Ah, Live
at Leeds; that traditional klaxon heralding the start of summer, the
day when happy crowds wander our streets with sunglasses perched over
their smiles, and a pint outside seems like a realistic possibility
for the first time in a long time....or that's how it usually is.
This year the day dawned grey and wet, the thermometer in single
digits and the look was more bulky layers than bare shoulders. Queues
may have been a little more subdued, we may have lingered a little
less in the city's green spaces pouring over programmes, but the
assembled masses were no less up for this the 9th annual event. With
more than two hundred bands in over twenty venues, it promised to be
the most varied so far, with acts ranging from chart bothering
popsters to up and coming grime stars, delicate acoustic songstrels
to spoken word artists.
Our day
started at the Brudenell Social Club, with Colour of Spring
kicking off proceedings at the DIY stage, making a laudable
attempt to blast the sleep out of our eyes. They wear their
influences like a Melody Maker badge, obviously and proudly, yet with
a modern slant executed well enough to prevent a descent into
derivatives; on Pure in particular the blend of new and old
works well. Pairing Mighty Lemondrops style ramshackle melody with
shimmering reverb heavy guitar, the whole soupy, sugary shoegaze
sludge is underpinned by drummer Bryce's undoubtable talent holding
the whole thing together. There are no bad tracks, but it's on Love
that things really get interesting; their tightly wound
understatedness comes undone, with increasingly anguished vocals and
a building crescendo of guitar that permeates longs after it's over.
A brilliant start to the day.
Gaz Coombes
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| Photos - Andrew Benge |
A quick
change of postcode and it was over to the Academy for Gaz Coombes'
latest solo venture. Current 6 Music regular, the former
Supergrass frontman drew crowds much larger than is usual for this
time of the day, with queues snaking around the block to the Civic
Hall. With a belter of a voice and a Britpop ear for a riff, the
tracks are both instantly recognisable as him, while being nothing at
all like you've ever heard from him before. It's a unique blend of
kraut-drums, otherworldly synth sounds, a multitude of effects pedals
and a well wielded acoustic guitar; experimentally akin to Damon
Albarn's solo efforts, in manifesto if not in style. There's an
almost disco-stomp running through the set, an exception made only
for the beautiful Girl Who Fell To Earth, a twinkling gem of a
love song. A consummate performer, Coombes is also much more soulful
than you'd realise from any of his former releases, with an
exuberance to the show that's infectious. A surprising must-see.
So then,
back to the Brude and Beach Baby. Combing shoegazy elements
and the whimsical, wordy romanticism of early Cure, this foursome
managed to lift themselves above the parapet with a slacker
Christopher Owen's of Girls style delivery that gives an interesting
take. AA-side single Bruise has a snaking groove that makes
itself heard above the unfortunately un-up-for-it chattering crowd.
It is an odd juxtaposition between the slightly clumsy lead vocals
and the delicate purposefulness of the music that occasionally jars,
but it with out a doubt holds the ear. On last song Ladybird,
the lazy harmonies of vocalists Lawrence and Oliver work best,
building to a grunge infused pinnacle. Definitely a band worth
watching out for.
Up next,
Pinkshinyultrablast's set, despite being initially hogged by
technical difficulties, was a triumph. They blend frenetic, dreamy,
multilayered instrumentation, routed through delicious clouds of
feedback and topped just high enough with ethereal, floaty vocals;
all executed far better in the live forum than on recent EP
Everything Else Matters. Lead vocalist Lyubov is endearingly
active, a Kelly Kapowksi by way of Ian Curtis; she dances for
herself, lost in the music, and not for the obviously adoring crowd.
Like a meatier Cocteau Twins, riddled with energy and futuristic
beeps and swirls, they're the soundtrack to Judy Jetson's adolescent
rebellion. The effervescence is palpable, reverb encircling
the room and cascading from the ceiling, until all too soon it's
over.
Menace Beach
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| Photos - Giles Smith |
Onew to Leeds Beckett, where Menace Beach played their codeine-hazed
dream-pop to an almost capacity crowd. Local heroes, expectations
were obviously high, and, in theory, they didn't disappoint. Polished
and practiced from recent non-stop touring, they have their act down
pat, no glaring lows or blips, but by the same token, on this day at
least, no great high points. A strong set, but lacking in character
and verve; perhaps thanks to the rather soulless setting; it didn't
pack the slow shake awake of previous shows. There's no denying the
pull of a song as well written as Fortune Teller, but on this
occasion it felt no different to listening to it at home. A glimpse
of their usual chemistry was evident on Come On Give Up, where
Liza and Ryan's vocals envelop particularly well, but the whole thing
had a feeling of being by numbers.
Next
then, to Stylus for Blossoms. Lancashire's latest woozy
psych-pop export, they come over like the product of a midnight
liason between The Las and The Last of the Shadow Puppets,
soundtracked by a weathered copy of Odessey and Oracle. The
cheeky-chappy delivery of frontman Tom means they occasionally veer
in Kooks style cheesiness that they just about manage to salvage with
knowing winks and an appealing camaraderie. It's
pleasant-on-the-ears, inoffensive enough stuff if not greatly
groundbreaking; penultimate track Blow is the only track on
which they manage to transcend their obvious influences into
something original and uniquely theirs. It's a slinky, intrigue
drenched beauty of a song that draws the listener in amongst its
layers of mystery and makes the trip up to the uni worthwhile.
Eagulls
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| Photos - Giles Smith |
Back over
at the Beckett for Eagulls, it was a tense, tightly wound
crowd that awaited the Leeds based post-punkers. Abrasive, caustic
and with no signs of tiring from their recent globetrotting, it was
captivating from the get-go. Singer George is brooding and awkward
and infinitely watchable, with Yellow Eyes, and its blistering
assault on organised religion particularly memorable. An outing of
several new songs unveil a marginally softer sound, with primal
pleadings taking the place of acidic attacks, but ultimately
conveying the same hopelessness of it all. The sound like they want
to smash up music and start again; more than that, they sound like
they want to smash up society and start again. In this age of
disenchantment and disenfranchisement, they couldn't be more
relevant.
Finally,
the majesty of the Town Hall and The Cribs. They played a
superbly upbeat ninety minute set that run the gamut of their
discography and demonstrated their admirably enduring skill with a
hook. Despite demonstrating their subtle evolution, all the tracks
have a timeless quality; they are obviously The Cribs. Whether from
their early eponymous release or their latest longplayer, they are as
equally well received; this is a comeback gig where nobody in the
crowd is biding time and waiting for the biggies. There's a few
reworkings of old favourites to keep things interesting; specifically
on the purposefully lackadaisical intro to Men's Needs; and,
partnered with a fairytale of a light shows, they finished on new
track Pink Snow; a seemingly brave but ultimately perfect
choice.
The Cribs
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| Photos - Andrew Benge |
I first
saw The Cribs more than a decade ago at a small venue in
Middlesbrough, where their energy had them bouncing from the walls in
much the same way as they did at LAL. Even then the songs were
undeniable, but I couldn't get my head round who these Rockaway Beach
wannabies thought they were; all baseball shirts and leathers and
Queens swagger in their step; weren't they from Wakefield?! Yet here
we are, more than a decade later; while album sales have ebbed and
flowed, and venue sizes have contracted and swollen around them, the
Jarman brothers have stayed consistent (and leather clad) in the eye
of it. They haven't changed with fashion because, as it turned out,
they were never faking it in the first place. Music can make the
listener feel a multitude of emotions, and the live performance can
enhance this quality, but the overriding feeling in the Town Hall was
that of happiness; I've not seen a more joyous crowd in a long time.
Their ability to invoke this response, coupled with their legacy of a
longstanding rudely healthy West Yorkshire scene; what a gift, both
for The Cribs and for us.
Words - Angi Strafford
Main Photo - Andrew Benge
Live At Leeds Official