There's a new Best of the Mavericks compilation launched to commemorate the "first decade of Maverick music", which prompts the alarming thought that they may be planning a second, or even a third. The group have enjoyed some big hits in Britain, notably last year's single Dance the Night Away, and they even managed to fill the Albert Hall for six nights, but a quick trot through the Best Of album reaffirms that they'll always be a Florida covers band who got lucky.
Their live show is long, tacky and full of mush, though at least they've pruned away some of the excruciating slapstick that used to pad out the act. Singer Raul Malo introduced a surreal note during his version of Gram Parsons' Hot Burrito No 1, forgetting the chords and then blaming it all on booze and painkillers. However, any hopes that the show was about to disintegrate into an orgy of rockist excess were quickly extinguished as Raul's instinct for smooth weddings-and- Bar-Mitzvahs-style patter reasserted itself.
These days The Mavericks can best be seen as a comedy lounge act rooted in nostalgia. Indeed guitarist Nick Kane has been forced to pursue a solo career on the side to keep his raunchier instincts satisfied. The impression is reinforced by the addition of the four-piece Havana Horns, shimmering sleazily at the back of the stage in their glittery gold shirts. While the band play a slab of their own material , for instance All You Ever Do Is Bring Me Down or What a Crying Shame, as the encores approach they delve ever deeper into their bottomless pit of cheesy timewarp pop. There are corny 60s instrumentals, Hank Williams's Jambalaya, and Spanish pop songs which would get laughed off the stage at Eurovision. Malo's own Pizziricco is a Latino novelty effort so teeth-grittingly awful it makes Herb Alpert's Tijuana Brass sound like Guns n' Roses.
Twist and Shout seems to have been arranged for honeymooners on a Caribbean cruise, much like their karaoke-style treatment of the Tom Jones turn, Help Yourself. Malo sings Blue Moon in a weepy, falsetto croon, while his own From Hell to Paradise, once a fiery tirade, is now indistinguishable from a hyper-bland version of Guantanamera.
Marty McFly's parents might have danced to this stuff in Back to the Future, before their time-travelling son invented rock'n'roll.
***** Unmissable **** Recommended *** Enjoyable ** Mediocre * Terrible
