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Setlist: (incomplete and possibly out of order)

Fan Recaps and Comments:

Tickets were £5.

A review of the show by Tony Beard
Record Mirror, Jan. 9, 1988:

The odd couple. Welcome to the hi-fidelity experience of They Might Be Giants, a Massachusetts mixture of all-new guitar poses and battered accordion thrusts set to a backing tape of beats, farts and noises. Compulsive viewing and listening.

The Giants have rummaged through the dustbin of influences, salvaging musical scraps from every style going and adding a healthy dash of humour to produce a startlingly addictive sound. This is a hummable pop melting pot of cow-punk, junk-funk, electro-boogie and pure pop. Listen carefully and you'll hear Frank Zappa, Laurie Anderson and Devo clamouring to be recognised.

Veering from the Aztec Camera-ness of 'Don't Let's Start', the two Johns (Flansburgh And Linnell) call at every stop from Sweet (the gunge-rockin' 'She Was A Hotel Detective') to Prince ('Purple Toupee'). There's even time for some 'hot jazz-fusion licks', during the jerky 'Lie Still, Little Bottle', the only song I know to feature a solo played on a tree branch! Despite the heavily acknowledged influences, the Giants are as original as anything you'll hear this year. This is pop as it should be — brash, rowdy and full of fun. The charts need nervously infectious tunes like 'Put Your Hand Inside The Puppet Head'. That it will be criminally ignored is your loss not mine. They Might Be Giants. You might be surprised.