WITH SUPPORT FROM RAZORLIGHT
– FRIDAY 7TH FEBRUARY
LONDON BARFLY
By Sara Jade, PYRRHA fanzine
The Casanovas are not bad. They can play their instruments, rather well actually. No, it’s not that they’re bad, it’s just they’re not that good. Another band from Down Under that think by appearing on these shores they will become the centre of a load of frothing at the mouth press frenzy that will ensure they can conquer the rest of the world. The Casanovas are only the latest in a long line of bands to try this, and like many others are merely boring and mediocre. They have one decent song, single “Too Cool for School”, they sound like AC/DC, one of them wears a Led Zep t-shirt. That is all you need to know.
Razorlight however are a completely different story. A London based four piece (although bassist Carl and guitarist Bjorn are Swedish), that are responsible for some of the most intelligent indie underground pop in the city at the moment, reminiscent of the early 70’s NY punk scene, when rockers like Patti Smith and Richard Hell were as concerned with their poetry as anything else.
It did look for a while as though frontman Johnny Borrell would become another lost, wandering legend, casualty of the debauched London life that provides so much of the material for his songs, the boy with the beautiful songs that never were. Happily things have changed, and Razorlight are a complete and burning rock unit, who have started to gain attention of their own, rather than being known as faces about town, characters someone will tell their grandkids about.
I have seen Razorlight on numerous occasions, in impressive support slots for the likes of the Von Bondies and The Libertines, but tonight is the first time they really come into their own, really explode. A crowd of shouting, dancing friends and fans suits them, and pushes them further. Most know the pause in “In the City” and hold their breath for the momentous build-up that follows the line “Johnny’s shadow’s getting longer, but he keeps on singing”.
Johnny holds the focus on stage easily, looking like a cross between a young Mick Jagger and Tom Verlaine, although he is matched for charisma by the rest of his, equally photogenic band, who let him hold the attention but more than ably support him. Nothing is said between songs, but a clutch of new songs are previewed, amidst songs from the original demo, like show opener the simple Kinks-y “Rip It Up”. All are catchy, driven pop songs, aching with romantic leanings and literary sensibilities. There isn’t a lesser song amongst them, and when the hype hits feel safe to believe it.
Finally, The Beatings hit the stage, and everything descends to a level of unabashed lunacy. You cannot help but love The Beatings, a good time is guaranteed at every Beatings gig. It is futile to try and resist jumping around or screeching along to their mental pseudo-American anthems. Except nowadays, instead of being ambushed with riff after riff, there are memorable tunes incorporated into the general plan of attack. Maybe you don’t care. Perhaps you just want to see one of the best live bands around at their most entertaining: four young men howling and screaming about the “Jailhouse” and “Bad Feelings”, crashing into each other and contorting themselves into some classic retro-rock positions. Either way, The Beatings, considered by some the epitome of cool, just got even better.
