There\u2019s an immediate and noticeable increase in volume from the stage as Goan Dogs<\/strong> tune up, and the apparent confidence with which they tackle Danny Elfman\u2019s main theme from Edward Scissorhands<\/i> belies their singer\u2019s later admission that they\u2019re basically winging it. There\u2019s a pleasingly dusty twang to their interpretations which, with the mournful trumpet figures that drift in and out, give them the stately mariachi feel of Calexico\u2019s score for The Guard<\/i>. When the first piece briefly swells into something more muscular I\u2019m reminded of Fantomas\u2019 peerless\/ridiculous The Director\u2019s Cut<\/i>, albeit only its most reserved moments. They rein it in nicely though, giving Elfman\u2019s pieces a moody, countrified retouch that stays respectful. No sooner are you settled than they pull the rug with a rendition of \u2018Delilah\u2019 (it\u2019s on the radio in the film, they explain) that\u2019s closer to Brian Harvey than Alex Harvey but is received charitably nonetheless.<\/p>\n After a short interval, the evening’s compere returns. Dudley Sutton, legendary thesp beloved for his Lovejoy<\/i> turn but a veteran of some fifty-plus years on the stage with endless warm, hilarious tales of performing both here and at the Cube, bridges the gaps between sets with warm affection and dry, deliberately self-deprecating mock-affront at having to stay out late at eighty years of age. He rifles through his notes to introduce \u201cthe most polite usher in the Cube\u2019s history\u201d. Enter Francois<\/strong> and friends, including some returning members of I Know I Have No Collar and Rozi Plain, and the first palpable crackle of recognition from the audience as the inimitable theme from Francois Lai\u2019s music to Un Homme et une Femme<\/i> opens their short set. Lai’s breezy, swooningly romantic themes swing with touches of jazz and samba, and Francois’ languid impression of actor\/vocalist Pierre Barouh works just fine against the sleepy sax and clarinet accompaniment. A few songs in, he admits with expert comic timing that he’s never seen the film. It hardly matters. Dudley is moved to recall his days in Paris in the sixties, and treats us to a bit of performance poetry which gently mocks stony existentialists with a risqu\u00e9 flourish.<\/p>\n His reaction to Pinch & Bass Clef<\/strong>‘s take on Robocop,<\/i> by contrast is one of stunned silence broken by an apposite deployment of the m-bomb. It\u2019s a set that befits the hissing, grimy future-dystopia of Verhoeven\u2019s Detroit, splintering and deconstructing sections of original music and dialogue and repurposing them within the dense, bass-heavy machine-funk body created onstage. Ripped from the context of the film,\u00a0Robocop’s<\/em> blustery, orchestral OST sounds foreboding, tense; the vertiginous strings and rasping brass crescendoes are the peaks, but for the main part it’s a series of slow, sinister preludes. This works particularly well tonight when Ralph’s trombone is utilised, rippling flurries of sound meshing with the fluid, percussive rhythms, smudges of rainy melody and stuttering snatches of dialogue. It’s not Silver Bullet’s peerless ’20 Seconds To Comply’, by any means, but few things are that good, and they succeed in doing something no-one else tonight tries; to create something new from the source material.<\/p>\n Rounding off the night are the Greatness of the Magnificence Orchestra<\/strong>, a suitably grand fanfare of a name for this tribute to Ennio Morricone. It’s a truly remarkable undertaking; there are, by a quick head count, 38 people on stage including the deadpan, occasionally intense figure of Jesse Morningstar, erstwhile frontman of notorious Bristol psychedelic loons the Moonflowers. He conducts the orchestra impeccably, no mean feat considering (a) the intricacy of some of Morricone’s pieces, (b) the potential for chaos in cramming so many people into such a space at fairly short notice, and (c) the fact that he’s dressed as a seven-foot tall praying mantis. Oh yeah. The whole cast, in fact, are in fancy dress. There are GIs, cowboys, gendarmes, flamenco dancers, a keyboard player dressed as a banana. The conductor hops remarkably daintily from webbed foot to webbed foot as the tempos shift and the interplays between strings, brass, percussion, guitars and a choir of singers, whistlers and yodellers become more complex. The inevitable appearance of Morricone’s masterpiece, ‘The Good, The Bad and The Ugly’, is a genuine, spine-tingling thrill; here, and on \u2018For A Few Dollars More\u2019, the originals are brilliantly alive, treated with love but played by people revelling in the weirdness of the setting.\u00a0 The audience are livelier, singing along under instruction, catcalling the lugubrious Morningstar.\u00a0 It\u2019s fantastic.\u00a0 Oddly, they detour with two Hendrix covers \u2013 both sound great, the choir revelling in the incongruity of \u2018Manic Depression\u2019 in particular, but given the short set time it\u2019s a confusing bit of grandstanding.\u00a0 A magnificent spectacle and a brilliant conclusion to the party, nonetheless.<\/p>\n![\"Francois](\"http:\/\/jonnyjaniero.wpengine.com\/thejoycollectivewp-content\/uploads\/sites\/2\/Francois-photo-by-Liz-Hunt.jpg\")
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