In the interests of finding out what other strange things are being done with Monteverdi, we went along to see Les Ballets C. de la B’s VSPRS tonight at the Tramway. Hmm. There were some great performances and some moving moments (the duets in particular were very beautiful), but the overall conception was a sprawling, self-indulgent mess.

I should have read the signs really. For a start, there was to be no interval. This usually means that the director/artist has no sense of structure and considers their work too important to be halted either for the audience to have a piss, or for the venue/promoter to earn any money at the bar. The show also turned out to be 20 minutes longer than advertised, which in a piece that has been running for over a year is a sign that the director has no sense of self-discipline. It went up 12 minutes late for no apparent reason as well - which shows a lack of basic courtesy to the audience who've paid their money and shown up on time. And that’s not even mentioning the pretentious ‘txtspk’ of the title.

Anyway, I used the experience to learn a few things, or have them reinforced.

For example, you can learn a lot about a musician from the way they warm up. The sax player in this show warmed up at length: you could hear him squirting his poxy jazz aura all over the venue for about 10 minutes before the show. Not a good sign. And while it was great to hear cornetts and sackbuts in a contemporary context, I thought the musical world had moved on since the days of Henry Cow. The bass player (I was convinced it was Bill Nighy until I saw him close up at the curtain call) reminded me that losing one’s hair can be a blessing.

But I think what annoyed me the most were the members of the audience who laughed ostentatiously (‘Look at me, folks, I’m getting it’), even when the ‘it’ was a very ambiguous portrayal of psychosis, or for that matter, sexual violence. The same thing happened at the Tiger Lillies gig last week, although perhaps that was more excusable as some of Martyn’s songs are very funny, and laughter can sometimes be an expression of unease. But sometimes it would take a couple of verses before some mildly inebriated twat would realise that child abuse or rape isn’t actually belly-laugh material.

Oh, let’s face it, I’m a crap audient: I should just stay at home.