Jonathan Deamer

Not really my usual fare, is it? But a surprisingly good show seen in the course of writing another review for Orange.

29th June 2008 @ Echo Arena

As far as big pop events go, they don’t come much bigger, poppier or more eventful than this without the involvement of Bob Geldof or Nelson Mandela: the last show of a forty-million selling boyband’s 10th anniversary tour, on the opening night of Liverpool’s annual Summer Pops blowout, at the city’s spanking new Echo Arena.

The almost palpable anticipation is immediately justified when the lads come onstage wearing leather jackets and Aviators to a cacophony of rock guitars and a light show worthy of Pink Floyd. It’s clear this isn’t going to be a sat-on-stools, stand-up-for-the-key-change run through of the Irish boys’ ballad hits. Many of their fourteen number one singles are there of course, but there’s also a show-stopping selection of uptempo covers, from The Jacksons through to Robbie Williams via Kool & The Gang’s ‘Get Down On It’, with pyrotechnics that could probably be seen from Dublin.

The fact that these tracks form the gig’s centrepiece though serves almost as an admission of the chronic dullness of much of Westlife’s own material. This is further evidenced by a tedious acoustic mini-set of songs from last year’s Back Home album, which sees most of the reluctant dads and boyfriends in attendance head off for a Carling.

Despite this, and no matter how much they may pretend to begrudge accompanying their loved ones tonight, the dads and boyfriends will have enjoyed it really. From the final brace of ‘Swear It Again’ and ‘Flying Without Wings’, along with the requisite stadium spectacle and emoting, it’s clear that no matter how boring their records, Westlife put on a show that only a miserablist like Geldof himself could fail to like.

A version of this originally published at Orange.co.uk, for whom I’m now writing.

Necessity is the mother of invention, according to some ancient Greek bloke. So does the complete lack of invention shown on Silent Cry mean that the last thing the world really needs is another album from the band who bought us ‘Buck Rogers’?

It’d be churlish to suggest that we’ve never needed the Welsh trio. Their early records helped fill a gaping Britrock void in the late 90s, and since 2001’s Echo Park they’ve unleashed a handful of mini pop-classics that sit beautifully alongside ‘Bohemian Like You’ and ‘Breakfast at Tiffany’s on local radio stations across the land (admittedly, a back-handed compliment if ever there were one).

But the band’s sixth record abandons that joyous melodic sensibility in favour of a faux-anthemic Snow Patrol approach. Opening track and lead single ‘We Are The People’ is a directionless dirge, produced, dubbed and layered to within an inch of its life to hide a chronic lack of what those in the music biz call ‘bollocks’. And while ‘Miss You’ hints at Feeder’s previous scratchy punk-pop brilliance, it’s one of only a few moments of light relief in an album full of humourless attempts at mature radio ballads.

Silent Cry’s 45 minutes are an overlong and tiring listen. At 13 tracks, it’s like having to explain the same thing over and over to a stupid co-worker. And as the sort of intellectual giant who reads Plato-quoting record reviews in their spare time, surely you don’t need music that reminds you of that feeling?

2nd May ‘08 @ Liverpool Guild of Students

Commercial. Over-produced. Not “real” drum and bass. Yeah, we’ve all heard the accusations leveled against Pendulum. But really, who wants to pontificate on the finer points of authenticity in electronic music when they’re off their face, down the front, havin’ it? At least, that’s what you’d think before experiencing the Aussies’ live show. Because while one of their singles might sound monstrously powerful as part of a DJ set, a whole evening of those same formulaic wait-for-the-catchy-synth-riff-to-kick-in moments quickly becomes a junglist Groundhog Day.

Not that it matters to the Guild’s student crowd – they seem to be loving the change from carpet-and-chrome cheese clubs. But for anyone who doesn’t think Grooverider is a brand of condom, Pendulum are almost the dance equivalent of Linkin Park: plenty of lights and dry ice, with enthusiastic calls to “completely lose it!”, but little substance to be enjoyed by those for whom getting twatted at a gig isn’t a novelty in itself.

Aside from awing at the stadium-extravaganza production values though, it’s telling that “the kids” respond more rapturously to the famed remix of Voodoo People than any of the band’s original material. And while only the most ardent purist could deny Pendulum’s occasional brilliance in mixing dance and rock, previews of tracks from guitar-heavy new album In Silico are less Prodigy, more watered-down Pitchshifter.

Which just goes to prove: although being inauthentic may not matter, being average really does.

30th January ‘08 @ Korova, Liverpool

Sit at home working out the time signatures of your math rock records if you must. Ziroki’s cult Scouse following is merrymaking enough for all the Foals fans in the world tonight. Syrian-born frontman Ziyad Al-Samman is the spit of classic rocker Phil Lynott and dresses like a colour-blind Willy Wonka. He probably looks like a fucking star when he’s just popping out for some milk, so stick him behind a microphone with three equally flamboyant oddballs playing scratchy cartoon pop and you can see why the venue’s packed out this early on a wet Wednesday evening.

Barely thirty seconds in and they’ve got everyone miming along with the swimming-fish hand motions that match the nursery rhyme melody of Dead Sea, while fan fave In My Heart bounces off the walls like only the best party-time power-pop can. Sound cheesy? That’s the point. The lads may as well have a neon sign flashing “FROMAGE” behind them. Because they’re having more fun tonight than a whole army of “it’s all about the music, maaan” dullards have ever had in their life. And if that means they need to get the Laughing Cow in to help on the occasional harmony, Ziroki don’t really care.

30th January ‘08 @ Korova, Liverpool

“You sang so beautifully. Like a bunch of altar boys”. Given that the refrain the audience join in with so enthusiastically is a shouted coda of “here we fucking go” (from track Go Square Go), you can’t help but feel that frontman James Allan has his tongue placed firmly in his cheek. Comparisons to religious experiences aren’t actually that far from the reality of a Glasvegas live show though: Allan exorcises himself of bad childhood memories and emotional frailty, while the assembled congregation mouths along to lyrics like psalms, strangers put their arms round each other, and a bloke at the back even starts speaking in tongues.

Whether that’s down to spiritual fervour or cheap beer no-one can say, but what’s certain is that this Liverpool basement has never seen such a communal epiphany. Tonight’s walls of noise-pop will be the first experience for many here of the four Scots’ ethereal sobbing-into-their-football-scarves beauty. And they’re an awe-inspiring lesson in how music really does make the people come together, with last year’s debut single Daddy’s Gone becoming the mass singalong it’s always had the potential to be. Although one non-believer was heard to claim that all the songs sound the same, who cares? It’s not as if the Ten Commandments had much stylistic variation, and they were cracking.