On Monday night I did something I hadn’t done since the year 2000: I went to a gig on my own. It is, I hope, something I will not be repeating again for another eight years, though by 2016 I suspect that the entire music industry will have fallen in to the sea.

I went to see the magnificent Manda Rin, of 90s pop sensations bis. I loved bis, they were proper good, all shouting, slogans, and mildly incoherent but exciting sounding manifesto based around the Teen-C revolution. I never quite worked out what the teen-c revolution was, but it was great and I was definitely part of it. All they really needed was for a large number of people to actually like their music, and they’d have been huge.

I spent part of the day emailing the lass in question, arranging an email-interview for the Star, as she travelled on the train down from Scotland. I made a joke about helicopters that seemed to go down well, and I inwardly marvelled at my ability to exchange casual emails with probably the greatest Scottish shouty-pop singer of all time. I was feeling pretty tired and wasn’t sure about the gig, but then at the last minute realised that it was better than just sitting in my flat staring at the wallpaper peeling off the wall. So I went. And it’s always really brilliant when you’ve got stuff to do, isn’t it? Whooosh, I’d better put some clothes on, and clean my teeth. Hurry hurry hurry, I’ve got places to go! Can’t hang around here! Amazing.

I got there and it was horrible. It was full of people who knew other people, and they were talking to each other and drinking and having a brilliant time, and I felt affronted and specifically left out and like the biggest loser in Christendom. So I spent my time scribbling lots and lots of notes into my notebook, which is full of excellent observations like “Manda was born in 1977 not 1987 which is why this launch party is taking place at the fly on New Oxford Street rather than at the Bird’s Nest Stadium in Beijing as she deserves”. I don’t know if I got her year of birth right, but I’m really impressed at my Bird’s Nest Stadium reference. Slightly out of date cultural reference points are my stock in trade. In that sense I’m the Kaiser “a fat Blur in hats” Chiefs of music journalism.

So. The support act came and went, and they sounded exactly – but exactly – like Radio 4, as in the band who did ‘Dance to the Underground’, not the radio station. I shuffled over to buy as much Manda Rin stuff as I could, and utterly failed to talk to her because I was too flustered by being on my own. The guy before me was wearing a very faded bis t-shirt, was also on his own, and was clearly planning/hoping to follow Manda home after the gig, gut her, and stuff her, if only he could get over his crushing shyness. I felt like she probably thought I was the same. I managed a very formal ‘thank you very much indeed’ when she signed the single for me, and utterly failed to mention I’d been emailing her earlier and had made a hilarious witticism about helicopters. I then ran away.

So, the gig. How was she? Ropey at first, very ropey. Her singing has never been amazing, and it took a couple of songs for her to warm up. Also she couldn’t hide behind her keyboard, which looked just wrong. Manda should be jumping about like a lunatic behind a keyboard. But she soon warmed up, and her band, who I’m just going to assume are her children were ace, all fresh-faced and as eager to please as teenage lovers.

I even started dancing at one point

So yes, the thumbs up for Manda solo. Think B52s / New Young Pony Club / a cheery ladytron. It has synth breaks and disco bass stabs to die for, if you were the sort of person to lay down your life in front of a pop tank. Metaphorically speaking.