Alt-J, Michael Kiwanuka & The Maccabees Live 25/10/12

Albatross round the neck or not, the Mercury Prize remains as hard a fought piece of music industry back-slappery today as it ever has. And tonight, playing with Michael Kiwanuka and The Maccabees, it’s Alt-J that make the strongest case to be thrown into the full media spotlight come November 1^st.  

The Cambridge band’s set is an almost note-for-note recreation of ten crafty songs from their inventive but instantly accessible debut, ‘An Awesome Wave’. Appropriately enough, seeing as tonight’s venue is a converted church, ‘Interlude 1’ sees three of the four-piece harmonising like a group of monks, softly cooing together about who knows what.

Fizzing with genre-bending idiosyncrasies the songs may be, but these quirks don’t cover the fact that Alt-J’s kingdom is built on orderliness, control and, above all, melody. Take the track ‘Something Good’ as evidence, with its beguiling time shifts and magnetic chorus.

Like The xx (another band no stranger to the Mercury merry-go-round), each Alt-J track is lean, measured and concise, pricking the attention and then doing just enough to hold it. The crowd seems transfixed throughout and when the set has finished, men whistle the riff to ‘Taro’ as they pee together in the gents.

After they’ve had their two shakes, the unabashedly smooth Michael Kiwanuka takes to the stage, surrounded by futuristic beams of blue lights rather than a sea of lava lamps, as would befit his retro take on ‘70s soul.

The singer-songwriter’s ‘Tell Me A Tale’ nestles neatly in-between two classic styles – the free-swinging jazz of Van Morrison’s ‘The Way Young Lovers Do’ and Otis Redding’s ‘(Sittin’ On) The Dock of the Bay’ – in such a way that’s undeniably comforting, but ultimately borrowed.

Yet, despite Kiwanuka being more sound of 1972 than Sound of 2012, he still deserves a place on the Mercury stage. The woozy ‘Rest’, which the charmer dedicates to a recently married couple (n’awwww), silences the chattering coming from the bar, while ‘Home Again’ rises above any timeframe as one of those songs that just won’t get old.

Next up it’s The Maccabees who, once upon a time, were fun and sung about swimming pools with wave machines. Now, they’re an altogether different proposition- surly but shy and armed with effects pedals and smoke machines.

The Maccabees’ set is weighed down by a nagging sense that, whereas Alt-J manage to sound relatively innovative in the face of retromania, the South London band’s muscular and accomplished indie rock moves in well-trodden, rather than unchartered, territory.  

Not that there’s no kind words to say; ‘Pelican’ is impressively beefy, establishing a stark contrast between Orlando Weeks’ gliding, affected vocals and the violent stabs of guitar. But the maturity and depth in sound apparent on the band’s third album is hard to pinpoint live. Instead, most of it simply washes over the senses, rather than invigorates them.  

Photo credit: Barclaycard Mercury Prize

Originally published in Clash.com

Tindersticks @ Somerset House, London 15/07/12

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