Pussycat Dolls On Tour // European Tour // Reviews

Reviewed by the Manchester Evening News
Venue: MEN Arena, Manchester

Gary Ryan
28/11/06

BLESS The Pussycat Dolls - they really couldn't shamelessly show any more of their bodies without resorting to plastering X-Ray scans on the big screen.

'Maybe,' you can't help wondering, 'they'll do a Bucks Fizz-style dance routine where instead of ripping off their clothes, they'll ADD a layer'.

Still, their image of goes back to the six-piece girl group's orgins as a Las Vegas burlesque troupe.

Pulling themselves up by their tassles, they secured a residency at Johnny Depp's Viper Rooms, where female A-listers like Britney Spears and Christina Aguilera clamoured to guest with the Queen B's of G-strings.

Tonight, the M.E.N. Arena feels like Sin City. For all their occasional pop masterstrokes, The Pussycat Dolls are Hot Gossip for the Noughties; their show Teasers on Deansgate with a bigger budget.

Singing over a backing tape, lead vocalist Nicole Scherzinger belts out those notes like a solo career depends on it, flanked by five other humping, grinding, pole-scaling Fem Bots who could be filed under 'Replaceable'.

Don't Cha

Debut number one single, Don't Cha (saved until last) sizzles as a fine slice of r'n'b. Beep, masterminded by Black Eyed Pea Will.I.Am, shines as an ace, song-based version of Blankety Blank.

Best of all is Hot Room, which mashes together Dame Siobhan Fahey's Bitter Pill and Donna Summer's Hot Stuff.

Admittedly, they can't stretch their appeal over a whole hour, so there's a surfeit of filler, including cringe-inducing covers of Peggy Lee's Fever and Soft Cell's Tainted Love which make you wish they'd shut the... beep... up.

They drag three crowd-members up for an entertaining dance-off segement that gees things up no end. The audience - mainly composed of regulars at Claire's accessories on a Saturday afternoon - are apoplectic throughout.

But look beneath the soft-porn stylings; and the Pussycat Dolls are no Spice Girls, Bananarama or Girls Aloud.

They're a glorified cabaret act, subservience masquerading as sassisness: close, but no zig-a-zig-ah.