Standing watching the Sea Kings’ Glasgow gig at the King Tut’s Wah Wah Hut on Saturday 17th May 2008, I remembered that music would not save the world, particularly not from climate change. I felt cheated, not by Live Earth or Bob Geldof, but by music. The May rays of sunshine have been watering my palette inspiring me with dreams of a long scorching summer. I have learned to cope with such taunting. It is the false hope inspired by the sounds of summer that really gets to me. Come rain or shine, the Sea Kings’ gig has begun my summer soundtrack preparing my ears and feet for a blissful sunbeam nirvana that will never arrive. The ambient indie rock featured on this Glasgow quartet’s website resounded cheerily and strangely delicately with me. My expectations for their showcase hoped for further pastoral sounds performed by a folksy Scottish alternative band with a penchant for marine imagery. Remnants of such impressions of eerie pop delight were present in the twinkle of a shiny silver bass guitar onstage and buoyant-looking bandmates. These notions, however, somewhat immediately subsided with the electricity of their energised opener Lapsed as they began a set, which they would triumph through with vigorous drums, clashing cymbals, boundlessly resonating jangled guitars, and, often, growling vocals. It is unlikely that their name is a tribute to Hawkwind’s song of the same name. Then again, the element of surprise in this band weakens confidence in my speculations. Perhaps more aptly, Sea Kings is a reference to the traditional Viking name for a prevailing pirate, or to the mythological Poseidon. Tonight’s show highlighted the potential for the Sea Kings to invade our (not-so-golden) Scottish beaches this summer with their dancing rhythms.
The performance of their refreshing multi-influenced pop sound was brilliantly executed and had more city grit than rural ethereality. Perhaps this is reflective of a theme I find persistent with the Sea Kings – a sense of paradox. The Sea Kings are ambient, yet, loud; tyrannical, yet, serene. Their catchy drum beats crashed provoking inevitable foot stomping from the audience. This disco drill, however, was strangely offset by embittered, often twisted, lyrics that lay deep below the surface. The formula of disturbed story telling beneath a chirpy pop veneer is almost, dare I say it, Morrissey. This was clearly evident on the self-explanatory Have you not hurt me enough? a song in which Canning demanded, ‘take what is left of my empty shell’, and further on All fall down, the band’s closing number, where the chugging riffs met more humorous, yet, damning lyrics. Not what you expect from a man adorned in a soft pink t-shirt. Canning cried that he was ‘sinking to the bottom’ but the performance revealed nothing of the sort. Brian Canning often stared despairingly to the floor as he sang his heart out, before semi-robotically shuffling his guitar; mysteriously raging, yet, perkily dancing. Almost, like the waves.
It mattered not that the infamous King Tut’s venue was hardly overflowing. The continual drumming throughout the set was met with growing stomps and gradual swaying from a Saturday night crowd unfamiliar with their fresh material. By the time the band began to play their third song, single Tooth and Nail, the crowd had committed themselves. A mature affair, the band’s musicianship was top quality and their concentration strong. The only breaks were for Canning’s instructions to further perfect the set, or for swigs from a water bottle to revitalise his vocal chords. This was unsurprising given there were more, for want of more technical wording, “Na-Na-Nas” and “Aye-hays” throughout the set than you could shake a stick at. Canning delivered his Scottish roaring of “Come on!” with aplomb. There was no need for petty banter, the music communicated enough. Canning, who has been on the Glasgow circuit before in different outfits, has clearly honed his showmanship. Early in the set, he madly shook his head and contorted his body shouting, “I can’t stand being all over this place”. His enigmatic style, heartfelt forlorn lyrics and, often, wailing vocals were engaging and worth the applause. The echoing guitars complimented him, at once sounding fuzzy, sharp and sweet. Strummed acoustics mellowed electric Telecaster riffs and solos in an explosive cocktail of guitars that reverberated sublimely. Married with beautiful melodies and harmonies, a multi-textured sound emerged. This is central to the diversity of their contradictory sound.
The Sea Kings may sound like a band which produces music to watch gulls by, but on Saturday their rock bellowed in the city. Despite an array of influences, the Scottish lads have pulled off a unique and exciting sound, which rises and falls, or rather ebbs and flows, with the tide. The resentful lyrics did not interfere with the notion that the band looked to be enjoying themselves. On ‘Vengeance with a Vengeance’ Canning asks, “Is that alright, I hope it’s alright”. It was more than alright. Not enough for me to feel the Scottish sun shining, but enough to make it sound ablaze.
//Eve Barlow