Whoever said the kids are all right was wrong. Well, that’s if you’re a work-weary adult who’s ventured over to Cabaret Voltaire to catch freckle-faced upstarts Los Campesinos! over a refreshing tankard of ale. But if you’re one of the electro-shock-mop adorning, Standard Grade-sitting teens here tonight I don’t suppose you give a fuck if us grimacing old bastards are left to sweat it out at the side bar guzzling pints while you and your mates eagerly anticipate a band with more buzz than a hive of speed-freaking bees.Aye, these over-14 affairs can be infuriating alright, and when the much vaunted Sky Larkin take to the stage while another puzzled punter yelps “Ye mean I cannae take ma pint in tae the fuckin’ gig pal?”, the Leeds-based trio must feel like they’ve infiltrated a Smash Hits party bereft of a guiding parental hand. Yet when their vivacious splurge of karate-chopping riffs and veering keys swivel through the air like a snake-bitten Elastica, the dour-pussed old yins soon drag themselves into the venue's dark chasm to find cherub-faced front-gal Katie Harkin exuding her mystical, sultry tones over the jaunty pop gleam of ‘Keepsakes’.
There’s no doubting the tightness of these tune-churning ragamuffins – the stop/start helter-skelter stutter of latest release ‘Molten’ is more infectious and infinitely more desirable than any salacious, end-of-the-eve indie-kid liaison – but, tonight, there’s a lurking feel of blunt lethargy to what should be a knife-edged visceral massacre. Luckily, Harkin’s got the gift of a lung-busting gab and as the ravenous finale’s twitching kaleidoscope of bass and drum penetrates the crowd’s virginal solar-plexus', her charm-drenched tingle pulls the set from sombre, arm-crossed ambivalence into a salivating urge for more – a desire You Say Party! We Say Die! (YSP!WSD!) is ready and able to service with electrifying ease.
Relentless on record, YSP!WSD! is a deafening, fizzing, ear-bending proposition live. Orchestrated by the spasmodic Kate Bush-isms of the ringlet cropped Becky Ninkovic, this unhinged Vancouver-based quintet of sonic-deviants ignite the booze-thirsty mob into a aural combustion of appreciation with their insatiable, acid charged post-punk throbs. Tracks like the chomping, face in the gutter stomp of ‘Monster’ and 'Poison’’s loin-burning throttle are acrobatically executed by a clutter of rapturous guitar growls and echoic synth swirls that seer through this cavernous lair with the scorching heat of a hell-dwelling pinball.Ninkovic is the undoubted star of this surging set; writhing and thriving to every pore-seeping riff while her Patti Smith-aping volley of yelps, shrieks, barks and shrills project heaven-wards with intentions of angel-taunting deviancy. Visibly exhausted after this exhilarating eight-song offering, she musters up one last jolt of knee-knotting stage contortion for the mind-pummelling ‘Falling Out’. More raucous than a Russian victory on artificial turf, it’s a jubilant fist-clenched closer deserved of qualification to a - surely soon to be - headline slot.
But tonight it’s the twinkle-toed grandeur of Los Campesinos! that has the locals licking their lips in anticipation. Riddled with the knack of knocking out jinking sun-kissed melodies that infiltrate the heart with a love-struck sense of retrospective euphoria, it’s almost inconceivable these next 45 minutes could be anything other than stunning. Yet as the Cardiff-based septet saunter on stage with the blissful aura of unassuming, ladder-climbing youth, there’s an initial flatness to the occasion that nuzzles its way into the group’s climactic starry-eyed swoons.
The deft glockenspiel chimes and mournful viola that hypnotise so readily on record struggle to entwine themselves amidst a jerking mesh of push-pull vocals and cranking guitar riffs that resemble a cluttered Arcade Fire without the melodramatic grandiloquence. Perhaps it’s a case of fresh-faced rustiness but it takes until the hyperactive glitter frenzy of ‘We Throw Parties, You Throw Knives’ before the group conjure up a spine-tingling shower of melody befitting the gushing hyperbole. But from then on in, the ensemble transcends into a majestic sprawl of shimmering keys and tumbling percussive tomfoolery that wraps its romance-hankering paws around a luscious 'It Started With A Mixx’ before wholeheartedly embracing the virulent harmonic splendour of ‘You! Me! Dancing!’.And as the last glistening melody slinks off into the air, us grumbling auld bastards retreat to the exit for a much deserved post-gig pint. Tonight, those Los Camp’ kids were alright but in the future there’s no doubt they can be much, much better
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