In the first of a series of bizarre occurrences the crammed Apollo are met with the legendary child of the wolf, moon and other confused ancestries Ian Astbury re-born as a tubby Diego Maradona look-alike, right down to the ‘Cult’ tracksuit top. To cap this off partner in several crimes but many redeeming classics Billy Duffy resembled one of the LostProphets. Sporting a David Beckham hairdo Duffy cranks out the still kinetic sixteen-cylinder chassis of ‘L’il Devil’ and rolls out the red carpet for some of the greatest songs a reverent rock fan can roll with. Aside from the drums this was, comically, a purely double act with the bass and second guitar all but inaudible. No surprise as Duffy was powered by at least double, if not treble, the other guys speaker capacity.

Aside from a couple of newer songs, one of which worryingly pointed to them keenly following Kasabians fortunes, it was pretty much a crowd pleasing set – so ‘Fire Woman’, ‘Rain’, ‘Love Removal Machine’, ‘Spiritwalker’, ‘Peace Dog’, ‘Sweet Soul Sister’, an acoustic ‘Edie (Ciao Baby)’ and passive ‘Revolution’ – which left Astbury’s closing whinge at the crowd for not being appreciative enough more the moan of a half-baked, sun-soaked spoilt star (chaser) than mere banter. This following his plunges into Fugees-esque gangsta rap speak lent him the air of a man about to ‘do an Adam Ant’ perhaps.

Leaving an interminable gap before the encore, no doubt to pucker up his pout, Astbury leads the band out again to floor us with ‘The Phoenix’ and of course, with the house lights initially still on, ‘She Sells Sanctuary’.

How long The Cult can keep on the greatest hits circuit is currently debatable. How long they’ll stay on any circuit with the rumoured new material is a far more pertinent point. As it happens tho catch the circus while it’s in town, and wonder who the master actually is.
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- Stu Gibson