Tonight saw the launch of the self-titled debut album from Manchester-based maestros THE WHISKYCATS. Recorded in The Charlatans’ studio, and produced by Jim Spencer (who has previously worked with Burgess & co., as well as New Order, Black Grape & Johnny Marr), the release announces the ‘arrival’ of one of the most exciting and original live acts on the current circuit.
They’re a talented lot – multi instrumentalists, the lot of ‘em, and their unconventional but compulsive blend of jazz, funk, soul, latino and hip-hop has already seen them fill much bigger venues than the Roadhouse, so it’s a wonder I managed to get in at all. Having lost track of the time, it’s after ten when I finally arrive at the entrance, where I find confusion reigning supreme. My own hectic efforts to get down there for the start of the show meant another ten minutes bouncing about outside to see if my pals were amongst the ever-growing crowd locked out of the heaving club.
Thankfully, my loose grasp of time is something shared by many jazz musicians, so I was delighted to find that the stage times had been massively delayed. Furthermore, I discovered that my timing was so bad that it had a sense of ironic perfection about it. Though I was two hours late for my arranged rendezvous with the photographer, I somehow managed to cheat death by severe beating (– fifteen minutes earlier and I’d have been slaughtered on the spot, and this account written by someone else in my blood!)
Thankfully, looks can’t kill – in fact, there was barely time for profanities before a huge cheer went up and the moment was lost amidst the surge of bodies that followed.
The Whiskycats played two sets to a (mostly) stinking drunk but extremely good-natured audience. From the beginning, their eccentric fusion raised the feelgood factor with consummate ease. The unmistakable high havoc behaviour of final year students might have turned the album party into a spectacular double celebration, but with a sound like this any inhibitions were always going to evaporate quickly.
Opening with a chiming blend of cooking jazz and choppy barre chord funk (‘Boring Job’ and ‘Steady Freeloader’), the 5-piece wasted no time in getting feet moving.
They took their feet off the gas but continued to cook with ‘I’m Coming Down’ - the big blaring brass sound trumpet-led and laced with the sound of crashing cymbals. The self-created party atmosphere together with the assertion that “We’re gonna play everything” was the signal for experimentation, and a rare live performance of old favourite ‘Suggestion Box’ became an exercise in freeform improvisation. Though the whole outfit was on sparkling form, a special mention must to go to man-of-the-match SAM DRAPER, whose relentless command of the drums was out of this world.
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Returning to the upbeat, the ‘Cats soon restored disorder with the superb and breezy ‘Raymond’, before their singalong hookline fave ‘Amsterdam’ ignited top-level mayhem. All hell let loose as bodies grooved and gyrated to the bassy staccato funk, and the deep current/huge finish brought whoops of delight, as did the disco phasing, acid jazzy ‘Plasticine Magazine’ - an all-out attack on glossy mag culture that rattled and shook as the heat intensified
The break saw the usual points of congestion (bar, ladies’) abandoned in favour of the queue (?) to go outside for a cigarette. This was a new one on us all: already the people who live above the Roadhouse are complaining about the noise outside the venue created by smokers. Sorry, but why live in a city? A bit of chatter on a Saturday night, fergawdsake!
Back to roars of approval, the band resumed with ‘Contradiction’ before blowing us away with the lounging, diminished chord cool of their 2005 single, the wonderfully decadent ‘In This Chair’.
Tunes like ‘Dirtbox The Filth-Queen’, ‘Yesterfuck’ and the marvellously sexist ‘Bint’ were testament to the laid-back approach of this odd bunch of crazies, but there is no denying their ability to keep a legless audience on their toes. With the room jumping, there was even an airing of a brand-new tune, ‘Trouble-Face’, as living proof that the band’s creative purple patch is far from over.
With bassist Piers Moth now down to his lewdly-patterned ‘comedy underpants’, the riotous ensemble continued to showcase their knack of creating happy chaos with ‘Slipped Disco’. This dizzy yet disdainful examination of the binge-drinking phenomenon perfectly captured the hearts of the sozzled crowd, before the encore (outrageous beatboxin’ cover of Skee-lo’s ‘I Wish’ included!) finally brought matters to a spectacular close.
The record is bound to be a winner, but on the stage is where this dynamic and original group undoubtedly shine. Combining great collective skill with high havoc, their presence on the bill guarantees a superb night whatever the occasion. This being their party, it was never gonna be less than a total riot!
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