Jim Noir/8Ball live at Crawdaddy, Dublin

What the hell happened to 8Ball? After a few years building up a profile as contenders, last year’s debut album was nice enough but ultimately a disappointment. Tonight, Hot Press only catches them for 15 minutes, yet it’s enough to banish all doubts as they tear back to their original blueprint of hip-hop, trip-hop and rock with an added, almost punky, bite.
They finish by donning monks’ habits and mannequin masks and indulging in some sort of techno wig-out. What the hell happened to 8Ball? They got interesting again and thank fuck for that.
Jim Noir arrives onstage wearing a bowler hat, which is not something you see everyday but somehow fitting. For Noir, the first years of the 21st century are of little consequence. Neither are the ‘90s, ‘80s, ‘70s or indeed anything pre-1966. The Mancunian is caught, Whitney Houston style, in one moment in time and that moment is the Summer of Love.
This is only his sixth gig and it shows, except that the rather haphazard approach kind of helps.
Where his album is a little too sweet to the taste, here the smooth edges are roughed up to a beneficial degree. The all important harmonies are maintained by his keyboard player and, while it still does get a bit twee at times (psychedlia-era Spinal Tap spring unavoidably to mind) it’s very hard to dislike, especially as it’s one of those gigs where a wave of bonhomie sweeps from band to audience and back again. Musically it may not reach the heights of the Beatles, Byrds and Beach Boys to which he aspires but he’s still alright by us.