It's 1980 and even punk's nihilism is looking overoptimistic. In the Oscar Wilde Rooms, a windowless cell in an Oxford College, Dum Dum Dum take the stage. Guitarist in balaclava, drummer with face painted half-white, half-black and a lead singer armed only with a strobe light, they play to tapes but with malevolent energy. The audience--half skinheads from town, half rugby players who've wandered in from the bar--begin to fight as the rugger-buggers object to having their feet pogoed on. The tape breaks down, and the singer starts pulling the skinheads onto the stage to sing "No Fun". But it's futile. On the mixing desk is a man whose main claim to fame is to have dropped acid at the South Pole. He now pushes everything through the roof and the sound itself becomes a rolling maul of feedback and echo. Serenading the mayhem in free-form, the singer strobes the crowd, catching figures in frozen postures of conflict and delight. The destruction erupts into the night. Good gig. (...) by mickjames
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