This page is a running tally of all the concerts I've been to - half to inform you as to who's great, mediocre, or shitty live, and half to remind me where I've been (you know how the mind starts to go...). So enjoy!
This installment of the PlayLouder Singles Club was supposed to begin with Leon, but due to a broken arm in the midst of Small Victories, the order was reversed and the main man in SV opened with an acoustic set on his own. Looking rather small and lonely on his own, he lacked in confidence but the songs were more than enough to overcome any stage jitters. Confidence, however, is something Leon should reconsider. A band that band should have nothing to smile and swagger about, and in fact, should take note when their audience leaves in droves. Thankfully, everyone returned (with friends!) in time for Chungking, who sounded all the better for the precedent. "We Travel Fast" is no stinker, but the songs really find their strength when Jessie has an audience in the palm of her hand. Coy looks, batted eyelashes, and that sweet smirk, and you see the front row melt nto hero(ine) worship in two seconds flat. Even album tracks sound like greatest hits tonight, ensuring they will be going places. Fast.
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This was the official launch party for the flithiest woman (not just in rock, but, umm, EVER!)'s second album, Fatherfucker. Beforehand, there were whispers that she couldn't come close to the vigor of the Teaches of Peaches and that she was going the way of the Electroclash scene she was grouped into, so everyone inside Heaven's vaults was rather tentative to see if she could pull it off.
And could she HELL. I'm always a sucker for costume changes, and Peaches went through more leingerie than Agent Provacateur, stradled the balcony railng with her knee-high white stiletto boots, jumped through the crowd, mocked fellatio with bananas (and audience members!), and allowed herself to be tied up (and down) by her lovely assistants. I'd call it a spectacular comeback, but to be honest, she never really went away.
This was my third time seeing Patrick Wolf (I think he's only played live about ten times total), and it was head and shoulders above the other two (also very good) performances. He had an additional violinist this time (from a real orchestra, and everything!), which helped considering there were technical problems from the start, meaning the acoustic numbers were all played at the beginning of the set, with the electronic stuff later. I think the rearrangement of the setlist really helped, as I got frustrated the other times hearing "Bloodbeat" too early when we were all just warming up! We were also graced with a new song, "Beastiality", which sounded as good as anything off his Lycanthropy album, and indeed about the animal in him and not, er, him in an animal as you'd think from the title! Overall, though, this was an outstanding, magical performance, and Patrick has really gained a mountain's worth of confidence in a short amount of time.
This was my second time seeing Franz Ferdinand, which is also impressive, since they've only released one single so far, and even more impressive that they sold out the ICA on the strength of that one single. They continue to amaze me with their rock/dance/art/Radio 4/Interpol material, and I love that people are finally making guitar music that is acceptable to dance too, nevermind the beard-stroking set! The 50s holiday-maker backdrops were incredible, as wll, if a bit too good - I found myself mesmerised by a synchronised piano act on the screen and have no recollection of the song played at the same time! They saved "Darts Of Pleasure" until the end, but coupled against the rest of the material, it didn't feel like the big single at all, but more a part of their plan all along.
This was one of the most poorly organized events I've ever been to. Ever.
I was on the list with the intent to see & support Eighties Matchbox, whose stage time I spent waiting in the queue outside alongside people who'd paid £60 each for "VIP tickets", which apparently earned them the right to stand in the cold for 90 minutes and get shouted at by the police. The security guards ended up giving out so much conflicting advice that the London crowd abandoned all regard for a queuing system and started a scrum sysem instead. My friend and I were handed some pink tickets by others in the queue with the message that "they're only letting in people with these". Some guards then shouted that they were at capacity and the guest list was closed (even though, once we got inside, there was enough room for a football match, and other friends got in three hours later on the guestlist). We eventually pulled our way up and got in off the pink tickets, and stepped inside, waiting to be wowed by the extravagance of fire & ice & tropical sets promised to us...
...and found a room with a few beach huts selling drink tokens (which, when you worked out the maths, meant you were spending £5 a drink, double West End prices). A warehouse room in the back had a half dozen people twitching to some of the worst techno I've heard in a long time, so we squashed into the tiniest room where the bands were playing, set to a backdrop of psuedo-antique paintings (the only genuinely cool thing all night), and a thousand of the most vile people I've ever shared a dancefloor with. This is the Return To New YOrk crowd, mated with themselves for several generation for maximum potency. We caught the last song of Supergrass, waiting through a contortionist act, and finally saw Electric Six, who did their best with a dead audience waiting for Gay Bar before running to the toilets, and the only pyrotechnics of the evening - a few limp fireworks on the side. By the time Har Mar came on I was hallucinating from lack of sleep and a full day of drinking, and left after about two songs, but it wasn't looking very pretty at that point.
Overall, it was a shitty, shitty event, and I advise to you never believe their promises of Hollywood extravagance, and above all, do not waste £60 on a "VIP ticket".
I arrived a bit late, and only caught the last song of Transposer - the crazy loud Welsh band who claim the ex-drummer from Mblusky amoung their ranks. Good thing The Rock of Travolta were on next to follow up with a nearly-unclassifiable sound - guitars so complex there's hardly any need for vocals through most songs, making a sound that truly defeats comparisons. I enjoyed themimmensly, but most people at the gig were there to see the lovely winsome melodies of Keane, and so The Travolta got less respect than they heartily deserved.
So, onto Keane - having only released one single through a tiny indie label, they've managed to fill the Barfly to positively STUFFED over-capacity. Unlike the two earlier bands, they thrive on their having no guitars whatsoever, opting instead for a coldplay-like piano tenderness. Vocally, they sound a lot like Fran Healy, but it's the songwriters that'll make those back-of-neck hairs stand on end. Every song is a radio hit, and those who've discovered them already have latched onto them with a slavish devotion, impressively singing along to every word. Keane will be huge, and you've heard it here first.
I love The Webb Brothers. I've seen them twice before and interviewed them back when I was in college radio, and each of their albums I hold close to my heart. They've added their younger brother, James, to the group since I've seen them last, letting him take over the vocal duties on gems like "I've Been Waiting" and generally giving a bit more bouncing youthful energy to their live show. Shame the audience couldn't quite get the same enthusiasm - all but three songs were from their yet-to-be-released new album, meaning the fans were all hearing brand new material.
My love for ok go, on the other hand, is a selfish sort of love. I don't think their album is very good, but I enjoy it immensely in a guilty sort of way. I didn't admit to too many people that I was even staying after The Webbs - buuuut, ok go were actually very good live, mixing their formulaic numbers with antecdotes and onstage shenanigans, and making me eat my words, really. The highlight of the set, though, was a fully choreographed boy band dance to "Cinnamon Lips" that made my face hurt. The admission would've been worthwhile if the set had only consisted of this, and it makes me think they should join the circus and do the dance EVERY SINGLE DAY for my amusement.