Performing in the courtyard of a 460 year-old building, one
that's practically next-door neighbours with grandiose landmarks such as St.
Paul's Cathedral, imbues a gig with a sense of occasion that only a few bands
could live up to.
Tindersticks are so good tonight that it feels like Somerset
House was built for the sole purpose of having them play inside its grounds.
The Nottingham natives begin with the typically understated
ballad 'Blood', something of a symbolic gesture given that the track appears on
their self-titled debut album, released back in 1993.
The first thing that becomes apparent is how impeccable the
sound is, as lead singer Stuart Staple's distinctively deep voice pounds
against the stonework, engulfing the courtyard with its resounding
baritone.
The set draws heavily from Tindersticks' latest album The Something Rain, including the 10-minute,
spoken word track 'Chocolate'. A short story narrated by pianist David Boulter,
it gently lulls into a stupor with its hypnotic, semi-improvised jazz
instrumentation accompanying a seemingly humdrum tale of weekly routine, pool
tables and cocoa.
The potential for 'Chocolate' to reek of self-indulgence
means it's exactly the kind of thing that shouldn't work at an outdoor gig. But
it’s a testament to Tindersticks' ability to subtly tweak their aesthetic that
every one of Boulter's words, which build to a memorable climax, hold the
attention.
Other new songs, such as 'Frozen', 'Show Me Everything' and
'This Fire Of Autumn' have a rewarding vitality that defies the band's years.
Their intensity confounds any assumption that the six-piece, some of whom have
been together on and off for over 20 years now, should be ready to hang up
their boots.
The reality is that even when Tindersticks first appeared in
the early nineties they had the refined and full-bodied sound of a band that
had been together a short lifetime.
Almost note-perfect throughout, there's very little said
between the band members and even less said to the audience after each song. But
there's lots of smiling – a surprising amount, perhaps, given that Tindersticks
have a reputation for being the audio equivalent of the pissing rain.
That reputation is also challenged by the double-whammy of
redemptive and soulful tracks 'I Know That Loving', from 1999's Simple Pleasure album, and 'Slippin
Shoes', which swells with saxophone and exotic drums.
The night ends, however, with the booze-induced melancholy
that they made their name with, and it couldn't be any other way. During
'Cherry Blossoms', the six middle-aged men, on a stage lit up like an Amsterdam
prostitute's window, dab at their instruments, as Staples mumbles a characteristically
solemn soliloquy. The lights that have been illuminating the walls of Somerset
House in blue and purple begin to dim, while Tindersticks burn as bright as
ever.
Written for Clash