..Or when the presence of two of the UK's leading comedians and the country's pre-eminent television 'personality' just isn't enough.
"Steven Patrick Morrissey is unwell!"
So quoth arguably the funniest man in England.
"But that's OK, as David Walliams is going to entertain you instead".
And he weren't joking, neither.
On any other night the presence of Russell Brand, one half of Little Britain and Jonathan Ross on the same stage would be near sublime. But not last Friday. Last Friday, I was at the new, revamped Roundhouse in Chalk Farm to witness one night of a short, intimate north London residency by the fêted ex-Smith.
With limited space, tickets had sold-out instantly and to, it would seem, only the truly devout. I can't recall a pre-gig atmosphere so loaded with anticipation. Maybe, Joe Strummer's return from 'the wilderness' at The Astoria in '99 tops it, but only just.. Anyway, you can gauge the relative importance of these things by the (dis)proportion of celebs to humble punters milling around the bar. And by Friday’s turn-out in NW1 The Ivy, The Groucho, Annabel’s et al were in for a lean night.
At about 8:30pm it all seemed to be going so well.
OK, between them, my cab driver and his sat-nav couldn't seem to find their way across three postcodes and I had to complete the journey from home to venue via the northern line. But I made it there in plenty of time.
Easy through the ticket line, easy into the main space and easy to the bar. Easy to Red Stripe and easy then to good vantage point. All going swimmingly.
I missed the support (on purpose) and when I'd settled into my spot at 8:45pm, the pre-show entertainment was stock footage of '50s and '60s pop culture icons like James Dean and Brigitte Bardot. All so very Morrissey.
Bang on cue, 9:00pm, and the films end, stage light dim and The Man and his band take the stage.
A-D-U-L-A-T-I-O-N
Mozz opens with the Smiths' Please, Please Let Me Get What I Want This Time; then The Last of the International Playboys; then a couple of new songs. Then nothing. No Morrissey. No band. No nothing. Then ten minutes pass and messrs. Brand, Ross and Walliams appear with the terminal news. Moz ain't well.
I'd have preferred to be told a bit sooner, but ho hum. Shuffle out, hail a black cab (someone who ought to know where he's going) and track back Stokie-ward in time to catch the floppy-haired dandy's pre-recorded chat show.
Musically, this year really isn't starting very well. The date I chose from Carbon/Silicon's six weeks of consecutive Fridays residence at Ladbroke Grove was cancelled and now Mozza's lost his voice. Fingers crossed that C/S can make it third-time lucky for me on the 22nd and that the return to The Roundhouse doesn't conflict with anything very important and already diarised, like a foreign trip or a wedding..
Anyway, gig or no gig, the intense pre-concert back-catalogue run-through has ensured that Mo has been a firm fixture on That Tune In My Head –- all in all, a distinct improvement on crappy daytime TV theme tunes of a week ago.
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