It's taken more than three-and-a-half years for them to release an album and to gain a headlining gig in London, but finally The Macc Lads have got a foot in the door and they're beginning to make an impact.

A quick listen to the band's debut LP for FM Records ("Beer & Sex & Chips 'n' Gravy") gives you ample idea of their strategy - loud, raucous, slightly dated punk, spiced up with earthy, coarse, highly offensive lyrics that Jimmy Jones would be proud of. The Macc Lads constantly go OTT, pouring scorn and venom at women, gays and Argentinians. At the same time they praise their own sexual prowess, the virtues of Boddington's bitter and the delights of Northern food.

When Peter Cook and Dudley Moore don their Derek And Clive caps, the result is gutter-level ranting combined with an amusing parody of the bigots they portray. Until I saw this gig, I had always imagined that The Macc Lads were working in a similar area. Now I'm not so sure. The main problem is the band's lack of stagecraft. Frankly, they're so untogether, so unpolished and so unruly, they could never be viewed as a parody. Insted they present a shameless, plodding run through of the album, interspersed with coarse jokes that leave a very bitter taste.

Despite some occasional sterling guitar theatrics from the Beater, the band have yet to show real instrumental clout or class. They play it roughly, with little feeling and zilch subtlety. And worst of all, the band have no idea of visuals. the three just stand there, inertly bashing out the simplistic chords and structures that make up their material but without adding any additional visual clues or colouring. Instead it's left to certain enthusiastic members of the audience to organise a stage invasion, and probably the most memorable moment was when one man dropped his trousers and mooned.