Kula Shaker and Ocean Colour Scene

Judging by the numbers - I've never seen the LCR so packed so early in the evening - I'm not the only one as keen to see Kula Shaker as the nominal headliners. They are billed as special guests, in deference to their cult status, no doubt, but also to make it clear this is not a double bill. Know your place, Kula Shaker, I thought to myself, as their terrific set came to a close after only 45 mins, a faultless performance marred only by its brevity.

Its hard to credit that, back in the day, Kula Shaker were maligned for cultural appropriation for having the temerity to be influenced by Indian mantras and Sanskrit. Opening with 303, I did wonder if some of that criticism had held fast - I barely recognised this rockier, hard-edged iteration. I needn't have worried, as their paean to Jerry Garcia settled my concerns.

Imaginatively staged - the now ubiquitous haze and lighting were shunned in favour of a live lava lamp extravaganza orchestrated by Issac from Grass Valley, California - it was a pleasure to actually see the band on stage for once. Unusually, for a band of their vintage, the group is entirely intact, with even Jay Darlington returning to the keyboards.

As stick insect thin as the 90s version, Crispian Mills's powerful guitar solos were matched by his snake hipped stage antics. He clearly never got the memo that they are supposed to be the support act. If any reminder were needed that we've all got a bit older in the intervening years, Mills's confessed that he pinched the title of I Don't Want To Pay My Taxes from his teenage son. The only song from the newly minted Natural Magick, it stood up pretty well against the heritage material that dominated the set. A couple of newer songs were squeezed in, with Broke as Folk showcasing that they weren't all about sitars. It all got a bit Iron Maiden with Charge of the Light Brigade, but thereafter a crowd-pleasing focus on their stellar debut K had the crowd singing along to Tattva, Govinda and the cover they made their own, the glorious Hush.

It's a minor mystery why Ocean Colour Scene have been coupled with Kula Shaker, grateful though I was to tick off a live performance from Mills's crew. OCS are a classic proforma Brit Pop band. While Kula Shaker were certainly successful in the nineties, so were the aforementioned Iron Maiden - neither, it seems to me, could sensibly be described as Brit Pop. In view of that, I was mildly surprised how well Kula Shaker went down with a crowd that had presumably come for OCS, but nonetheless, as the band came on stage to Booker T's Green Onions, there was a palpable rise in audience engagement. The incessant chatter that is the bane of a UEA crowd - what on earth do they have to say that can't wait- settled to a low hum in deference to the opening song, The Circle.

Backed by archive footage, Simon Fowler's appearance was all the more surprising. I guess a look in the mirror from thirty years ago would shock as all, but he did remind me of Frank Carson. His gravelly, baritone voice is as good as ever, though - it's the way he sings them - and was put to fine use in the set that followed. The band were efficiently tight, with Steve Cradock's guitar work consistently at the forefront of this fine ensemble. I don't pretend to have an in-depth knowledge of their back catalogue - in the spirit of full disclosure the band I'd come to see had been and gone - but the jaunty Hundred Mile High City and the altogether folkier Fleeting Mind went some way to undermining the accusation that their songs are all the same. At least to the uninitiated, though, they do sound quite similar. I'm told by someone who knows better than me that the likes of I Just Need Myself and Mrs Jones are unheralded classic songs, and perhaps they are. My vote, however, lines up with the crowd who, it seemed to me, politely endured the more obscure tracks, patiently waiting until the set closed on a string of sing alongs.

Part of the problem - the reason, perhaps, why the crowd seemed a tad underwhelmed - was the stifling heat of an overcrowded venue. Immediately in front of the stage was fine, as was the steps where the lucky few were gifted a perfect view. But as I made my way to the bar I was reminded how many people are forced to stand at the back, afforded no real sight of the band, and in obvious discomfort. On leaving the venue, I saw a middle aged man was being attended to by paramedics, who had apparently been overcome by those crowds. The venue, of course, has to maximise its revenue, but I do think it should revisit what it's capacity is. Was it always like this? In memories that stretch back decades I always had sharp elbows - the back of the venue was another country - but I don't think it was. Surely, it's not just how many people can fit in the space, it should how many people can have an experience worth the money they have paid for it.