American Football were nostalgic for faded youth even when they were still youths themselves. A 25th anniversary celebration of their inimitable 1999 debut album (‘American Football’) is a no-brainer when it comes to evoking the warm, reflective pangs of memory that the album is already apt to do on its own.
They’re supported tonight by an NYC trio who weren’t even born when that album was released. But Hello Mary are up to the task of winning over the large crowd of elder emos and Gen Z newbies with elements of grunge, noise-rock, a few choice screams and plenty of atmospheric feedback and pedal distortion.
American Football became a cult concern in the years following their break-up in 2000. And their 2014 reunion was warmly received, but their star has really taken off in the last five years or so. Proof of this is the fact they’ve gone from Summerhall in 2017 to selling out the Barras tonight. There’s only been one release in that time, which was very good, but didn’t exactly set any commercial or critical alarms ringing. The queue for the merch tonight snakes its way half way round the venue, and bizarrely remains even during the main set. The amount of t-shirts, posters and records leaving with punters is testament to a band that have a religiously devoted following.
The set tonight is easy enough to dissect, playing out as it does in perfect chronological order. Opening with ‘Five Silent Miles’, the solitary cut from their first EP, this instrumental demonstrates the pristine sound that will be maintained all night. Steve Holmes’ guitar positively shines through the twinkly melodies, twining around Mike Kinsella’s. But as the song winds down, the screen behind the band shows the famous ‘American Football House’, an instantly recognisable image, and we’re into ‘The Summer Ends’. On the first cold day of September, the song is seasonably appropriate – all American Football is perfect autumnal music – though the house montage runs from sunrise to midnight as the album goes on (before getting a peek inside during the encore).
Steve Lamos pulls double time as he drops the sticks every now and then for the most gorgeously mournful trumpet you can imagine on ‘For Sure’, and ‘The One With The Wurlitzer’. The band also rarely miss a chance to throw in some shakers, sometimes as many as three of them contributing. But otherwise, it’s just polished perfection as the arrangements work with noise and time, often leaving the contemplative space needed to digest Kinsella’s emotionally charged confessions. The way he blasts out ‘But The Regrets Are Killing Me’ sends the song soaring into the stratosphere; it roves around the packed room and unites the sense of introspection this band inspires with the raw power of the music.
American Football have always been a band best enjoyed alone – ideally on a rainy night on headphones in the midst of a break-up – but the communal power of the Barrowlands, and having a couple thousand people with you who also know how special this band are, turn this music into something best shared.
The only concession to canon is the moving of ‘Never Meant’ from opener to closer, a shrewd move as the rapturous reception attests. The glistening guitar work of this song extends into the encore, which consists of a trio of songs each from albums two and three. Hearing the songs in order like this makes it clear the instrumental progression that the band made in the intervening years. But despite the additional bass from Mike’s brother Nate and the Hayley Williams cameos (on record), the band have never lost their integral ability to craft meaningful, expressive music that still hits you in the feels regardless of whether you’re a grizzled vet from the first time round, or that same vet’s teenage kid. Real emo never dies.