This evening was brought to us courtesy of MySpace.
You ask THE ANSWERING MACHINE, a late and lightweight replacement for the rather more tempestuous sounding Rumble Strips (who could not make it from Devon via Massachusetts in time for this evening’s gig). Problems with their obstinate ‘virtual drummer’ and endearing nerves were not the shambolic sum total of their stop-start set however. With the guys struggling for space and shouting “Oh Jesus, the drum machine is off on one again”, it was easily possible to miss the poppy indie tunes that came with them. Best of the bunch was ‘Answer Me’, that ironically was one of the glitch-ridden songs; it sounded like a Heavenly records release, which I hope they recognise as a compliment.
4ft SOLDIERS played to their role as support band eternal, their thumping set peppered with rock clichés and pauses for effect. Their drawn-out sonic assault tactics were thus: Singer grips and postures his way through an air-guitar routine driven by need, or holds the mic stand at either end. “Sex” he cries before the band launch into ‘Get Laid’.
So how does one describe a big ol’ tired cliché without resorting to one? By stressing the energy involved, presumably, and the 4ft. Soldiers are not short of that. It’s no wonder their music is tired, poor things.
Night and Day’s low key feel makes use of ambient lighting to make sparse crowds irrelevant, and when it’s rammed it feels like a true Event. There was always going be a big enough student presence in town to check GOOD SHOES out, and so it proved, with those older (and if not wiser then at least able to remember) looking on in bemused mock-horror as the kids lapped up every note of this.
It was like battle re-enactment, such was the attention to detail, but in fairness, they are extremely good at what they do. Yes, this is retro (those trainers and tracksuit tops, fergawdsake!) but the extra guitar takes some of the edge and speed away from the resulting skank, which recaptures the disaffection and volatile nature of the late seventies/early eighties with no need for the kind of specific band referencing that alright, they may well have brought crashing down upon themselves.
|
'Fun Times’ and ‘Blue eyes’ sound watertight, and the lead guitar work is stunning, it’s all superbly at odds with the lazy-assed vocal delivery: ‘We Are Not The Same’ is a terrace chant of a tune that sees fists punching the sky during the enraptured singalong.
They look through screwed up eyes with embittered hearts, and are not the first South London dizzy rascals to do so. The tower blocks on their manor afford an uninterrupted view of the City that prospers across the river, and the p*ss-stinking lifts, when working, can take you 14-16 floors up above the grey streets. From up there, the difference between the haves and have-nots is never clearer.
While we’re on the subject, the view’s much the same now as it was then, so why should the music sound any different? From an omnipotent viewpoint tonight (I gained this by sitting on top of an old piano) there is perhaps a justifiable argument that they have it right, but then if they also have an uninterrupted view of the big picture, they can presumably stop taking the ‘No Future’ ethic so literally and identify what is on the other side of those barriers and boundaries we are so keen to see destroyed under the weight of pop’s assault.
But we don’t wanna hear that now, do we?
|
