Murder By Death/Be A Familiar/Ming Ming & The Ching Chings
King Tut's (16/07/2008)
To have your band name usurped is highly unlucky. To have done twice in he one name if highly unfortunate. As Oscar Wilde never said. Of course that’s where any similarity ends. Shouty electro is not on the agenda for Ming Ming & The Ching Chings. In fact, on arrival it would seem that really bad Doors out-takes are what’s on the agenda. Thankfully, this is the slow song point in the set and the hackney blues schtick is not representative of all that’s going on. What is, is a hard near-funked up garage thing that’s really rather great. The far too prominent incessant hi-hat in the mix tonight gives everything a terrible ska-punk overtone, but it’s not distracting enough to take away from their rumbling Nomeansno-y jive.
On the surface, Be A Familiar are the sound of young Glasgow, about 18 months ago. But, it doesn’t take long for a far more complex sound to emerge. There’s not enough random off mic shouting from bands, we wholeheartedly approve. And, have the conviction of it guys, handclaps are cool. Welding the melodicism of your Camera Obscuras to a big angry scope. It works. Really well. I find myself thinking this is what Deacon Blue would have been like had they not sucked. And I mean that as a good thing. No, seriously.
Murder By Death are from Indiana. But, their heart seems to be well and truly in Denver, the epicentre of the currently fantastic American-gothis sound epitomised by Devotchka, Slim Cessna’s Auto Club and their ilk. Being signed to emo-central Vagrant and namechecked by My Chemical Romance has raised their profile enough for them to be over here for a clutch of gigs to promote the new (and very good) Red Of Tooth And Claw long player.
You can almost play americana bingo to this stuff. If you had late night highways, red lips & heels, whiskey and driving a cadillac you’d be shouting house in the space of the first verse. But, when it’s delivered so well, you can’t help letting yourself throw all cynicism aside and just going with it. As does the, much depleted, crowd staying for the main attraction. (What is it with you people? You’d think you didn’t actually like music.)
Nick Cave, Tom Waits, Johnny Cash. Right that’s that out of the way. MBD (as they apparently are known) deal in a widescreen romanticism that staggers along alleyways from sea shanty to murder balllad. The addition of brass, cello and piano giving their rocking texture. All underpinned by Adam Turla’s wonderfully mellifluous vocals. And, he looks like Dr Teeth when he sings. Which is good.
Tony Kiernan
