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?
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