In a show that lasted just under an hour, the gimmick just about carried through. Like an extended sketch from Whose Line Is It Anyway, the pair wrung out the joke for all it was worth. Drenched in sweat by the encore, the pair had hurled themselves through choreographed soundscapes, writhed over the stage while ejaculating juxtaposed lyrics and battered down any language barrier with the universality of pop culture. When a pop song in another language is released in the UK, the most we can probably sing is its title and fill in the gaps with a vague "duh-dah-la-duh-derr". Similarly #losmicrófonos takes songs in English from a European perspective, exploring our common ground of melody and rhythm, using physical tomfoolery and slapstick. And it's entertaining. For a while.
#losmicrófonos IS an entertaining hour however. Feeling like an extended novelty cabaret act, their energy and playfulness ricochets from their zany tussling, while they plane away low-brow culture to become its very basest of levels, where fragments of lyrics and names and tunes become little more than the newspaper at the chippy, wrapped around two battered funny little men. But with their delivery so frantic and their focus on grabbing hold of any bemused laughter, the subtleties of what they could have done whilst exploring pop culture's languageless connotations was somehow lost in translation. Which is a shame. On the one hand, you could read #losmicrófonos as a commentary on the debasement of mass cultural meaning, where popularity equates the widespread dehydration of art's original signified denotata. But on the other, it's just two grown men prancing about, being a bit silly.