- Independent UK Promoting

COG Review - 1/11/08 (Old Romantics/Gadsdens/Kaiko/Stand Down)

Club Night Review

Saturday 1st November at the Metro, Oxford Street

Bands: The Old Romantic Killer Band, The Gadsdens, Kaiko, Stand Down

‘Let meeeeeeeeeeee entertain you! Let meeeeeeeeee entertain you!’ Yeah! Woo! That was a great track from yesteryear. You know, some people didn’t like that all-time classic. They said Robbie Williams was a talentless buffoon that appealed to middle-class girls who didn’t know anything about music but thought he was a dishy bad boy. What about Alexander Pichushkin? The ‘Chessboard Killer’ murdered 61 people, only 3 away from his 64 target (the same number as that of squares on a chessboard). He’s a real bad boy, and Russia’s main psychiatric clinic called him ‘irrecoverable’. Don’t know what that means, but it sure sounds dishy to me.

Of course, this is not the first time a large number of people get things wrong. Why only on the Saturday just gone, Check Out Gigs hosted yet another tremendous night of top indie music, including two of the very best bands in the country. Sure the large crowd was busy and boisterous, but where was the prime time national news bulletin? Where was the live feed to 160+ countries? And what of the clamber for tickets, with mothers selling babies just for the opportunity to stand next to a person who was bidding for one?

The fantastic night started off rather quietly with the loud and contrived Stand Down. Sounds like an original name doesn’t it? Try searching for them on myspace. The simple three piece had a garage-punk sound inspired by the obvious garage-punk bands that come to mind – your Green Days and your Blink 182s were mixed in with older, better sources of inspiration like Nirvana and perhaps early Silverchair, despite blinkered comparisons with Biffy Clyro and frankly hilarious claims of Sigur Ros as influences . They feel like they belong in a small nothing town in middle America, filled with frustrated, disaffected teens who feel they have to make a racket in order to fill their lives’ tedium. I apologise, but it’s a cliché review for a cliché band.

And while their cause is questionable it would’ve been helped greatly if they had something to say, or even someone to say it. As it is, their vocalist, whilst possessing the singing style of his punk heroes and the attributes in their recorded work of a 15-year-old Daniel Johns, lacked the voice or vitriol to supply the fire their songs needed to truly succeed.

And yet despite this, the catchiness of every one of their hook-laden tracks made them listenable and even likeable. They obviously need to tighten up, and some of their lyrics are downright awful, but their riffs offer fans of original grunge and punk acts a chance at nostalgia. There’s a large market for this back-to-basics radio-friendly rock, especially in the States, and while it’s a well-served genre, there’s a space for Stand Down, providing they improve.

Business picked up with the quieter Kaiko, another band you’d be loathed to search for by name, but a band that stuck out in all the wrong and right ways. The foursome dressed like Razorlight without a clothing budget and started off with a song that sounded like a million other indie pop bands’ naff b-sides, but as they played a tic formed in your ear, a tic you soon realised was the lead singer’s voice. His Thom Yorke-with-a-hint-of-Joseph Arthur impersonation gave them an air of importance their subsequent songs justified. Their improvement was quite stark as they got into the meat of their set, displaying good song structures, pleasant plinky melodies and a certain amount of restraint in order to retain a contemplative, subdued sound projected with personality. They were very good, with songs like ‘Don’t Dream’ the type of spirited, beautiful stuff many contemporaries could only dream of equalling. Like Tigers the Talked, Kaiko maintained this atmospheric quality even when they upped the tempo, and grew in stature as the night went on to provide a memorable performance.

But nothing imprints on the grey cells more than hearing the Gadsdens for the first time. The main supports came on and proceeded to gently build the house the Old Romantics later tore down. The Gadsdens are a four piece band proffering perfect indie pop. No one does it better, not fellow up-and-comers Hamfatter or the Ryes, not top-selling US acts like Clap Your Hands Say Yeah or Death Cab for Cutie, and certainly not current media darlings (dear God) the Wombats or (seriously, what the fuck?) Scouting for Girls. Their incredibly catchy piano excites, their perfect compliments of guitar and drums please greatly, and the vocals take the breath away. Jody Gadsden’s voice is a star in itself, particularly on the more melancholy yet uplifting tracks like ‘Heartbreaker’ and the outstanding cover of Bronski Beat’s ‘Small Town Boy’. Elsewhere, songs like ‘To Love You’ and ‘Sailor Song’ are instant classics.

To compare them with other piano acts like Keane or Coldplay would be a crime. The Gadsdens have a more soulful, classical sound and a catalogue of songs so good they’ll shine way after ‘The Lovers Are Losing’ is long forgotten. They remind you of the kind of records that were played at dinner parties in the 70s, only modernised and not making you want to kill yourself. They’re an astounding pop act who are only a couple of boardroom signatures away from being the biggest thing this country has seen in years.

But only because they’d have more mainstream appeal than the sublime Old Romantic Killer Band. The duo’s bluesy rock is the antidote to today’s more artificial synth-based sound. Their live performances are akin to BB King being raped by Dimebag. The noise they create from just two traditional rock instruments is unique, and too powerful and authentically blues-driven to be compared to the White Stripes, which they often invariably are.

The lyrics are traditional tales of love, sung with soul and screamed with rage. Whilst their recorded work represents one of the finest collections of songs in several years, it’s in the live performance that they’re at their best. They improvise solos, flick in and out of jam sessions, and change the structure and flow of the songs themselves. Much like with the late Jeff Buckley, no two shows are the same. The sheer variation of what they can do with their remarkably consistent back catalogue leave even die-hard fans, of which there are already a few and growing, in a permanent state of anticipation and excitement.

A solo amongst the crowd ended a set that rocked the venue more than ever before. It was yet another truly memorable Club COG night, and one that left a number of attendees curious as to how a band like that are not being given the pedestal placing they deserve from NME and the like. That’s because the majority of people are, more often than not, very wrong. I’m off to inject a couple of random diabetics with air, then send old Alex a letter with two words on them: ‘Job Done’. Until next time,

Muhammad Odeh