Live review: Noah and the Whale, Newcastle O2 Academy, 21/03/12

The trouble with Noah and the Whale is that it’s extremely difficult to muster a great deal of enthusiasm for the poor sods. Sure, they can carry a chorus and, yeah, they have a knack for a tune, but underneath it all, something, somewhere is missing. Beyond the softly, softly, cutesy pop singalongs for which they’ve become famous, and the gentle melancholia that used to take centre stage prior to 2011’s Last Night on Earth, there’s a tangible hole, a gaping chasm where something exciting should be.

Now, don’t get us wrong – the Whale are by no means a terrible band. On the contrary, they’re a decidedly savvy bunch, saving all their best tunes til last and working their curious hotchpotch of a crowd like wizened veterans, goading us all into song and, naturally, proclaiming Newcastle’s supremacy over all other cities. The mums, dads, students, pop freaks and nerdy hardcore contingent are all eating out of the palms of their well-groomed hands throughout their ninety minute set, and threaten to blow the roof off during a particularly cacophonous ‘L.I.F.E.G.O.E.S.O.N.’ When the hits hit, they pack a major whollop, ‘Waiting For My Chance To Come’ and ‘Tonight’s The Kind of Night’ coming thick and fast, one after another, like a victorious boxer putting pay to a battered, bruised and broken opponent in the final rounds of a brutally bloody brawl.

The problem, however, is that the band just don’t have all that many of these mammoth tunes as yet. Give them another two or three years, and as many records, and perhaps they’ll be able to pack their sets tightly with smash hit after smash hit. At present, sadly, they have to resort to trotting out filler material from ‘Earth’ and to former small-scale glories such as the gorgeous ‘Blue Skies’, which would be perfectly fine if it weren’t for the rather unfortunate fact that their demographic has shifted immeasurably in the last twelve months. A small portion of their fanbase has deserted the band, yelling “sell outs!” as they trotted along, and the vacuum (and more) has been filled by Chase & Status fans (or worse still, Snow Patrol ones). These folk aren’t all that keen on awkward six minute dirges about personal demons and hence don’t take too kindly to the ‘First Days of Spring’ encore which, while satiating the devoted, falls hopelessly flat following ‘that song with the letters and all that’.

For the remainder, there is just too much embellishment and not enough substance, and for all Charlie tries his damndest, he just isn’t the Jarvis Cockeralike he possibly aspires to be. He’s getting better, admittedly, approaching the front rows, posing during ‘Give It All Back’ and even offering a few wry, self-deprecating comments, but all of this fails to disguise the mediocrity at the heart of the set. There are notable lulls, particularly around the halfway mark, and for all Newcastle is politely attentive, clapping along in all the right places, the atmosphere is one of impatient anticipation, desperate for that final run of ‘the ones we all know’.

It’s a shame really, as Noah and the Whale’s transformation into an indie pop outfit has essentially brought about this problem; in the early days, the quiet indie folk fans hung on every word, caring not whether the tracks were new, obscure or proverbial ‘classics’. As ever, the price of fame is the Drive Time audience, the replacement of the fan with the casual listener, and for all it may make the choruses more impressive, the singalongs more potent, these are fleeting moments, ten to fifteen minutes of genius as opposed to a complete package. A great deal of this isn’t the band’s fault of course, but that doesn’t alter the fact that tonight’s show feels too often like a test of endurance rather than a captivating performance and if these guys are to continue their ascent to superstardom, they’re gonna need to address this problem pretty fast. After all, we really wouldn’t want another Glasvegas on our hands, now would we?

Live review: The Cribs (w/Spectrals and This Many Boyfriends), The Liquid Room, Edinburgh, 01/03/12

Oh, how we’ve missed The Cribs. The UK music scene just isn’t the same without their ridiculous haircuts, questionable fashion sense and thoroughly shambolic performances. Try as they might, contemporary starlets such as Tribes and The Vaccines just cannot match the Jarman brothers in intensity, absurdity or sheer, mind-blowing rock and roll thrills. All it takes tonight is for Ryan, Gary and Ross to trot out onstage to the sound of Kiss classic-cum-shocker ‘God Gave Rock ‘n’ Roll To You’, Ryan decked out in hole-strewn jeans, knee-high striped socks and hideous, hideous yellow jacket, raise a hand or two and suddenly, we’re off, the rabid Edinburghian masses surging forward in a sweaty mass of adulation, voices roaring, bodies flying and the poor folk on the barrier (including yours truly) looking like they’re about to have their internal organs obliterated in the ensuing crush.

We barely need the filth-soaked opening bars of current single ‘Chi-Town’ to threaten the structural integrity of The Liquid Room’s all-too small basement venue but when the minor chords do bleed from Ryan’s shiny new Stratocaster, the temperature increases another twenty or so degrees and a mudhole is promptly stomped into the poor, unassuming floor. The track sets the tone for the evening’s performance, full of discordant guitar and bass attacks, drenched in feedback, threatening to fall apart at the seams at any minute, Ryan circling the stage like a man possessed, almost busting open his lip like old times while singing AT rather than into his mic, which, in turn, ends up on the stage floor, in the drumkit and straddling the amps at the climax of every other song.

Buoyed by a typically bonkers Scottish crowd, The Cribs play for their lives, collapsing into one another, screaming the words to staples like ‘Cheat on Me’, ‘We Were Aborted’ and ‘Hey Scenesters!’ and, on occasion, goading the masses on when they engage in activity that would otherwise be frowned upon at other shows. With bodies flying at him, Ryan takes a keen interest when crowdsurfers grab his hand, leg or any other body part while walking past the stage, at one point trying desperately to drag a girl onto it, and allowing himself to be dragged to the ground by a particularly overzealous male during the mess of sweat and tears that is closing magnum opus ‘City of Bugs’. He casually brushes off the swathes of lager and piss that rain down on the band when the set really kicks off during a blistering ‘I’m A Realist’, playing on like a trouper, Cheshire cat grin on his face, loving every moment. And amongst this furore, there’s never any risk of rock star excess, no sign of the Jarmans succumbing to their own hype. Indeed, Ryan is stereotypically self-deprecating, sarcastically giving the thumbs up to his own band when the crowd cheers them on, mockingly exclaiming “yeah! We rule!” He also acknowledges that the crowd inevitably prefer “the old school Cribs” prior to launching into a deafening ‘Another Number’ (which Edinburgh manages to sing so loudly, it drowns out the band) and that, actually, that’s okay with them.

There’s plenty delights from the back catalogue for fans to sink their teeth into, including riotous renditions of ‘Men’s Needs’ and ‘Our Bovine Public’, as well as the more studied ‘Women’s Needs’ and ‘Be Safe’, but as the band are releasing a new record soon, the set is inevitably peppered with a number of new tracks too, some of which sound fucking monumental, while others may take a little more time and the aid of a set of stereo speakers to really blossom. While so much of The Cribs’ appeal lies in their complete disregard for the principles of performance, allowing imperfections, fuck ups and, well, thrash to take precedence, it is also something of a crutch when it comes to airing fresh material. Sure, once we’re familiar with ‘In The Belly of the Brazen Bull’s charms, we’ll be content to scream the words and allow the waves of feedback to wash over us, but when we’re trying to listen out for the nuances and, in some cases, the tunes, this ‘looseness’ doesn’t help matters. To be fair, we’re very quickly back to familiar territory anyhow, so this is only a minor quibble, but it’s one that could perhaps have been addressed with fewer new tracks or by extending the all-too-short 75 minute set.

Yes, folks, we don’t get much time out of The Cribs tonight; in fact, it feels like the whole show passes before our eyes in a flash, and that’s largely the venue’s fault for having a pesky indie night on afterwards. Indeed, this presents a problem for This Many Boyfriends whose lovely, huggable funpop set is watched by around 20 people due to an inexcusably early start time (5 minutes after doors? Really?) and deserves so much more, especially when you consider that second support Spectrals’ 30 minutes is duller than dirty dishwater. But then, conversely, this only adds to the excitement of the whole thing, imbuing the show with an extra layer of urgency, as if the Jarmans didn’t already have it in abundance. It’s a thrilling whirlwind of a ride from start to finish and one that reaffirms The Cribs’ place as one of the most exciting live bands in Britain. Towards show’s end, Gary thanks the crowd for “still believing in The Cribs” but really, it’s us who should be thanking them for still believing enough to play shows like this. That new record – and more to the point, the accompanying rollercoaster of a tour – cannot come soon enough.