STONE TEMPLE PILOTS (SFX, Dublin)

Sweat and t-shirts were the two things that stuck most clearly in my memory about this concert. Those t-shirts that were not saturated with the salty secretions of the flesh were to be found at the back of the hall selling for up to £20.

Without moving from the same spot, I encountered garments from the Rollins Band, Nirvana, Pearl Jam, The Wonder Stuff, Buffalo Tom, The Breeders, Soundgarden, Metallica . . . and even Stone Temple Pilots !

Now as I see it, two, at a stretch three, of these bands have made genuine contributions to the cause of keeping the country’s rivers less cluttered with searchboats and the State Pathologist less overworked than would otherwise be the case and you all probably agree: but the question is, which three ?

Well, every fan who helped apply backing vocals to almost every song that Weiland and co. threw at them would most probably have me forcibly strapped down to the front seat of the nearest 747 and whisked off to Siberia, having paid Mark Thatcher to take control of the cockpit, if I dared suggest that Stone Temple Pilots would not be one of them.

This is not to say that they can’t write a catchy tune or pull out the odd inspired moment when they they want to – far from it – and they proved that they can certainly translate that to a live setting with the opener ‘Vasoline’, ‘Plush’ and the new single ‘Interstate Love Song’ unscrupulously lodging themselves into your memory bank.

But Weiland’s stage persona, consisting primarily of sporadic, rapid hand movements, is such a direct steal from Señor Stipe – with touches of David Byrne thrown in for good measure – that you fall to wondering just how often Tourfilm or Stop Making Sense provided the pre-show entertainment on the tour bus.

They weren’t helped either by the sound quality in the venue which, for the benefit of those living in Carlow, I’d rather not describe!

Ultimately, Stone Temple Pilots will go down as a rather unremarkable grunge-by-numbers outfit; spawned by MTV to give currency to the mythology of that most spurious of media creations: the X Generation.

• Nicholas G. Kelly