Big Black's favourite word is "f***"; their favourite noises are the sounds of breaking glass and distorted guitars. From the opener 'Fists Of Love' they created an atmosphere as heavy as the rhythms of their pounding drum machine. Exorcising the frustration and confusion of modern living with every note, Big Black played for exactly an hour, with a frightening repertoire and a lifetime of venom.

'Kerosene', 'Steelworker', 'Dead Billy', a Big Black gig is one long vicious tale of struggling human beings with shitty jobs and more bills to pay. That the band may be sucked back into the blood-sucking, faithless, nightmarish America that spewed them up in the first place is the final irony, a tragic comedy. They tried hard, harder than most of us ever will, but if all you got from it was a good night out that you wouldn't have otherwise had, then that's OK too.

Big Black were the perfect entertainment for 1987, a bullet between our collective eyes.