Come one, come all, to the We Were Promised Jetpacks Christmas party, brought to you by M&S crackers, ear-shatteringly noisy guitars and one absolutely cracking bill that features, as its most pleasant surprise, the utterly wonderful The Seventeenth Century who tonight manage to almost upstage the main attraction. The band's sound is quite unlike anything currently worming its way through the Zeitgeist, with the possible exception of British Sea Power, but even then, arguably, the Century have a stranglehold over the Brighton boys by virtue of the sheer intensity of their performance.
Mournful trombone and melancholic violin are married to the unquestionably unique harmonics of lead singer Mark Brendan Farmer, whose mouth contorts into shapes previously thought inconceivable in order to deliver a truly outstanding vocal range, sounding fascinatingly unearthly. And as if this wasn't enough, the cataclysmically epic sounds that come tumbling from the stage, that build and build and build before launching themselves from the toppermost high and soaring over all our heads, are created with such intense fervor by the band members that their instruments very nearly meet a decidedly sticky end (Mark's violin, in particular, suffers badly at his hand). It all makes for riveting viewing and raises the bar another twenty notches for the Jetpacks to surpass.
Thankfully, WWPJ bring their A-game this evening, unleashing an unforgiving torrent of calamitous noise on the 300 strong Queen Margaret's Union, an impressive capacity for a band with as little commercial success. The boys find the time for a few heartfelt thank yous - well deserved given the roaring singalongs that accompany EVERY track from last year's superb debut 'These Four Walls', not simply the singles - and to pull the odd Christmas cracker (bassist Sean dons the paper hat but refuses to tell the rubbish joke), but the focus is primarily on showering us all in abrasive guitar chops, ear-shattering feedback and the kind of cathartic 'build to release' formula that even the Karma Sutra can't perfect. For such a refined, pint-sized band, the Jetpacks make one hell of a noise; the cacophony emanating from Adam and Michael's combined Telecaster thrashings is a force to be reckoned with and gives the group their edge, lending serious weight to the band's sound.
Wisely, the Edinburghians choose not to deviate from their winning formula; if anything, the new material aired tonight, making up approximately half of the set, amps everything up to 100. The guitars on suitably intense opener 'Circles' are even louder, the choruses still more massive, the spits and snarls through which Adam's delivers his impenetrable vocals even more ferocious. It all bodes extremely well for the forthcoming second record, giving us all something delicious to look forward to in 2011. Inevitably, though, it's the familiar material that hits the most home runs: the 'Ships', the 'Sleeves', the 'Short Bursts'. These are the beauties that the knowledgeable among us have come to know and love, the stupendously sporadic stabs of indie-rock brilliance that the punters have taken to their hearts, and that tonight, send voices soaring, arms in the air and bodies flying stagewards. It's an endearing sight and one that, with a smidgeon of luck and a healthy helping of hard work, should continue apace into the new year.
If tonight is any indication, and there's any justice left in this crazy old thing we call the music business, 2011 belongs to We Were Promised Jetpacks. And The Seventeenth Century. You read it here first, kids. Now make it happen.
No comments:
Post a Comment