Monkeyman has been tormenting me this year with her repeated playing of The Adventures Of Ghosthorse and Stillborn, and repeated entirely un-operatic singing of the operatic singing sections of the album.  Seeing as it was her birthday, I took her to see Cocorosie play at the art-deco surroundings of the Bloomsbury Ballroom.  By the end of the performance, any last remaining barriers to my acceptance of the brilliance of the Casady sisters had been well and truly dismantled.

I have no idea whether support act Rio En Medio were any good or not.  They were very quiet.  The noise from the main bar at the back was very loud.  The chatterers were probably upset about not finding, or not getting into, the tunnel of light that was the Long Bar down the side of the ballroom.  Or about being given a can of warm Red Stripe.  Whatever the reason, this was not one of those magical occasions where a low decibel performance has the effect of hushing a crowd into silence. 

The incredible beatboxing of Tez more than made up for this.  He was like a one-man/no-machine Mark Ronson album, perfect hip hop beats, breaks, decks and effects (OK, without the decks) slipping sections of things we all knew - Tone Loc’s “Wild Thing”, Prince’s “Kiss - without dropping the beat.  We were all dancing to a geeky looking bloke with Dennis Taylor glasses who was doing little more (little more!  Ha!  I should try locking myself in a room for a decade impersonating drum n bass records and robots and see how far I get, shouldn’t I?) than just shouting and spitting rhythmically at us.  It was great (Youtube action here).

Cocorosie were a joy right from the off, with Sierra unfurling that impressive classically-trained voice (although I couldn’t help thinking about Sarah Brightman, god help me), and Bianca squawking deliciously and faffing around with toys and bells.  Tez brought (most of the rest of) the noise, which must save a bit of money somewhere in transportation costs, although presumably that is spent on the grand piano and the harp.  They danced, hugged, and kissed, with little sense of end-of-the-tour ennui. 

The set heavily favoured said new album, featuring the irrepressible hip hop of “Animals”, an Antony-free “Beautiful boys” (with its “pimps and queens, criminals and queers”), and a would-be-twee-were-it-not-for-the-lyrics-about-Iraq “Japan”, which featured an assorted bunch of hangers-on gyrating on stage.  We were left wanting more by a cover of Kevin Lyttle’s rnb hit “Turn Me On” from a few years back which replaced the unedifying bump and grind with a haunting lusty ache.