I am seeing Bis.

In front of me, three human beings (I use the term advisedly) are making a noise like a squealing pig being slaughtered to death inside a rivet-making factory. And that’s hard on squealing pigs. Bis make Kenickie sound like Kraftwerk, Shampoo seem like Future Sound Of London. They can’t sing (Manda-Rin is to vocalising what Janet Street-Porter is to speaking). They can’t play. (Putting a Rickenbacker in the hands of "Sci-Fi" Steven is like giving a palette and paintbrush to a remedial chimpanzee). They look awful. And they’re not too hot on the songwriting front either. The only thing remotely resembling a memorable tune is "Candy Pop", and that’s blatantly ripped off a Seventies Bay City Rollers chant (how old are Bis?) that went "2-4-6-8-who-do-we-appreciate?" And as they play this, a million voices gather in my head to shout "NOT BIS!!!"

But , in fairness to Bis, people here seem to like this hackneyed sandpaper poop. Although, in fairness to the rest of the world, you could have said similar about Hitler. Or Julio Iglesias. But where Adolf played to millions, the "Teen-C Revolution" is currently reaching a half-full small venue on a wet Sunday night. The audience look like a paedophiles convention. On the one side there are Teeny Girls, done up in pigtails and "skirts" the size of napkins. On the other, Old Men, here for reasons it’s best not to speculate about. Or, more likely, to see Hell’s Grannies support group The Raincoats, the only band who make Bis seem (almost) young. Again, I ask. How old are Bis? Young enough to accept lollies from the crowd. But old enough to sound like a terrible Kleenex/Rezillos, mention "1979" and namecheck John Peel, an old geezer who’s made a career out of thinking like a teenager. Like Bis? Er, not quite. Bis may have a finger on the pulse but sadly, the corpse died 11 months ago. Bis’ dated (where 1979 = 1995) rumble includes a song ("Mr. Important") pastiching Blur and attacking Damon. Equally tragically and not a little hypocritically, Steven’s entire stage persona (buttocks clenched, eyes raised to ceiling) is nicked from Mr. Albarn.

The Bis masterplan may have once seemed perfect (although how misguided that "Top Of The Pops" "exclusive" will seem if they never get on again) but their force-fed pop as a-dull-essence ignores the fact that genuine Kids Today are more interested in the lure of adulthood (fast cars, not toy cars) than artificially arrested childhood. At the end of this sicky "Icky-Poo Air Raid", Steven leaps into the crowd and suddenly his face contorts in agony as if he’s been pierced through the heart by a mystery assassin.

Actually, dearies, I stabbed ‘im wiv me Biro.