Much like the NYC pick n mix conveyor belt that gave us Interpol, Yeah Yeah Yeahs and The Strokes (to name but a few) London’s own penchant for producing bands has steadily grown in capital in comparison to that of its commercially successful counterpart. The recent emergence of The Rakes and Art Brut, has given us some hope that we aren’t about to be swamped by Libertines hopefuls in the aftermath of their demise.
Unfortunately, THE CHERUBS fall some where in between but pull off another fine Ian Curtis impression. Seriously. Staale Bruland takes the ragged sadness of Curtis to a new level. The fixated gaze burns with intensity, the movement is agitated and restless, yet while Curtis struggled with inner demons, it’s more Razorlight than razorblades, and the same could be said for their music. Whilst lyrically it’s relatively simple, Cherubs reveal an uncanny ability to replicate Interpol-esque melodies that roll fluently and freely allowing you to revel in the moment, so it’s unfortunate that like so many bands the bandwagon is causing a crisis of identity. A bit of direction or even a new one and Cherubs would be worthy of either throne.
For those who see a common link between MAXIMO PARK and The Futureheads, any lingering doubts regarding Maximo Park's individuality should be dispelled. Immediately. Yes their spectacled guitarists might look vaguely alike, and yes they’re both from the North East, and whilst they both use pop injected new wave to great effect, Maximo Park have a sense of conventionality that separates them from the crowd. Led by Paul Smith’s furious energy and accentuated mannerisms, the flamboyance belies the articulate messages he’s trying to convey.
Drawing on more conventional key changes and driven choruses they write ‘personal songs that have universal themes’. Forthcoming single ‘Apply Some Pressure’ jerks and dives before launching into an anthemic chorus, ‘The night I lost my head’ is over before it ever really began whilst ‘The Coast is always changing’ has a Franz Ferdinand edge and Smith in his poetic element. The Futureheads for all their acclaim, retain a perfectly poised cult appeal, whereas Maximo Park, sharing a similar contentment in their own abilities should flourish with the release of their debut. Whimsical, witty and intelligent, it’s popular music that isn’t popular yet, but will be.
Establishing your own outright sound is something bands can struggle with their whole career, and if and when a sense of identity is realised it usually compromises something. Take DOGS for example, a rag tag collective of street urchin chic with an undeniable chaotic charm.
Taking the London loves niche of the Libertines and mashing it with a Sex Pistols veneer, they’re abrasive, blunt and in your face but it’s all a bit forced. Taking it upon themselves as purveyors of social commentary, they take the low road as it’s been done before with significantly more aplomb. If style over substance seems to be the order of the day, Dogs are safe a bet as any to claim the mantle the Libertines so abruptly vacated. Thriving on the testosterone fuelled resentment exuding from the stage, fans young are thankful they may have a potential fallen idol and fans old are thankful for a chance to relive their musical youth. Whatever their reason, the typically cosmopolitan Barfly crowd stand back and let them have their fun. Still they could just as easily be another music debacle (e.g. The Others) geared towards creating a new saviour, but you get the feeling that’s the whole point. Still the kids will lap it up whether Pete shows up or not.
|
Fresh faced and looking distinctly subdued, EASTERN LANE traipse onstage. Front man Derek Meins presence is somewhat muted, that is until he launches headlong into a repetitive vocal solo. Falling somewhere between the gargled caterwauling of Kings of Leon’s Caleb Followill and loopy harpist Joanne Newsome, it’s a fierce introduction even if it is minus the music.
In the same vein as his auspicious entrance, every song sees an exorcism of sorts both emotionally and physically. Love and loneliness are recurring themes amidst Meins contorted body movements and sporadic screaming. ‘I Said Pig On Friday’ sees a sneering venom spring forth from a mich he practically swallows whole, ‘Saffron’ is essentially the Kings of Leon with a Berwick influence, and that is not to do a disservice to the song. Trying to harness a sound that veers and banks with the calculated abandon of a compass finding north and the talismanic performance of Derek is what gives the band an understated fascination, although the fact that Meins feels as though he has to provide stage presence for the rest of the band is about as conventional as they get. They might not be the most exhilarating, but you could do worse in satisfying any curiosity.
As far as mismatches go this could be interesting. The Camden Barfly, home to all that is indie mafia, indie cool and indie fashionista would never be quite prepared for this wake up call. Paul Mullen may be a midget amongst giant band members but he is the lil fella calling all the shots and making the louder noise. Rocking the Joe 90 look he rants and roars YOURCODENAMEIS:MILO to an resounding victory.
Minus a few die-hards strategically placed at the front, heads nod in appreciation, but are mainly cracked together in the mass that’s swarmed the floor. Much in the same fashion as the Deftones this ain’t your average ‘heavy’. It’s a sound that swallows everything of its surroundings and wouldn’t falter in the larger venues that undoubtedly beckon. Playing a healthy set from EP ‘All roads to fault’, it’s the title track with juggernaut chorus that Hundred Reasons always strived for that decimates what was left of your already faltering ear drums. The North East may be getting acclaim for its art rock intelligence, and although this of a different kind, it’s of the same calibre. Just ask the Barfly.
|
