---
"The Royal Box is empty. Not that Nancy Sinatra, playing her very first London gig, seems to mind - after all, lookin down from a seat reserved for the more privileged brand of commoner is her very own prince charming. 'It's taken me 38 years to get here,' she announces, 'and you know who made it possible'. Before Nancy took the stage at the Royal Festival Hall, you-know-who had been swigging beer and making rude hand gestures to embers of the audience who've spotted him in his left-of-stage eyrie. Now he's shrinking from the spotlight. Well, it's his party, and he can be shy if he wants to. In most other respects, however, Morrissey so dominates this year's Meltdown festival that all other stars are comprehensively eclipsed.

In purely business terms, the patron is the only game in town. Aside from Alan Bennett in the smaller Queen Elizabeth Hall, his three shows are the only advance sell-outs. For the valiant version of the New York Dolls there are rows of empty seats. Five nights are given to impresdsionist Ennio Marchetto and Mozzer's favourite drag artist [FIVE NIGHTS??? - my comment]. Ari Up's exuberant reading of The Slits' catalogue is relegated to the foyer, Jane Birkin ladles extreme unction to a dozing half-empty main hall. The Libertines cancel due to Pete Doherty's latest abortive attempt at rehab. The Cockney Rejects are on the bill. We are not talking august.

Much advance who-hah has surrounded the exact configuration of this specially reformed New York Dolls, given that two of the original group are now playing that big gig upstairs [AND NOW, SADLY, ANOTHER HAS GONE TO JOIN THEM - my comment]. Imagine, then, te ripple of anti-climax that greets the news that tonight, Morrissey, Johnny Thunders is not going to be Chrissie Hynde or Izzy Stradlin, but a bloke called Steve Conti. He's good, but then he'd have to be, given that Sylvain Sylvain has evidently not spent the last twenty-five years expanding his chord repertoire. Sartorial elegance remains optional in their world too, as Arthur 'Killer' Jane (ruffled shirt, thigh length boots) looks like the slightly disconsolate understudy to Marco Pirroni in a putative Adam and the Ants musical. But the Dolls win out through sheer pluck and David Johansen's still-genius way with emotive rock goonery. As they rollick through Personality Crisis, broad grins are reflexive.

With Kimono My House and Lil Beethovento be performed, in sequence and their entirety, punctuality for the Sparks show is a must. Thus the bibulous latecomers arriving at 8.05pm miss a rampant This Town Ain't Big Enough For The Both of Us. Fortunately, a glut of compensation ensues. Age appears not to have withered the Mael men one jot. Diminutive Russel bounds about like a dapper (and talented) version of It Ain't Half Hot Mum's Bombardier Beaumont, while Ron's gift for visual comedy (particularly exemplified in Ugly Guys With Beautiful Girls) remains priceless. Separated by 20 years, neither set of songs sounds remotely precedented, nor wants anything for charm or pure excitement.

And though Nacy does her regal best aided by a useful band featuring Attraction Pete Thomas and a resolutely crowd-pleasin set (You Only Live Twice, These Boots Are Made For Walking, twice) there's room for just the one dame at Meltdown this year. Morrissey protested to MOJO recently that he could never be considered a 'great performer'. he was absolutely right. When it comes to projecting his art, his very self onstage, in public, Morrissey is quite utterly extraordinary. Prancing, mugging, supplicating, shirt-divesting, he runs the gamut of music hall gestures, dusted down and bugged up for the pop era. The rendition of The World Is Full Of Crashing Bores alone evinces bits of Laurence Olivier, Max Wall, even Freddie Mercury (surely no one else has danced such passionate pas de deux with the microphone). His band - minus the 'seriously ill' Alain Whyte, replaced by Little Barrie's Little Barry, a rake thin Johnny Marr doppelganger - make you realise what great ensemble players The Smiths were, but simply do what's required: clear sufficient space for his master's voice. Which, be it dispatching the new songs, the old songs, or unexpected Smiths nuggets like Rubber Ring, is resonant and true.

"I know I can be very annoying sometimes," he says, to which no one demurs. "I see nobody is disagreeing...". Who would dare? impossible and incorrigible he may be, but all that warrants stressing here is that right now Morrissey is playing the game of his life. How very typical that the story of 2003's Meltdown is all his."