Keigo Oyamada, the man behind Cornelius, has a passion. From the Planet of the Apes-derived name to the appropriation of Beach Boys harmonies, to videos of football mayhem and boxing madness complimenting sublime and shrieking chords, he has created a book of remembrance for late 20th-century popular culture. With a perfumed chapter reserved for The Who.
Oyamada's songs, which convulse and splinter into sonic attacks, have earned him comparisons to the Beastie Boys, Beck and Brian Wilson. But despite the blistering approach and infrequent but lilting vocals, on his latest album, Point, he has gone for mood. And the mood is air guitar meets easy listening, on the moon.
Watching Cornelius is a little like the torture Michael Caine is subjected to in the Ipcress File. If you don't want images thrown at you, lights dazzling you and your ears hammered into submission - and aren't prepared to help out on the theremin, as one brave soul from the crowd does - stay at home.
The interplay of visuals and sound is paramount. A white curtain hangs in front of the stage, while Oyamada and his band appear in shadowy form behind. A video of a motorway lit by speeding traffic plays before the curtain falls to reveal the band, heads down, serious and in the dark.
Cornelius utilise their white shirts and skinny black ties as almost static screens for the projections. As the robotic drone of Point of View Point lingers, the lights on a towering skyscraper flick on and off as day turns to night, perfectly in time with the crashing cymbal and acoustic guitar.
Timing is everything. When footage of Elvis appears before the accompanying music starts, the dizzying spell is temporarily broken. But after a few panicky looks, we are back among the flashing lights and blizzard of faces, with Hawaiian guitar and an endearingly odd version of Brazil. Cornelius play deftly with sound. Water bubbles resonate throughout the delicately dancey Drop, and a keyboard spits a squealing alarm during Another View Point. Big riffs lurk everywhere, along with heart-stopping drums and angelic images of Keith Moon - though the three-part harmonies and female drummer limit the machismo. For Oyamada it is a chance to live the dream. As he brandishes his guitar, he is almost an icon in his own right.
