WHITE ROSE MOVEMENT take to the stage in a garish combination of primary colour. Front man Finn Vine sports the kind of get up recently spewed from the 80’s which is good because they set their stall out from the onset.
Grounded in some strong industrial pulses it seems like it’s only a matter of time before ‘The Final Countdown’ explodes into life. I think it’s the keyboards. There’s a reason why most of the 80s should be erased from music history and WRM are here with a reminder about as welcome as genital warts.
There are some useful and very danceable rhythms happening in the background but it’s all somewhat over shadowed by the god awful scenester posturing. Whether it’s an attempt to capture a similar musical irony pioneered by the Test Icicles it fails miserably. As a live show it’s achingly robotic and nauseatingly over arty as keyboardist Taxxi strikes an icy persona reminiscent of Bridgette Nielsen whilst the guitar and synth create an annoyingly directionless mish mash. They might resemble Richey era Manics in appearance but they lack any credible substance. And pose…and pose…and pose…Vogue!
Tonight’s gig seems a perfect example of product placement. THE RAKES with their anti 9-5 ethos find themselves performing to a horde of fans resplendent in the obligatory suit and tie. Whether it’s ironic or that they rushed from the office to be here, it’s all about audience relation innit? They serve up a welcome reminder that you don’t need a Yorkshire accent to appeal to the masses, just a catalogue of tight, abrasive tunes that people can jump around to. Front man Alan Donohoe is full of falsettos and frolics even if the TV screen back drop makes him look like Ian Curtis.
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Like Blur at their most destructive The Rakes are beginning to make the cockney accent almost credible. Vigorous in their delivery and animated in their movement, ’22 grand job’, ‘Work, Work, Work (Pub, Club, Sleep)’ and ‘T-Bone’ hit the mark like three well deserved high fives. Guitarist Matthew Swinnerton could even lay claim to being the new Graham Coxon (spectacles, Cockney brogue, and vocal duties)even if he does look like
Dooey from Malcolm in the Middle.
With songs about hangovers, Wetherspoons, and ‘waking up to a girl who’s…well alright’ the content might remain everyday but The Rakes have come along way. Surviving the early Joy Division comparisons they’re polished live act makes for a jitteringly
infectious gig. There’ll be a few sore heads in the office in the morning.
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