acoustics.

Music like this does not invite fawning fan worship – the audience are sucked into an introverted ride along the sonic roller coaster.

Spacemen 3 are better at this carbon monoxide garage trip than a thousand overrated US geetah schmucks. Weird, wonderful frightening and out of their sheds.

John Robb [Reproduced without permission from Sounds.]