The last time your reviewer caught hotly-tipped London quintet THE DUKE SPIRIT at this very venue, he came away just ever so slightly disappointed. Yes, most of the ingredients were in place, from foxy singer Liela Moss's confident posing through to the band's venomous wall of sound, but somehow there was something lacking. Possibly it was her cohorts' identikit indie lack of presence, but more likely - for all the bluster - it was simply the glaring lack of memorable tunes. Your correspondent left the club thinking "hmm...let's give them six months" or words to that effect.
Those six months ended up a pregnant nine-month pause, during which time the Dukes continued to woo your reviewer with a fine string of fierce, riff-heavy singles and finally birthed their debut album "Cuts Across The Land": an impressive slab of Sonic Youth meets Mary Chain grace and danger that's shaping up as one of the best new calling cards of 2005.
That it's arrival has instilled a poise and confidence in the band is evident from the off tonight, too. Straight away, Liela is basking in the attention, and coaxing the strangely timid crowd to the front while the band lock hard into the manic psychosis of "To Win Your Love". It ends with Liela obsessively squealing "I feast on those eyes and I feast on those bones" while the band surf swathes of glorious noise and by the time it winds down capitulation is clearly the only option.
Not that there's ever been any doubt Liela Moss is a star. The last time she was here, she was on intimate terms with her mic stand within two tunes, and it's impossible to take your eyes off her tonight, as she pouts, shakes the most 'come hither' tambourine imaginable and makes curious, ethereal, Kate Bush-style figures with her fingers. To say she's The Duke Spirit's focal point is something of an understatement, but when she backs it up with compulsive/ obsessive throaty vocals on songs like "Bottom Of The Sea" and the classic, brooding single "Cuts Across The Land", she has the gutsy panache of early PJ Harvey and proves she's far better than just simply this season's indie pin-up material.
Happily, her spunky attitude seems to have affected a stage-wise revolution with the rest of the group, too. While they made an agreeable enough racket the last time out, the boys in the band were pretty static and reserved for the most part. This time, though, they are happier to indulge a little, which only helps stoke a fire in the music throughout. Guitarist Dan Higgins (who resembles a young Hugh Cornwell the more I see of him) is already visibly twitching when the band go ram-raiding in the speeding hotrod that is "Fades The Sun", but by the time they wire into an epic "Red Weather", lanky bassist Toby Butler is giving it loads of Paul Simonon, Higgins is feeding off volts of feedback lightning and even nonchalent second guitarist Luke Ford has leapt off the stage to face the band. OK, it's hardly Peter Doherty swandiving into the first few rows at the Rhythm Factory or whatever, but it's a good start.
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Even better is the way they've begun to complement each other's playing in an intuitive way that's essential in all the best bands . Sure when they rock, like on the debauched voodoo-savvy of "Love Is An Unfamiliar Name" or the snarly, vicious "Lion Rip", they dispatch their songs with a savage intensity, but it's often when they slow it down and get all opiated and dreamy on our ass that they really score. To this end, witness the dark, militant swagger of the quasi-psychedelic "Lovetones" and the swampy delights of "Bottom Of The Sea" where Ford's vibrato Telecaster works beautifully with Higgins's fork-tongued slide and Butler and drummer Olly Betts keeping the rhythms deliciously ominous.
They finish up a generous, hour-plus set with the sawn-off punk barrage and rhythmic wrong-footing of "Stubborn Stitches". It seems to shoot by in a flash, but rises to a stunning climax with the band drawing on their last reserves of power as Liela feistily clings to the kiss-off line "This love we're in, it makes everything." It's an obsessive and celebratory way to sign off and somehow encapsulates the devotion this band are starting to command.
In a world of third rate urchin rockers and foppish synth poppers,The Duke Spirit are a rich and dark updating of the best old skool indie guitar moves and - now they've grown into themselves - are a fine reminder why we always need to look beyond what's hot this week. It's always the dark horses that run the distance, isn't it?
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