The life of a reviewer is not always easy- attempting to pass impartial judgment on a billing such as this for example is no small task, especially whilst taking all due care to avoid the latest bandwagon. That of course does not include resisting the urge to sell your ticket for a tidy sum and also nearly getting your car locked in the car park. But fortunately there are others to join you in suffering for your art-
Tonight for example, MYSTERY JETS fall foul of the unwritten support act rules. The sound is loose and unsympathetic to them, the crowd is sparse and apathetic. Their multi-faceted sound feels too chaotic in such a large venue and they struggle to make the impact they made at the Wedgewood Rooms just down the road late last year. They are as enthusiastic as ever though, throwing themselves fully into their frantically off-the-wall songs. Bassist Kai Fish jokes that they have brought along a few other bands "To give them more exposure" and the Jets certainly do themselves justice in what are unfavourable conditions.
In fact WE ARE SCIENTISTS proclaim MYSTERY JETS as a "Real band" - declaring themselves to be only "Three-fifths of a band" and so goes on the hilarious between-song banter that leaves you wondering if Murray, Cain and Tapper might not be better suited in an American goof-ball comedy. The songs quickly prove that though comedy may offer a suitable fallback, the music more than holds its own. There are claps and shouts from the now-swelling crowd as songs are announced with "The Great Escape" and "Nobody Move Nobody Gets Hurt" encouraging the most mass-participation. The songs are punky, sparky and melodic- and the rawness of the three-piece makes great sense of them.
Though W.A.S. threaten to upstage, the truth is that the now increasingly excitable crowd have mainly come to see one band - ARCTIC MONKEYS. As if proof were needed of how quickly their star has risen, tonight they honour a long standing commitment to play support act rather than accepting the Best British Breakthrough Act at the Brits. It doesn't take a genius to work out from their demeanour where they would rather be, and as a band who have thrived on their live show they don't feel as exciting as they should.
If feels like they are traipsing through the songs (and in a particularly bizarre order no less) but the crowd don't care at all as they go absolutely crazy for "I Bet That You Look Good On The Dancefloor" the second song in, followed quickly by the mass sing-a-long of "When The Sun Goes Down". It takes a Mystery Jets drummer Treveti to invade the stage to illicit more than an incomprehensible mutter from front-man Alex Turner though who then proceeds to comically blame "Slack security". To be fair, the songs are good and are pulled off without fuss, and though there are undoubtedly conversations in pubs up and down the country along the lines of "These Arctic Monkeys are good, but I don't know if they're worth the hype" - tonight, this crowd are the ones who believe the hype- and they love it.
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Then out come MAXIMO PARK - all guns blazing. The incredible pixelated light show announces that this is the headline act and they do not intend to be upstaged. Singer Paul Smith appears to have taken ARCTIC MONKEYS set as a personal slight and is single-handedly going to win over this crowd if it kills him. He cuts an odd figure, often on the disturbing-side of manic, like you feel he could flip out at any given moment. And yet there is something altogether endearing about him as he introduces each song and makes self-deprecating chit-chat between them. The fact that the rest of the band look like they could easily have been pulled out of teaching at the local secondary school is almost unimportant.
The twisted, contorting pop is angular and lean. The melody of opener Graffiti is instantly singable and there is definite recognition from the crowd. There are the wiry guitar lines of "I Want You To Stay" and the driving jerkiness of "Apply Some Pressure"- and while the keyboard lines add a depth to the songs, it's all about the punchy staccato rhythm of Tom English and Archis Tiku. The music never feels over-done, but also never feels weedy or lacking. The vocals sit well from almost-spoken to semi-screaming harmonies in what are eminently likable songs.
Despite their earnestness to please though, there is still a sense that the band are failing to truly win the crowd's heart- whilst on the whole the masses still listen openly and clap each song they seem to be flagging in energy, and there is a definite trickle of people heading for an early exit. It is no easy job to follow the most talked about band in the country, and whilst musically MAXIMO PARK are impeccable, they have undoubtedly found themselves in an uneasy situation. They deserve to be a headline act, and yet somehow they find themselves with the uphill battle of a support band who are in the midst of a whirlwind of popularity.
It seems the struggles of a reviewer are not that great after all.
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