After the late morning efforts of the Islington show, the Shepherd's Bush Empire provides not only air conditioned luxury, but arguably one of the best bands to grace any stage of this year in EDITORS.
Sometimes a band struggles when they make the inevitable step up in venue, especially after a media frenzy, so despite smaller shows undoubtedly proving just how endearing a band they are, Shepherds Bush Empire might have posed a problem for Editors. How can I doubt a band like this? Flitting between the rhythms of New Order, the iridescent melodies of Interpol and a Joy Division under current they have the ability to switch from the danceable to the brooding and tonight show just how easy it is to adapt.
Opening with ‘Bullets’, arguably their best known song, could be deemed brave or suicidal, whatever it was it captured everyone from the opening chords. Front man Tom Smith carries all the overwhelmed charm he’s always radiated and despite a continued lack of audience interaction, when he does speak it’s just humble.
Editors have something beautifully understated about them. Each member is content to remain withdrawn in their own domain offering an almost modest stage presence. Bassist Russell Leetch has the poise and persona of a stone faced doorman than that of a potential star, whilst Smith continually fights a nervous battle to control himself. With the ability to harness a spiralling chorus with effortless poignancy, it’s in songs like ‘Blood’ and recent single ‘Munich’ that you’ll be able to appreciate the understated majesty of Editors and love them for the flawless band they are.
About as polar opposite as you can get in both style and substance from Editors, THE SUBWAYS offer something familiarly different. Ah too be young, in love, rock and cover stars and probably the next focal point of a Levi’s or Calvin Klein advertising drive. Who else could I be talking about other than the hopelessly adorable Subways. Shifting through Foo Fighters chord structures, A choruses and healthy blasts of raucous punk rock n roll, they’re the band with the fizzing riffs and bubblegum likeability, duly pointed out by Billy Lunn as he informs us ‘Rock n roll queen’ can now be seen on The Box.
Already able to boast the kind of infectious 3 minute rock jaunts not seen since The Stones, The Subways rifle through a searing ‘1am’, ‘Rock n roll queen’ and ‘Oh yeah’ before you’ve even blinked. The ferocious pummel of sticksman Josh Morgan compliment the raw guitar and even rawer vocals of Billy as Mary Charlotte-Cooper struts her stuff with riot grrl chic. Throw in the boy girl vocals and here we have a marketing man’s dream, not that I’m jealous or anything.
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Still when you spot the bespectacled balding 40 year old jumping like a frenzied Japanese schoolgirl and mouthing every word with schoolboy lust, you kind of get the feeling to take The Subways at face value. Still it’s understandable with Mary C providing the sort of eye candy usually reserved for a Hollyoaks audition, but it is what it is: pure adrenalin rock n roll, something EMBRACE seem to have forgotten.
Remember the Good will out? Good, hold that thought. The resurgence of Embrace might have come as a surprise to a lot of people, but who could begrudge the band who spawned many an anthem. Turns out not many. Cue an almost messiah-like return and ‘Gravity’ with a co-writing credit by the golden boy of the indie scene and it looks like we have a winner. Shame really because it just isn’t the case.
From the moment the McNamara’s and Co. set foot on the stage it feels more gospel than gig and more false dawn than spiritual homecoming, arms aloft Danny takes on the guise of one a smug preacher bastard as he wallows in the obvious build up’s and lazy ballads. Whatever happened to the anthemic northern soul numbers, the towering chorus and the swagger? Fucking evolution.
‘Good Good People’ still rings out with glorious sentiment and we’re even privy to an airing of ‘Last Gas‘ for the first time in years, but it doesn’t mask the fact they’re happily strolling down the Keane, and just as unfortunate, the Idlewild route. They were once the kings of the drunken sing along yet the only warm feeling now is one of when you drunkenly and embarrassingly, piss yourself. Perhaps it’s too much to expect history repeating, but we don’t need another flaccid, toothless estate agent favourite, do we?!
Or perhaps I’m just not as well adjusted as I should be.
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