RADIOACTIVE BENEFIT

RADIOACTIVE BENEFIT (Baggot Inn, Dublin)

IT'S 3.25 on Thursday 22nd July, and I casually flick on my tranny. 2FM are stretching the boundaries of day-time radio by playing 'The House of the Rising Sun', by those up and coming folk rockers, The Animals. 98FM are giving palpitations to DUP councillors all over Dublin by giving us ELO. FM104 are playing one of the most uplifting and spiritual love songs ever, sadly being karaoked to death by some cod-reggae outfit from Birmingham. We need Radioactive 101.

Virgil Wood agree. They're here, they open the show and they wipe the floor with the rest of the bill. They have the most exotic county of origin (Longford), the best lyrics ("Who can I fuck, aha you!"), the best song titles ("This one's called 'I Hate Rich Kids'"; cue nervous sniggering from the attendant rich kids), and the most impeccable dress sense (They have their own t-shirts - where o where can I get one?). Also, they are The Jam. The bassist is the less mobile and hence cooler younger twin brother of Bruce Foxton, and haven't I heard that London accent and seen those power-chording scissor kicks somewhere else? Virgil Wood are a three-piece who will shortly be making inroads into your record collection.

Candy's Room impress less. Stadium rock doesn't work in the Baggot Inn. It requires some distance between audience and performer; the pomp and grand gestures lose some credibility when you bump into they who would be mystic seers on the way to the bar. The singer is a bit over-serious, what with all that gazing into the middle distance and kneeling down looking drained like a pre-irony Bono. Some good tunes could be heard screaming for air, but they were overcome by the Curse of the Tiresomely Technically Gifted Guitarist.

Which is more than could be said for the next band. PVC are four girls; not, however, four Grrls. No whatever-the-opposite-of-misogynist-is sloganeering here, just fairly innocuous guitar pop, with a feminist bent ('Fair Play', 'Silicone City'). They were saved by the Revenge Of The Hilariously Underpractised Yet Oddly Captivating Guitarist. She didn't carry off any of her attempted solos and I think she even had trouble with her bar chords, but she exuded as much cool as anyone I've ever seen, alive or dead.

The in-house professionalismometer registered relatively dangerous levels when The Unbelievable Children took the unprecedented step of having a soundcheck. They came, they saw, they dazzled us with their multi-coloured dreadlocks. They played some entertaining danceable rock, including their soon-out single 'God Is In The Movies'. They chastised us for not being exciting enough to get us up shaking our little tushes. I left early (time and last buses wait for no man) and I didn't feel I was missing much.

Still, a packed Baggot had an evening of great fun and some thrilling music. If you weren't there you deserve the Eagles. Yes I know it's harsh but it's true. I'm not normally one to encourage blatant lawlessness, but in this case it's more than justified. Get (Radio)active!

• Niall Crumlish