- Independent UK Promoting

COG Review - 6/12/08 (Outside Royalty/Ruling Class/Molotovs/I Have A Table)

Club Night Review

Saturday 6^th December at the Metro, Oxford Street

Bands: The Outside Royalty, The Ruling Class, The Molotovs, I Have A Table

Words are important. It’s true, especially in titles. I don’t think ‘War of the Worlds’ would’ve been nearly as popular a film if it was called ‘Conflict of the Tiny Specks of Dust (When You Think About it in the Context of the Solar System, Let Alone the Whole Bloody Galaxy)’. People often ask me* about life on other planets. Who cares? If they’re out to kill us then we’d rather not find out, and if they’re out to make peace we’ll probably kill them because humans – not because of race, religion or political dogma, but just because we’re humans - are a bunch of war-mongering bastards, and I’d rather not have America execute a regime change on another planet because we’ve had plenty of it in this one thank you very much**. One thing we’ve not had enough of on this watery little rock is excellent live music in a central London location. And if aliens were indeed smart, peace loving types, they’d realise that the best time for this live music is on the first and third Saturdays of each month - of a solar-based calendar decreed by some 16^th century Pope.

On this particular evening things kicked off with the popular I Have A Table, a blues-pop band rocking straight out of the Bo Diddley for Modern Indie Kids Academy. At least, that was how their opener sounded. They’re a pick’n’mix of a band; at times captivating, at times contrived and dull to the point of Chris Moyles.

I Have A Table seem to suffer from the same frustrating symptoms as most other modern young bands – this need to restrict all their songs to a two-tone influenced, three minute pseudo punk track mixed in with acoustic guitars (if you want to make it sound ‘earthy’ and ‘real’), or keyboard (if you want to make it ‘retro eighties’ or ‘kooky and techno’). It’s the new boy band harmonic singing. It’s the new hip-hop track about how much money the rapper’s got. It’s the new torn jeans, big haired stadium rocker crescendo. It’s the new shit – the standard, sub-par pile of pants-poo that makes you immediately think ‘heard it before, what else is on’. Although to be fair it’s not like I Have A Table are restricting their songs; it seems as if that’s honestly all they could come up with.

It could be their lack of breadth of musical knowledge, their occasionally shoddy musicianship, or the lead singer’s weak vocals – all attributable to their youth – but I Have A Table’s flimsy song structures and apparent desire to make everything as radio-friendly as possible are colossal negatives.

But they do have positives. They can, on the odd occasion, veer from the standard indie ska-influenced stuff, and this is when they’re not bad at all – in fact quite listenable. A major plus is when the guitarist is let loose to provide a blues solo, which manages to plaster up a lot of their cracks. Unfortunately that is too rare an event. These flashes adduce a possibility of future development into a consistently pleasing band, but it’s a question of if as well as when.

Luckily what followed them were the Molotovs. On the outset they appeared to be the usual five piece with guitars, keys and a saxophone as the ‘odd but cool’ instrument. They sported indie scenester clothing and hair and emaciation. But when they played they were different. Nobody knows who told these young ‘uns to keep all modern indie as simple and catchy as possible, but it’s not a great idea. You’ll get a hundred poor bands to every good one. It’s more difficult to shine. It’s more difficult to create atmosphere. But when it’s done right it’s cheap to record, instantly marketable music. Have we happened upon a conspiracy theory per chance?

If so, the Molotovs would be one of the suspicious success stories. A far more consistent proposition than I Have A Table, they play thoughtful indie with full, accomplished use of the keys and (as predicted, occasional) sax. Starting the set off quite badly with nondescript ‘lively’ alternative blandness form the ‘How to be the Fratellis’ guide, they gradually improved song by song - at each turn becoming more soulful, soaring and mellow. They developed right before the crowd’s eyes from the spotty, fat yet somehow flat-chested minger people used to flick bogeys at into a smooth-skinned, curvaceous, buxom enchantress you’d drink a pint of mucous for. Similar to Starsailor but with some Arcade Fire thrown in, they’re both central in the indie frame and a fringe group who could easily attain success through gaining a hardcore cult fan base. Terrific stuff.

When they finished it was time for the Ruling Class, a band with significantly older influences than most contemporary indie groups. Even their image harkened back to the old days of Suede and Oasis. The Ruling Class are a Brit Pop band – not an indie band. They proffer alternative music with a slower pace, less keys and more tuneful chord structures than the bands of today, and they’re fresher and more original because of it.

Their vocalist sounds very much like his friend Tim Burgess off the Charlatans, with perhaps some Longpigs-style floating warbles thrown in, and their influences in general appear to be Stone Roses, Suede and Ride rather than Kaiser Chiefs, Franz Ferdinand and the Killers. Theirs is a very retro sound, but all of it to a good degree of quality. They’d fool a number of people in their late 20’s as a hidden Brit Pop gem that timed their emergence towards the end of that particular phase’s popularity and were therefore buried under acts like Prodigy, Chemical Brothers and that particular dance scene.

Every song seems like a blast from the near-past, but rather than sounding like desperate hangers-on to an outdated sound, they showcase the reasons why that era of British indie music was so much more exciting and respected than the synth-based, homogenised tat that makes up most of the acts today. It’s hardly surprising the NME clings on every small incident of the Arctic Monkey’s daily lives – the fact they’re one of the very few talented bands currently in the mainstream only highlights the problems the scene is in. Perhaps the accomplished and surprisingly atmospheric Ruling Class can provide an alternative, and revive what Suede started more than 16 years ago. An excellent set by an excellent band.

But they weren’t even the best band of the night. The headliners took that crown about as easily as it is to trick a kid with learning disabilities that her parents really are going to kill her by putting lice in her hair and so she should shave her head with this sharp non-safety razor so the evil robot lice don’t take hold – which from my experience is pretty easy. The Outside Royalty had six people. Their lead singer played guitar. They had a violinist and a cellist who switched to piano duties. They had organ-style keys, as well as the usual compliment of bass and drums. They were quirky, like the lovechild of Clap Your Hands Say Yeah and Arcade Fire that’s been raised by a Beach Boy who made it listen to Talking Heads and Bowie. They have a singer-songwriter feel to their material, only louder, less self-indulgent, and effortless to listen to. The use of violin and cello was truly excellent throughout their extraordinary set.

They were surprising at times, adding 70s funk and punk references to toe-tapping, hook-laden compositions. There’s a little tongue-in-cheek Electric Six style dance to them as well. They already have some future classics in their magnificent repertoire. Songs like ‘Voice Beneath the Rubble’ and ‘A Lightbulb Turning Off’ put almost anything on MTV to shame.

They were truly outstanding, and capped off another notable night for Club COG. I’m off to declare myself Pope so I can decree stuff too. I’m going to base my calendars on gratuitous photos of Kylie’s arse. That’s well-noted Aussie chef Kylie Kwang. Even with a Holy sign of approval, it won’t sell well. Until next time,

Muhammad Odeh

*-Ok, nobody talks to me. But I’d like people to ask me stuff. Go on. Humour me. E-mail your cosmic queries to dave@davebensonphillips.com.

**- 2005 called, wants its satire back***.

***- 1999 called, wants its ‘blah called, wants its blah blah’ joke format back****.

****- see ***.