Speaking with a disarming frankness in 2007, Idlewild singer Roddy Woomble claimed that around the release of their third full length album, his band were “quite willing to try to be a bit more popular”. This briefly worked and somewhat unexpectedly, a band who sang about American writer Gertrude Stein found themselves with a Top Ten hit and opening for Coldplay.
However this did not last long and less commercial material and subsequent label difficulties have meant that Idlewild have rarely touched upon the public’s consciousness since.
In late 2008 the band announced that their next release would be recorded and manufactured directly for fans who donated towards the production costs. While certainly a novel approach in an age where fan interaction and D.I.Y aesthetics are highly regarded, how vital was an album made purposefully for Idlewild fans really going to be?
Perhaps acknowledging this, Idlewild embarked on a series of residencies playing every album, including the recent Post Electric Blues, in its entirety. Now in their second tour to promote this album, they have emerged with an enormous sense of personal identity.
Arriving on stage with no real pretence, you become aware that this is a band with nothing left to prove to anyone but themselves. The crowd reaction is strangely intense. While before Idlewild gigs were littered with casual fans keen to hear their personal favourites, now a strange unified devotion falls over the room. It’s clear that to most people here, this band is their best kept secret.
Opening with three songs from 100 Broken Windows, an album ten years old, would be dangerously close to nostalgia peddling by many bands. Yet it is done with such conviction you realise Idlewild have become a group that are no longer running away from their past but are embracing the eccentricities that made their fans stick with them. While Woomble wryly comments on the immaturity of some early material, almost apologetically announcing “this song’s really old” before Everyone Says You’re So Fragile, the band are amazingly robust.
|
In instrumental passages, Woomble watches the rest of the band continue from the side of the stage, almost meditating on the intricate guitar work. It’s at these moments you realise how little Idlewild are performing, and that this is more representative of a band rehearsal people have been allowed to witness. Even guitarist Rod Jones’ trademark monitor leaping seems to stem directly from the music the band are creating rather than as a means to grab audience attention.
As a result, the show is a slow burner. Thankfully the audience are willing to go along with this and as the band progresses through their set, subtle nods and smiles between the group become as significant as the screaming histrionics that brought them to Steve Lamacq’s attention back in 1997. This continues to build to a point where the choruses of American English and set closer The Bronze Medal are practically transcendental.
Throughout the set Idlewild draw from their history in a manner that shows complete belief in their music. The incendiary encore that sweeps from the articulate rage of Little Discourage and ends with an explosive In Remote Part/Scottish Fiction, perfectly distils the essence of this very special band. If you’re willing to join them in their bubble, you will find one of the most rewarding and refreshing experiences on offer in modern music.
|
