Live review: The Maccabees (w/Trailer Trash Tracys), Newcastle O2 Academy, 29/01/12

THE MACCABEES (w/TRAILER TRASH TRACYS), Newcastle O2 Academy, 29/01/12

Make no mistake about it: Newcastle has fallen head over heels, hook, line and sinker for The Maccabees. Tonight's sell-out Academy show is packed to the rafters virtually from the off, the expectant hoards chowing down their respective Sunday roasts as quickly as humanly possible in a bid to get that all-important front row view of the UK's most promising indie upstarts. It's an impressive feat for the Sabbath day; end-of-the-week shows are notorious in gigging circles for proving to be something of a damp squib, audiences too worn out following a weekend of unrelenting hedonism to give it their all, or too depressed at the thought of having to return to the long, hard slog of gainful employment to really cut loose. But not so tonight, boys and girls; whether the 2,000 strong crowd decided to bypass their entire weekends for one 90-minute slice of nihilistic exuberance, or they've just temporarily forgotten that work, school or university awaits them tomorrow morning, there's no escaping the fact that tonight, Matthew, Newcastle is on fire, its chants as loud as St. James' Park, its vocals drowning out the band and its energy bouncing off the walls, electrifying every soul in the room.

'Dream-pop' support Trailer Trash Tracys don't elicit quite the same reaction, their ethereal brand of sensual shoegaze falling largely on impatient ears. It's a shame, as their recently released debut Ester is a sterling effort, but then, they were always going to be something of a gamble in an environment such as this. When approximately 80% of your crowd is made up of Two Door fans (and that's no bad thing, by the way), reverb and drum machines probably aren't going to cut it. Still, for all the quieter moments are drowned out by chatter, Newcastle is polite enough to applaud graciously and refrain from turning impatience into aggression. Before long, the test of endurance is over and the main attraction begins, the quietly self-conscious five-piece edging on stage to the intro from their current LP before segueing effortlessly into an otherworldly Child, the album's second track. Lead singer Orlando Wells' vocals are spine-tinglingly timid throughout, the perfect counterpoint to Hugo White's piercing stabs of cascading guitar. It's a juxtaposition that continues throughout the show, the unrelenting visceral intensity of the rhythm section balancing Wells' quiet modesty, creating the thrillingly off-kilter, contradictory sound that characterises the band and makes their most recent efforts such a joy to listen to.

Indeed, Given to the Wild, released a mere twenty days ago, is already a strong contender for album of the year, its multi-layered, darkly abrasive palette uncovering whole new delights with every listen. Understandably, tonight's set leans heavily on the record's charms, the Maccabees undoubtedly intensely proud of their most prolific body of work to date. There's the current singles, a heartbreaking Feel to Follow, a punk-as-fuck Pelican; the future singles, a soaring Went Away, an eardrum-bursting Unknow; and, of course, the thrillingly intense Forever I've Known which eviscerates all and sundry with its sheer, unadulterated brilliance. The track is in a league of its own and it only gets better live, sounding every bit the greatest and most powerful thing they've ever done. Bravely, the band even close on a new song, finishing their encore with a magnificent Grew Up at Midnight, Given to the Wild's final track. Thankfully, the devoted masses have already devoured every last nuance and learned every last word, so the response is every bit as excitable as those reserved for the 'classics'.

Arguably, The Maccabees don't even need to play these tonight; they have Newcastle eating out of the palms of their spindly hands and could probably just run straight through every last track on Wild, as well as a bunch of four-minute no-brainers written on the back of fag packets the night before, and still the atmosphere would be electric. Of course, it doesn't play out that way: it isn't long before a raucous Lego punctures the melancholia, followed closely behind by William Powers' pounding drumbeats, No Kind Words' angular guitar attacks and, of course, the inevitable arms-around-mates wig-out of First Love. Inevitably, the masses go ape shit, bodies slamming back and forth, sweat-drenched teens flying over our heads, and the band look on in awe, Cheshire cat grins spread permanently across their faces at the insanity they've created... and on a Sunday, no less. If this is how the world responds to The Maccabees now, less than a month into the release of their new record, then one can only imagine the giddy heights they may ascend to come spring and summer. Mark it down now, guys and gals: 2012 - the year of The Maccabees. Make no mistake about it.