The NME's Awards Tour rolled into Helmet-ville as a bustling Brixton Academy hosted four bands that couldn't fill the venue on their own.
First up were The Drums, who thankfully sound much better than they look. Rocking the oh-so-hard-to-achieve 'gay hairdresser having a tantrum' look, singer Jonathan Pierce minces around the stage as his bandmates (combined weight: 12 stone) stand rooted to the spot, their upper-halves contorting like flid-controlled puppets. Taking the best of breezy 1950s surf-pop and pitting it against a gale of Factory Records-fuelled atmospherics, The Drums create songs that on the surface sounds instantaneous and poppy, but contain a depth which belies their cartoon delivery.
Jonathan Pierce: 'Will dance for food'... no wonder he's all bones
It's worth noting at this point that Sonic Mouth has a lot of prejudices, but before this gig, Ageism wasn't one of them. However, after witnessing The Big Pink shitting their muddy dirge through its ears, the words 'Fuck off' and 'Grandad hipsters' now reside on the tip of the Sonic Mouth tongue. On record The Big Pink are exemplary. Their enormous sound, their low-frequency bass, and their soundtrack-ish grandeur all come together in perfect synergy. However live, The Big Pink generate as much punk energy as Pan's People doing the hustle on Top of The Pops. Throwing textbook rockstar shapes, frontman Robbie Furze can't hide the fact that the music is coming - not from the beating heart of his creative being - but from the expensive looking piece of equipment manned by fellow band-leader Milo Cordell. This is laid bare for all to see when Akiko Matsuura [drumming for the Big Pink as part of their live set-up] stops for a few seconds while the beat continues unbroken. There's no denying the Big Pink's prodigious talent, but perhaps the live arena is best left to the young 'uns.
The Big Pink:... oh shit, no that's Pan's People
Speaking of which, with a combined age of six, Bombay Bicycle Club have done well to hone their skillset to this level. Looking like a gang of lost paperboys, their intelligent and intricate pop songs represent the brightest future on show tonight. 'Evening/Morning' is the song that Trail of Dead threatened to write on Source Tags & Codes, whilst 'Always Like This' contains more ideas than most bands can fit into an album. Jack Steadman's voice - which tonight sounds like tearful Brian Molko with a sponge in his mouth - ensures sing-a-longs are an entertaining affair, as the crowd ape his unique vocalisations. The one criticism of the Club would be that whilst there's a huge amount of energy generated by the band, they're missing a bit of presence, something to really believe in - or at least perv over. They'll surely have plenty of practice on bigger stages over the coming years.
BBC: Indie embryos
Tonight's headliners The Maccabees are the cockroach of indie, having managed to survive the awful scene that shat out blood-sodden stools such as the Rumble Strips and Mystery Jets. And with the first two singles from Wall of Arms, it seemed like they had the potential to be a frightfully posh Talk Talk. Taking the stage to an emphatically positive reception from the assembled lumberjacks (lots of checked shirts), the crowd lap up every plate of stodgy indie as quickly as the Maccabees can serve it up, with the main course of trumpet-infused wank proving especially popular. Perhaps it's because the bands before them toyed with so many influences, but the Maccabees set seems entirely two-dimensional. Rarely shifting in pace (bar a frenetic rendition of debut single 'X-Ray'), the addition of brass serves only to emphasise the shortcomings of their craft, with the tooting and blowing becoming crushingly monotonous.
As the band come onstage for the encore, the crowd has thinned considerably. The buzz* that followed them a few years ago has got noticeably quieter, and on this evidence the Maccabees lack sting*.
* Calm down honey, it's a bee pun, as in MaccaBEEs.
The Maccabbees: All horns no balls
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