If I (god forbid), were to find myself in the position of having to write Gordon Brown's pre-election manifesto, I would propose an overhaul of the penal system.  I would argue that millions of pounds of tax payers' money could be saved if, instead of prison sentences, offenders should be made to take LSD and sit through an hour of the Hot Seats.

The most frustrating thing about the gig was that the band came close to five star brilliance then consistently let themselves down by the inexplicable insertion of excrutiating interpretive theatre into their set, which was ill-conceived and drawn out like a weighty turd.  Call me a party pooper or a raving traditionalist if you wish, but while any one of the band could play the shit out of Jack Nicholson on a banjo, they certainely won't be in the running for any comedy oscar nominations soon.   

The band were stormingly brilliant musicians, combining elements of blue-grass, old-time, ragtime and rock 'n' roll.  They looked like they had just walked off the set of "O Brother Where Art Thou" and when they took the stage I anticipated a treat of authentic, rootsy American music with soaring harmonies and soulful banjo and mandolin licks. 

Instead their original material covered areas such as erectile dysfunction, underwear and Hollywood's favourite teen romantic comedy setting, high school fret parties.  Many of these songs left me with an awkward taste, as if I'd just used someone else's toothbrush.  While the band individually were not vocally strong, on numbers like "Soft John Blues" they showed a glimpse of the power of their combined harmony vocals (if you could get past lyrics such as "You can't be King with no sap in your stream, gonna have to get some pills boys"). 

While a degree of show-boating, capering and carousing around the stage is all well and good for established performers, over zealousness in this area from relative newcomers can smack of arrogance.  I found the awesome fiddler's antics (rolling around the ground etc) highly entertaining, but the band simply didn't seem to know when to draw the line. 

The lowest point was a monologue which seemed to last for about 15 minutes at the end of their set, which comprised two band members assuming teenage female voices in the setting of an American girlie party and "phoning" another member of the band who had to simultaneously field the faux-romantic call while dealing with his "mother".  If the flab had been cut out of this piece it could have been very funny, inventive and original, but simply dragged on too long and left me longing for the resumption of the tune. 

The Hot Seats, in my opinion, are a potentially very good band who would do well to focus less on misguided comedy and more on the musicianship within which field they are undoubtedly highly accomplished.  They also have chosen the wrong time of year to fuse interpretive theatre and folk music in a city where you cannot walk a hundred yards without seeing a man pretending to be a fridge or commenting on global capitalism through the medium of physical dance.  Enough is enough!!!