There’s a single mic stand centre stage.  

Draped with a leopard print scarf, it’s a striking visual in its own right, but it also means that at a glance you immediately know what to expect from tonight’s first band, Continental Lovers.  Like the best band you were too young to see back in the day, Continental Lovers appear to have been cryogenically frozen in a trash can in an alley at the back of CBGBs sometime in the seventies or eighties, only to be reanimated for the 21st century.  Wearing their tattooed hearts on their decadently debonair sleeves, the band fire off a riotous salvo of beautifully barbed two-or three-minute glitter punk anthems. 

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