Wednesday 01/12/04 Blink 182 @ SECC, Glasgow

Frankly, I’m disappointed. On the way to the gig, I’d come up with a line for this review that I’d fully expected to use later. I’d assumed that I’d be treated to a combination of the newly-discovered grown-up rock talent the SoCal trio Blink 182 had displayed on their recent, unexpectedly brilliant eponymous album, alongside some unnecessary toilet jokes. I could then have written "and then they went and spoiled it all by saying something stupid like I Love Poo". I was unnecessarily excited about using that line and frankly, I thought it was in the bank, given their past, puerile form. I was miffed to find myself denied on two counts.

Firstly, they weren’t even as funny as my not-at-all-funny soundbite. And secondly, thanks to some truly diabolical vocal shenanigans on the part of pin-up bassist Mark Hoppus, there were more than a few moments that couldn’t have conceivably been spoiled any further.

Everything was in place too. A cracking album, showing a strength in depth most assumed Blink 182 did not - and would never - possess; a packed arena, filled to the seams with the sound of thousands of unbroken voices and damp knickers screaming in unison; and the whole room verging on riotous hysteria. BANG! They’re off! Straight into ’Feeling This’ with its monster drum intro, buzzsaw riff and call-and-response vocals. It’s great, in fact, for about ten bars - until Mark opens his mouth. It pains me to say it, but really, seriously, from the bottom of my heart, he was atrocious. On 'Feeling This', 'Easy Target' and 'What’s My Age' he was honestly the only one in the building who seemed oblivious to how the songs went. You could have picked any crowd member at random and they probably could have done it better. I mean, dude, really - we pay you enough to do this, you could at least remember the goddamn tune.

Which was a wicked ripping shame, not least because in singer-guitarist Tom Delonge and drummer Travis Barker are two of the finest talents in rock today. Tom produces enough noise from one guitar - be it riffs or chords, acoustic or distortion-on-eleven - to easily fill the cavernous SECC. Vocally, his brimful-of-confidence, Molko-meets-Strummer, whining, drawling sneer matches the band’s sound as perfectly as it is supposed to. Meanwhile, Travis’ drumming is still the most inventive, technical, un-matchable display it was even back in 1997 when they were first on the bill supporting Pennywise. Except now he has technology involved, so underneath all the punk racket, we are treated to the occasional electronic sub-bass boom, which tries its hardest to actually kill us. In all other respects, it was a triumph. But when the other vocalist sounds like a drunk fourteen-year-old in his first band, murdering some cover or other, it kind of kicks the rest of it in the teeth.

Sure, the crowd went gonzo, the kids quite clearly loved it, and the message-boards are alive and kicking the next day with the praise of the true believers. But for everyone else whose ears were in gear tonight, for every high point like a magnificent ’Stay Together For The Kids’, a rollicking ’Violence’ or a blistering, light-speed ’Rockshow’, there were two or three tracks that made The Others sound like classically-trained virtuoso musicians.

Not a disaster by any means, and on balance the songs held firm. But at times, my inner teenager was crying his eyes out.