There really is no question about it: British Sea Power are a decidedly weird bunch. With a penchant for soundtracking documentaries about islands (2009's 'Man of Aran') and a fondness for all things nautical, the Brighton six piece might be just about the closest thing we have to a quintessentially English band of utter and complete nutters; stark raving lunatics in every possible capacity. They're also refreshingly genuine, refusing with endearing steadfastness to bow to the pressures of that unforgiving beast we call the industry, looking and sounding about as far from the conventions of the Zeitgeist as you can possibly get. Let's face it - those waist-high trousers, sailor suits and pirate boots (we kid you not) are resolutely uncool, the kind of gear your average Topshop employee might puke all over, and frankly, we love 'em for it... which makes tonight's rather reserved performance a tad disappointing.
The completely unfathomable Teeth of the Sea set the scene aptly enough, baffling the few hundred that bothered to show up early with half an hour of cascading cadences, thundering drums, relentless distortion (thank you, Flying V) and precisely no lyrics whatsoever. It's suitably arresting, if slightly flawed in execution: bathed in the brightest of white lights, these Godspeed! wannabes lose a great deal of their lustre. This kind of deranged musical morbidity would be better suited shrouded in darkness; in the cold light of day, the performance falls largely flat. Thankfully, BSP suffer no such technical faux pas, but there is no denying that something is amiss.
Perhaps it's the venue; while the underused Journal Tyne Theatre has some of the finest acoustics in the city and makes an appropriate setting for British Sea Power's particular brand of untempered eccentricity, it is hampered somewhat by its inherent politeness. Punters have little option other than to park bums on designated seats, quietly observing rather than participating, and even when half the crowd get up off their backsides and make a beeline for the stage - promptly creating a pit and hence, one of the finest sights this theatre has ever seen - during 'We Are Sound', there is still very little activity to speak of, very little actual movement. It's a shame really as BSP are certainly heavy enough, bestowing this Valentine's Day crowd with a brash, brusque set taking in a large proportion of their rather more intense numbers (with a strong emphasis on superlative debut 'The Decline of British Sea Power'), the most notable of which is a deliciously messy, sprawling 'Spirit of St. Louis', which closes proceedings in suitably sporadic fashion.
But then, perhaps that's a problem in itself. Maybe these loved-up couples and terribly bitter cynics weren't out for a good rock 'n' rollicking. Maybe they wanted the twisted, maudlin British Sea Power, or the quiet, contemplative British Sea Power, the kind that rears its timid head in the gorgeous 'Blackout'. Or maybe we just expected more from the mad hatters: bereft of headfuckingly bizarre costumes (well, save for the sound guy's Viking helmet), overbearing flags (yes, they do play 'Waving Flags' and of course, it's amazing) and general weirdness, BSP appear a little exposed, slightly uncomfortable in the nakedness of their surroundings. Sure, we get the obligatory foliage - thrown crowdwards by night's end - but you can't help feeling that tonight, it isn't quite enough and that, given the chance, British Sea Power would rather have hidden behind their gimmicks.
And perhaps that's a little unfair. BSP are unquestionably good: their set is a strong mix, the performance is largely note perfect, they play 'The Great Skua', and Newcastle is most appreciative of the fact. It's just... well, from the guys responsible for their own brand of clotted cream fudge, we kinda expected a little bit more. And they could at least have played 'No Lucifer', jeez...
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