Pleased, pleased, pleased

Rock

THE ANNOUNCER at the Brixton Academy on Wednesday must have been paid by the syllable, because James Brown became "Ja-a-a-ames Brown". The band then trooped on, dressed as Butlins redcoats, and set to work on some bright and brassy funk. Six backing singers shimmied after them in sequinned gowns, and finally the Soul Man arrived, squeezed into a glittery waistcoat.

It's not surprising, then, that the charge most often levelled against Brown (after wife-beating and drug possession) is that the Godfather of Soul and Dance has a new godchild called Cabaret, and that his show is just a West End nostalgia revue. True, there were twice as many dancers as songs, and three times as many costume changes. But good-time music like this suits a certain amount of razzmatazz. There was as much happening aurally as there was visually.

Song chased song without a break in the frenetic beat, the arrangements saved from being too slick and shiny by the firework percussion. Brown's grunts and barks were frankly iconic. It would be a bit too close to the bone for him to do his feigned heart attacks of yore, but when he wasn't singing he was joining in on one of the three drum kits, joking and jiving with the brass section or conducting the backing singers. And if his moves weren't quite as energetic as they were when young Michael Jackson used to watch from the wings of the Harlem Apollo, then all the more reason to compensate with a stream of dancers.

Then again, he sang just one steamy verse of "It's a Man's Man's Man's World" before standing back and letting a ballet dancer float around the stage to a tangy trumpet accompaniment. He kept giving verses and instrumental breaks to other people, as if afraid that concentrated JB would damage our health. But we wanted to overdose. Still, he gave us sped-up versions of "Soul Man", "Papa's Got a Brand New Bag", "I Got You (I Feel Good)" and "Sex Machine", so we shouldn't complain. Besides, I've sat through Five Guys Named Moe, and there's no comparison. There's only one guy named James Brown.

When the Ramones tour, at least they don't have to worry about costume design. As ever, it's biker jackets, T-shirts, and guitars slung low enough to cover their jeans' ripped-knees. "I could swear it was 1976!" crowed Joey, at the London Astoria on Tuesday, and it's an understandable mistake.

But even if punk's not dead, it is getting doddery. Guitarist Johnny looked like Timothy Spall in a Nigel Tuffnel wig, and lead snarler Joey's jeans are decidedly jodhpur-shaped. No wonder the Ramones backdrop logo - an American eagle with a baseball bat in it's claw - is now set against Roman pillars: the band are an ancient institution.

Only CJ, the newest clan member, was young enough to jump around, but the music remains faster than any Nineties hardcore pretenders. The material from their new album, Adios Amigos! (Chrysalis), is - surprise surprise - a sonic assault, as tight as Joey's jeans, while retaining a rockabilly twist.

The album cover shows two sombrero-wearing tyrannosaurs - proof, if any were needed, that the Ramones know that they are part of another age. The point is that they always have been. In the mid-Seventies they pretended to belong to the mid-Fifties, so in the mid-Nineties, there's no reason not to pogo wildly to an equivalent pretence.

Even after watching Wet Wet Wet in a sweat sweat sweat-drenched Wembley Arena I find it hard to understand their appeal - beyond Marti Pellow that is, who has the teenage girls in the crowd (ie, more or less everyone) screaming. He plays up to his fans, grinning and waving without being too obviously patronising. He'd make a good father, and there are thousands of girls who would love to arrange it for him.

But as for the music ... The new singles, "Don't Want to Forgive Me Now" and "Julia Says", are summery celebrations, all Beatles harmonies and watered-down soul. After the initial buzz, though, it gets a bit dull. The big tunes aren't big enough, the zest isn't zesty enough. Still, they could be worth seeing now in case they make any Hugh Grant jokes before "Love is All Around".

Wet Wet Wet: Birmingham NEC, 0121-780 4133, Mon-Wed.