I was expecting Nada Surf to be great.  All the elements were present: that healthy Californian power pop glow, genuflections to Big Star and the Replacements, fantastic harmonies, infectious melodies, a bassist who filled out the stage while flailing his dreadlocks…but it was all a little too pristine, too mechanical, too rockstar-by-numbers.  Early on, when the singer sounded like Bryan Adams singing Summer of 69, I realised that, in the construction of the band, someone had replaced the ‘modest rocker’ valve with a state of the art stadium rock chip.  After that, everything sounded too big and loud.  Mellow was bellowed, and whenever they got bored with broody, they tagged on an emasculated Ramones type thrash.  When you wanted subtle and downbeat, you got manipulative and crashing: “I wanna be DAR DAR on the inside of love, WAH WAH WAH”.   At the start I thought they’d caught a wave; at the end, I knew they were washed up.

Reviewed by Ged M

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The hirsute Scouse five piece are The Bandits in more than just name, having pilfered the works of some pretty fine bands.  Their musical philosophy is very similar to their Merseyside neighbours, The Coral, showing an eclecticism that is equally refreshing.   Their short and bouncy set was a cheery jaunt through the odder sods of 60s pop rock, eastern European folkiness, the inevitable La’s rockier moments and completed by a spiffing rendition of the Clash’s Guns of Brixton. 

Review by Paul M
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Since their first appearance on the circuit, The Vines have been heralded as the next big thing by virtually everyone in the media as the band most likely to pick up the baton where Nirvana left off. The pieces all seem to be in the right place: a singer with a belly full of angst and a penchant for guitar slinging acrobatics, and a catalogue of songs that vary from full on rock and roll to introverted self loathing. However, and brace yourself here, they ain't as good live as some people would have you believe.

To call them emperor’s new clothes would be unfair, but there is a hint of don't believe the hype about Mr. Nicholls happy band of minstrels. The album ‘Highly Evolved’ is a fine body of work, and when it comes to the end of season SoundsXP awards ceremony it's sure to feature in more than one best of year selection, but in many respects it doesn't come across live where five songs in they've already done their best tunes and you get the feeling (which later becomes blatantly obvious) that they've shot their bolt a little too early

Opening with Highly Evolved, the crowd’s already heightened expectancy is unleashed in a frenzy of moshing that makes you think Jesus, this is going to be a cheeky gig. Outtatheway continues the frantic pace, and Get Free takes it all to another level where you think this could just be the best damn band in the world today. This was a short-lived feeling though, as all of a sudden the brakes get slammed on with both feet..From this point it all becomes a downward spiral of overly dramatised posing and preening, with little to get the pulse racing or the crowd howling along. Mary Jane is possibly the exception to the rule, whereas the now overly played cover of Outkast’s Miss Jackson, which once sounded fresh and interesting, comes across as a dirge that just goes on for too long. 35 minutes in and I'm looking at the faces of the other members of the audience and the majority of expressions I see are boredom.

In Nicholls, The Vines have a front man who has all the apparent personality of Cobain, but you just get the feeling that it's all a bit of a front in reality. He makes little eye contact with the audience, and prefers to hide behind his fringe or look either at the lighting rig or the stage monitors rather than in the faces of his adoring public. With a band behind him that has about as much stage dynamics as the mannequins in Top Shop’s window it doesn't help to get the shared emotional experience of a live performance across. Make no mistake this is his band, and without him they wouldn't have achieved the levels of critical acclaim they have up to now.

Now don't take this review as being bad.  But the hype and media coverage has been so great that they are almost being set up for a fall.  Judging by tonight’s performance it’s only a matter of time.  There is no doubt in my mind that The Vines are a hell of a good band. They look "gigged out" now, and need to take time out to re-group, get grounded and work on new material. They will be back, bigger and better than they are now, and when that happens I for one will be at the front of the queue for a ticket.

Review by Micky C

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Darlings of the NME, and most of the other guys on this site, The Libertines are one of the most happening bands around right now.  And do we really need another Libertines review?  Well yes, just to balance things up a bit if nothing else.  The band has some great songs, look cool, and were good, but that’s it.  Maybe it was the venue, maybe it was an off night, I dunno, but there was no sign of ‘the best live band currently doing the circuit’.  Still, with a blend of early Jam, some Buzz-cockiness, flashes of older bands like The Who and The Kinks, as well as those other darlings The Strokes, they played an entertaining enough set of powerpop punk.  Highlights were the shambolic Horrorshow and the wonderful single Up The Bracket.

Tonight saw the Empire turned into one big Supergrass party; the place was packed to the rafters.  After losing their way with their third album they recently bounced back with ‘Life On Other Planets’, an instant classic brimming with great songs.  As per the album they open with Za; great keyboard intro, then piano and drums reminiscent of Chas ‘n’ Dave, before launching into the song proper, Gaz Coombes doing his best Marc Bolan.  When he sings ‘get it on’ you can’t help but think ‘bang a gong’.  They breeze through Rush Hour Soul with it’s moments of Crosstown Traffic, the very T Rex Seen The Light, and the fantastic, skanking Brecon Beacons.  Gaz and Mick swap guitar and bass, and Mick takes over vocals for Evening Of The Day, a lightweight, throwaway, but darn catchy pop song.  Then the stage goes black and the band disappears.  Problems?  A camera at the front of the stage came on, filming the audience, and who was that standing at the barriers watching the stage?  Gaz and co, the cheeky buggers! 

The rest of the set included yet more of the new album including the fantastic single Grace, and LA Song, which sounds a bit like The Jam with Stranglers keyboards and West Coast harmonies in the chorus.  Of course there were old classics in there too; In It For The Money, a heavy Richard III, Mansize Rooster, the Rebel, Rebel-esque Pumping On Your Stereo, the punky Caught By The Fuzz and a cover of Neil Young’s The Loner.  Supergrass are one of those bands that always seem to be around, but now they have a new-found vitality and direction.  Let’s just hope the renaissance continues as next year sees them taking to the bigger venues, including Wembley Arena.  Tonight was a brilliantly entertaining, crowd-pleasing show and quite possibly my gig of the year.                 

Review by Graham S
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Yes, we’ve seen The Libertines before.  And we’ll see them again.  Why? Because some of us believe that they are simply the best band performing live at the moment. (And, as David Brent would say) Fact. Possibly.  Just four guys, some leather jackets and jeans, two artful dodgers scratching guitars and sharing vocal duties (as well as microphones), and solid bass and drums, producing songs of energy and immediacy that press-gang your attention. 

But in the large auditorium of the Academy The Libertines seem a little dwarfed, occupying only the centre space of the stage.  And if they seem initially a bit static they are certainly not awed – rather they look like a gang huddled together against an unfamiliar crowd, having a go.  And have a go they do, belting straight into Horrorshow with its amphetamine rhythm and retching chorus; speeding through the current top single Up the Bracket and debut What A Waster with barely a breath; spitting out the one-minute ejaculation of Mayday (“First you put the tongue in/Then you put the boot in/Yeah Yeah/Oh Yeah”); the stuttering Time for Heroes (the next single); slowing down with a less frenetic than usual Death on the Stairs; an excellent slow-stop-speed up- of the tongue-in-cheek Boys in the Band, and – summoning energy for the finale - a frenetic I Get Along and the exhausted cathartic up yours verbal v-sign of “I get along/Just singing my song/People tell me I’m wrong…Fuck ‘em”.  Engaging stuff.   In spite of looking a little out of their environment of smaller venues The Libertines have once again shown how great a rock gig can be – energetic, fun,  wasted. How can the old guard (eg Mozz) compete?  Do they feel the soil-ed sheets falling over their heads?

Set List: Horrorshow / Up The Bracket / Vertigo / What A Waster / Mayday / Time for Heroes / Death on the Stairs / Boys in the Band / I Get Along

Review by Kevin O 

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Morrissey  strolled onto the stage like a gunslinger and then he let all of us there have it with both barrels blazing.  Now a true master of his craft, taunting and then teasing with his harder and grittier vocal range. Supported by his gang of glass collectors, a strong and tight unit who gave a colourful backdrop to Mozzer’s tales of hope, love and pain, he began with a searing version of I Want The One I Can’t Have and am sure half the crowd could have gone home there and then happy with every yelp and growl in his vocal.  He had us in the palm of his hand, but he wouldn’t let go and pulled us along with him through Suedehead, Little Man, What Now?, Hairdresser on Fire, and Speedway.  He even had time to stop and demand the head of Elton John before launching into a new offering The World is Full of Crashing Bores – point delivered and point taken on those who play safe for the sake of their music careers.  Morrissey has never played it safe, always asking questions and raising doubt. And he isn’t even on a record label at present…How is that possible? In today’s music world full of pop rivals, pop idols and copycat bands we need a Morrissey more than ever. 

And there was more. His version of Meat is Murder was powerful, November Spawned a Monster was awesome (who else would touch on these two subjects?), and Hand in Glove was superlative enough to make an old Smiths’ fan cry.  And finally, before the lights went out for the night, he encored with a perfect There Is A Light That Never Goes Out.  Then the band took a bow and it was over, and it dawned on me Morrissey is one whose like we’ll never see again.  We should embrace him and his work now…after all he’s been asking us for long enough! 

Set List : I Want The One I Can't Have / Suedehead / Little Man, What Now? / Hairdresser On Fire / Speedway / The World Is Full Of Crashing Bores / The First Of The Gang To Die / Jack The Ripper / Everyday Is Like Sunday / I Like You / Alsatian Cousin / Sister I'm A Poet / Meat Is Murder / November Spawned A Monster / Hand In Glove / Irish Blood, English Heart // There Is A Light That Never Goes Out.

Review by John

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Homescience have just produced the wonderful Songs for Sick Days [see album reviews] and songs from album fill about half the set tonight. Which just goes to show how many arrows they have in their musical quiver.  Americana is a clear influence and we cast about for reference points (Mercury Rev, Flaming Lips, Sparklehorse, Neil Young) because it makes it easier for hacks and readers alike – but this is in no way meant to belittle the heartfelt melodies that Homescience conjur up with such perfection.  Live, songs can be spare/bare country-tinged rock, slow and smouldering, with some 60’s candy keyboards thrown in for good measure, and Homescience can sound more like Teenage Fanclub (to whom they have been compared in some quarters) at their countryrock-pop best, and the adenoidal vocal compares favourably to the likes of Mark Linkous or Neil Young.   But enough of that.  The songs themselves are wonderful sonic snapshots of sadness and on (album) tracks like Houseplants, Howard Hughes, Please Let Me Down, M…artin and the closing Volcanoes Homescience produce moods of warmth and tenderness.  A band more to watch/listen, nod and chin stroke to rather than to shake your thang.  But who’d want to do something like that anyway?  Let’s go sick.

Set list: small music / mother superior teardrop factory / blueprints / cat’s eyes / houseplants / howard hughes / please let me down / ghosts / m…artin / and the year / volcanoes

Review by Kevin O
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The Great Lakes were born in Athens, Georgia, famously home of REM but though still together as a group they don’t share the same place of residence anymore making songwriting difficult and gigs a rarity.  Indeed this is their first live appearance for a year but the rustiness doesn’t really show as they perform a strong set of 60s psychedelia-tinged pop.  They swap instruments amongst themselves like kids swapping Pokemon cards but the main feature is the Doors-ish keyboards; smooth, loud and grand.  Whilst this isn’t really music for moshing, the audience show their contentment with appreciative nods but the biggest head jerks go to the New York Dolls glam punk of Queen of the Evening and the finale where they do an encore of Conquistadors at the insistence of Apples in Stereo frontman Rob Schneider, who applauds wildly at the front.  He wasn’t the only one to enjoy the performance.

Set list: Sister City, Touched, Become the Ship, Queen of the Evening, Storming, Young Afternoon, Tried to make it, Horses, Sheep, Conquistadors.

Review by Paul M
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The new Apples in Stereo album ‘Velocity of Sound’ is their best yet, uniting the power of straight-talking punk rock with the honeyed melodies of 60s power pop in a mini-nuke explosion of pop power.  “Tonight, Matthew, I’m going to be Brian Wilson in torn jeans” says Robert Schneider in his Ramones t-shirt as the band play Monkees-pop fast ‘n’ loud and conclude with a blistering version of Heroes and Villains that seems to perfectly sum up what they do and who they are. 

To get there we first have to negotiate half a dozen songs, like Mystery, where the sound’s so thick it’s like drowning in molasses.  Maybe it’s the newly rented equipment (it’s the first night of the European tour) or maybe the sound crew’s at fault but the effect is to lose most of Bobby S’s vocals in the mix and to only hint at the brilliance of the songs.  Things get better with Better Days, all sugary hooks, and the spiky pop of Please.  As a side order, they serve up Beatle-y psych before powering off ahead for that H&V conclusion.  Schneider tells us over and over how much he’s enjoying the night and guitarist John Hill wears his customary grin, as if he’s just realised for the first time (again) that he’s getting paid for playing a guitar.  And if they’re having fun on stage, imagine what it’s like for the (large) audience hearing this new but classic pop.  As the tour progresses, the sound’s bound to get better but they’re already playing brilliantly as a result of their extensive recent US tour with Clinic.  My biggest criticism of the night: they’re only playing one gig in England (and that was it!).  

Reviewed by Ged M
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Once upon time four mates from Deptford decided to form a band.  The result was Athlete.  Part Dodgy, part SFA, part Beta Band and part Coldplay (but jollier than the real thing) they play amiable enough summery pop rock with some soulful harmonies and keyboards.  They’re as cutting edge as a blancmange breadknife but they entertain in an undemanding way.  Highlight was the new single Beautiful which we were told was at number 41.  ‘Buy some more copies and get us to number 39’ they asked us.  New album and tour due in February.

Take two precociously talented teenage brothers who play more instruments between the pair of ‘em than Slipknot can manage with 9, add in Britpop influences from the likes of Blur, Pulp, Oasis and co., a dash of Idlewild, a bit of Grandaddy (very Crystal Lake keyboards in Biting The Soles Of My Feet), et voila, The Electric Soft Parade.  With a Mercury-nominated debut album under their belts the world should be their oyster, yet the gig wasn’t sold out (though pretty close), the usual collection of touts were conspicuously absent and even the bootleg t-shirt guys were missing.  Maybe the ESP buzz isn’t spreading as fast as it should be; maybe people think they’ve been over-hyped.  Well, lets put that right shall we? 

Previous reviews of these guys have commented on their lack of confidence on stage (is it any wonder when you’re so young and being hailed as saviours of British music?), but tonight there were no such problems.  It takes a confident band to begin not with a single, not with a classic, but with a faithful rendition of Always On My Mind.  Most bands these days don’t go in for much in the way of banter but Alex White was in chatty mode.  The band is a four piece live with Alex starting off on guitar while his kid brother bashes the drums.  During the gig they swap over a few times, showing off their virtuosity.  They played half the album including Biting…, Empty At The End, There’s A Silence and Start Again; alas This Given Line was absent.  There was a smattering of new songs in there which held up pretty well, though Hit The Ground Running with numerous tempo changes is a bit of a diamond in the rough at the moment.  They encored with b-side  Broadcast and the catchy Silent To The Dark.  An impressive show from two very talented musicians.  Dad, who was in the audience, must have been dead proud.

Review by Graham S

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Some hack has opined that the difference between success and failure is the definitive article.  The Strokes, the Hives, The Black Rebel Motorcycle Club – all they needed was that “The”.  Sadly, Athlete don’t disprove the theory.  ‘The Athletes’ might have built an exciting live show on those poppy, infectious singles but Athlete sound like the worst of Dodgy and Coldplay, dull and overemoting.  The highlights are You Got the Style, reinforced by the Polyphonic Spree’s brass section, and the exciting theramin effects but otherwise Athlete pull a hamstring on the warm-up lap.

The Polyphonic Spree are a rock band.  True, they’ve got a choir.  And a harpist.  Not to mention they dress like druids.  But despite all the extra trappings, they’re just a band, admittedly one with a unique selling point, influenced by everyone from Pixies to the Fifth Dimension. Tim De Laughter leads that band, singing, dancing like a badly coordinated Baloo and conducting his bandmates and the audience too.  Like someone who knows when he’s caught a winning streak, he grins a mile wide smile. 

He has lots to smile about.  The French Horn player impersonates a whirling dervish and the songs are so good that they perform the entire album, in order (bar the filler instrumentals).  Holiday warms things up perfectly and only a curmudgeon could fail to share the smiles on the faces on stage which, for a gig, are unusually well lit. Pretty soon, the stage is swaying like a field of sunflowers.  There’s no suggestion of sobriety, even on moodier songs like Days Like These.   Stage and audience both erupt as they play Hanging Around, which segues into Soldier Girl.  For these, Jarvis Cocker and Steve Mackey from Pulp join the choir.  Jarvis, typically English, looks hot and uncomfortable on stage, but the songs are rapturously received. 

The downside of playing songs in order means that the high point is passed early in the set.  The remainder, B-sides and new tunes, are more of a mixture.  One song even sounds like a David Essex number covered by Madness.  Others are multi part numbers with numerous false endings.  It’s still a ramalama spectacle though, punctuated only by a harp solo for Tim’s departed Tripping Daisy comrade Wes Berggren and it finishes with their operatic version of Bowie’s Five Years.  It’s a great finale to a ninety minute show.  How long they can keep it up, I don’t know because you only get away with a harp solo once and nothing in the second half of the set matches the majesty of Soldier Girl.  Yet on the night, it’s the most uplifting show in town. 

Reviewed by Ged M
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Melaton are, like the headliners, from Dublin.  Youthful and talented, they play spirited, emotional, melodic rock, and have supported the likes of Ian Brown and Gomez.  They have a great frontman in the shape of guitarist/singer Luke Slott, who has a powerful voice with more than a hint of James Walsh.  He’s also an amiable bloke, bombarding the audience with stickers to send off for their free EP.  If you check out www.melatonmusic.com you can register for one too, but persevere, you may have to try a few times as the form is dodgy.

A fan of their eponymous debut album, I was beginning to worry that JJ72 had disappeared off the face of the planet, when lo, they returned with an accomplished new album and tour.  The hiatus has done them the world of good; they’ve emerged more creative and super-confident.  Mark Greaney may be called by some arrogant and petulant, and maybe he is, but he’s also passionate about his music and turning into something of a guitar god.  And Hilary Woods (bassist) just exudes cool.  Augmented by a second guitarist/keyboard player they opened with October Swimmer from their debut album, with Greaney yelling the line ‘I want to be a happy boy’.  But unsurprisingly most of the set was drawn from the excellent ‘I To Sky’, from the disco-y City to a bone-crushingly heavy Serpent Sky with Greaney jerking about like a demented puppet, via the catchy pop of Formulae and Always And Forever.  Sinking (‘And you sink further into yourself, and you think only of yourself’) was played to an apt backdrop of Caspar Friedrich’s Wanderer Above The Sea Of Fog (the painting of the solitary guy standing on rocks looking out into the distance – see, we’ve got class on this site).  The singles Snow and Oxygen went down a treat and Algeria got a rapturous reception.  Improv gave Greaney the chance to perform solo with acoustic guitar, which he kept when the band rejoined him for the haunting ballad Brother Sleep.  A cover of Chris Isaak’s Wicked Game during the encore didn’t feel at all out of place.

A nifty light show added to the spectacle, with Greaney nearly always spot-lit.  The gig ended with him collapsing off the drum riser onto the stage cradling his guitar, like he’d given his all.  Somewhat pretentious and self-important I’ll grant you, but after a show like that, who cares?  Great stuff.

Review by Graham S
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On a night for impressing the people with record deals to offer, openers Audiobalm put forward a good line in early 70s folk-rock psychedelic belters. The singer has a genuinely big voice to go with her big Janis Joplin hair – and the songs were fine if you like that sort of thing. 

Much more to my taste were the Revenge, who overcame seriously dodgy sound and collapsing instruments to liven up proceedings and give the lie to the Riot Grrrl tag that inevitably gets stuck on any punk-edged all-girl group.  They’re far too much fun for that.  Appearing to take a cue from early Nirvana, they managed to squeeze enough catchy 3-minute punk pop tunes about topics such as “boys in Camden” (which appeared somehow to avoid using the adjective “smelly”) into a truncated set to suggest that they’ll be well worth catching when things are going right. 

Finally, for those who like their indie-rock a bit X-FM slicker, Little White Lie also did enough in marrying rough-around-the-edges U2 sound to their budding indie siren vocalist’s breathy warble to suggest that  they might just persuade a few thousand impressionable young people to fall in love with them.

Review by Matt H

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