I wondered whether the slightly bleakly monikered, We Were Promised Jetpacks, might gambol on stage with a cheery countenance this evening. After all, a vaguely functioning hoverboard, a la Back To The Future, seems to have appeared recently so their dreams of amiable aviation and crash-landing into Tesco for ten fags and a copy of Razzle can only be weeks away. Levitating skateboards to rocket rucksacks ain’t such a big step.
Through the fantastically bright spotlights to the rear of the stage to the throbbing pulse of opener, ‘Safety In Numbers’, it’s pretty hard to tell if they’re grinning or not. But I am. What a start. Powerful, tribal and pushing the crowd back towards us through sheer force of will. A great first tune and that heady level of artistry and raw energy pervades the whole evening. By the time omni-present ‘Quiet Little Voices’ arrives two songs later the thumping percussion, soaring guitars and bludgeoning wall of Spector-esque sound had this initially sceptical reporter well and truly seduced. Pulled in by lyrical melody, smashed over the head by the drummer beating seven shades out of the kit. And, just in case we were unsure, guitarist, Michael Palmer, occasionally broke off from slithering up and down his fretboard to bash summat with a stick in unison.
What a delicious racket this was. Through the gloom of the back of the room I noted the blonde bouncing around beside me. As were the hugely enthusiastic crowd in front. Not even the fact the Packers come from the wrong side of Scotland could stop this mob flinging themselves about.
Always a good sign when the lager starts arcing through the air. Luckily not lobbed by me this time. In days of irresponsibility gone by – [note, this was 4,000 years ago, Ed, don’t sack me] – an over-excited attempt at Tennents-tossing resulted in the full shebang landing on Clint Boon’s Inspiral Carpets’ keyboards. Not unreasonably the gig was immediately suspended until I was launched out onto the street. Now that’s how to conduct yourself on a first date, kids. Am sure she was impressed. Look out for my advice column coming imminently.
Happily none of that occurred tonight though the easy rapport the band hand with the intensely loyal crowd suggest they would take it in their stride. Heck, we’re even invited collectively to the afterparty over at The Admiral in the jolly pre-Christmas atmosphere. A fine offer from your bona fide pop star.
There are slower, broodier moments. ‘I Keep It Composed’ from new album Unravelling is truly extraordinary. Wobbly and psychedelic but with that familiar, primal rhythm. A highlight, no doubt. I gave up writing at this point. Partly because it was so damned excellent and partly due to the fact that the strobe-tastic overload made me eyes give up. The swaying arse thanked the destroyed optic nerves. I almost forgave the irksome hipsters taking photos of each other’s beards beside us. And that is some compliment, let me tell thee.
If one was going to be mean-spirited you could say that across the ninety minutes or so it’s quite formulaic. Some quiet bits, some loud bits, then some more quiet bits then some cacophonously louder bits. But that would incredibly churlish to be honest. They’re only three albums in and the nose-flute rock opera phase has plenty of time to arrive yet. And Adam Thompson’s soaring vocals – at times resembling a slightly higher register Jim Morrison – drove things along with a heady abandon. Throw in the impressive light show assault and most all our senses are tickled. I did wonder if the wartime-like spots to the rear of the band were sending subliminal, Morse code messages. Dash… dot… dash dash… you will love us… If they were, it worked.
There was a catharsis about this whole affair. End of the year, Yuletide, all back to mine, that kind of carry on. In the switching from blacked out scene, to quasi-religious overhead illumination, the gently hushed melancholy melodies to fully blasted out mayhem with a thousand lumens incinerating our eyeballs. We knew we’d been to a gig after this excellent effort. A far more powerful prospect live than on record.
Am making a habit of this. Like The Vaselines a few weeks back I wasn’t massively expecting to enjoy this. But I really did. I really really really did. Great gig, great band, see them.
Must pick something bloody awful to do next. When’s Olly Murs playing?