ROCK / Night on the town with our Lisa the diva

'WELL, who would've thought it? Me in the Albert Hall] This is my only concert this year. It's for a brilliant charity, so have a brilliant time]'

On Friday night, Lisa Stansfield is two different women in one body. One is a Manchester lass, so down-to-earth as to be subterranean, who has been dared by her mates to do a spot of karaoke. The other is a slinky, sophisticated, American diva who shimmies across the stage in her tartan jacket and skirt, barely acknowledging her band or the London Philharmonic Orchestra behind her. Her voice fills the Albert Hall with such ease that it seems unthinkable she could ever have doubted it. Between songs she becomes our Lisa from Rochdale and greets applause wide-eyed: 'That one must've been a good one, eh?' When the music starts her voice flies back across the Atlantic once again.

The best concerts are often the ones that don't follow an album release, because instead of plugging new material they feature the artist's favourite songs. This one-off charity gig is a meticulously paced Greatest Hits selection. Hard funk, greasy R'n'B, pure disco and deep soul all take turns, and Stansfield's voice tackles them all with subtlety and power.

The orchestra does not add much to the sound, but it is amusing to watch the musicians try to keep their dignity while all around are losing theirs. By the second half, everyone is dancing, even in the upper-upper-upper balcony, where the rows of seats are raked so steeply that even to stand up is to risk a fatal plunge into the stalls.

After two encores, there is a snappy arrangement of 'They Can't Take That Away From Me' and both Lisas leave the stage. I had a brilliant time, and have no doubt that the Nordoff- Robbins Music Therapy Centre is a brilliant charity. Who would have thought it?

Most of the country-tinged rock songs on Freedy Johnston's This Perfect World (Elektra) shoot into the memory at high speed, and none quicker than 'Bad Reputation': 'I know I've got a bad reputation/ And it isn't just talk, talk, talk.' Johnston's voice is hardly aggressive, but it has enough wordly cool to help you believe that his rep could indeed be more than talk, talk, talk.

In person, though, the man is a wimp. Freedy is weedy. He's a scrawny, balding fellow, giggling with nerves. When people join in with a song he tells them off like a liberal teacher trying to quieten his rumbustious class while remaining one of the gang: 'Now wait a minute, friends. Come on, you can sing with me later . . .' He burst into tears during a recent Rolling Stone interview, so moved was he by his own exegesis of the album's title track. His bad reputation can only be the result of not taking his library books back on time.

Not that there is anything wrong with being weedy, but on This Perfect World the strength of the other instruments compensates for Johnston's own faintness (which is only to be expected, as producer Butch Vig's other credits include Nirvana, Smashing Pumpkins and Sonic Youth).

In concert at London's Borderline, the songs tend to drift by in a haze of strums. The second guitarist is too low in the mix to vary the music's texture, and while it is difficult not to nod your head to the beat, it is also difficult to react with any more activity.

But Johnston does have a catalogue of wounded, melodic narratives which to some degree justify the comparisons bestowed upon him (Hank Williams, Crowded House, Costello, Dylan, you name it). His good reputation should build along with his stage presence, and it won't be just talk, talk, talk.

When Fatima Mansions supported U2, the latter's fans were not impressed. That's one point in FMs'

favour. The second plus is that Lost in the Former West (Kitchenware), the band's new album, is an explosion of pulverising riffs and seething polemic. At the London Astoria 2 on Wednesday night, Fatima Mansions are still noisy and still angry, but their sound and fury signify not very much.

The main problem is surprisingly simple, and, at professional rock concerts, surprisingly rare: Fatima Mansions know how to write a good tune, but tonight they're not too sure how to play one. Cathal Coughlan realises he's no Sinatra, so he shouts the words instead. The instrumentalists lack the percussive precision that characterises Lost . . . Song after song comes across as a half-learnt copy of Motorhead's 'Ace of Spades'. On the rare occasions when a change of pace comes along, it is welcome. Some songs begin slowly: Coughlan's voice groans with sodden grandeur and the band restrict themselves to American Music Club atmospherics. At which point everything speeds up and turns into 'Ace of Spades' again.

Coughlan at least puts his heart into it; either that or he's having some sort of fit. The band on the other hand are just going through the motions, or rather the lack of motions. They move so little that it is tempting to put mirrors under their noses to check if they are still breathing. And they don't even stand still in a condescending Oasis sort of way, but in a not-really- enjoying-this-I-wonder-who's-winning-the-football sort of way.

All they have to do is get a new singer and two new guitarists, and they could really turn their show around. The bass player and drummer can stay, but even they aren't going to top any polls. To be fair, the fans are calling for more at the end. But then they've just paid pounds 8 for a 50-minute show, so that's only to be expected.

Freedy Johnston plays the Jazz Cafe, NW1 (071-916 6000) on 4 Oct.