Having taken their name from a couple of Nick Drake’s more upbeat numbers, I fully expected THE HAZEY JANES to be a bunch of 30-something music bores much like myself. But no! They are, in fact, extremely youthful, good-looking, vibrant and (insert your own jealousy-inducing adjective here). Lead singer Andrew Mitchell is a dead ringer for Ocean Rain-era Ian McCulloch, while heavily fringed acoustic guitarist Alice Marra looks like she just stepped out of a French New Wave film. Cool. They make a great noise too – melodic country-tinged guitar pop redolent of illustrious Caledonian forebears Teenage Fanclub, BMX Bandits, Eugenius et al. And they have a singing drummer, who is thankfully more Levon Helm than Phil Collins.
Mitchell and Marra are also talented vocalists, indeed The Hazey Janes make beautiful harmonies appear effortless, like the mutant offspring of Crosby Stills and Nash.
While the music is gorgeous, the lyrical content is often bleak. Written by a late friend, their final number concerns a life of building site labour and cheap speed, a million miles away from the west coast sunshine evoked by its sonics.
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On a lighter note, it’s Andrew Mitchell’s birthday at midnight and there are shameless requests for sambouka and CD purchases. The night ends with a touching display of band harmony, as The Hazey Janes strut their collective stuff to the strains of ‘The boys are back in town’, clearing the dance floor in the process.
Jo Whiley is a big fan apparently, but a young band can’t have everything. Still, the shoeless poseur’s patronage didn’t do the Darkness any harm. Just don’t let her do the voiceover for your ad.
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