SWADDLED in a sort of soulful gloom, Olive are a good example of what happens when electronica leaves the dancefloor and discovers its brain. Disappointingly, on this first night of the latest Heineken Weekender, the Opera House was (optimistically-speaking) only half-full. Live, Olive are a surprisingly organic proposition. Unlike other pioneers of neo-classical mindscapes, they don't stand po-faced behind banks of complicated-looking keyboards.
They play real instruments, they have a cracking horn section, and singer Ruth Ann has an exceptional voice which ducks and dives from soaring, big-lunged peaks to smokily-throated, seductive whispers. A problem is the public perception of the band. Having topped hit parades all over Europe with the bright and bouncy You're Not Alone, they've been tagged cheery-popsters fit for Saturday morning telly and teenage walls.
But while they're certainly pop, they're never bubblegum, and it would be tragic if they were tempted into the devilish badlands of commercialism. They're best when they go downtempo, such as on the wondrous Miracle, a gem of a song that's sweeter than honey.