An immediately striking feature of the Oceansize live experience is the
ease with which the five boys take to the stage.
It's almost as if the
crowd are absent, so caught up are the quintet in their own musical world.
Nor does this lead to a detachment between band and audience - far from it
in fact, as the throng hand on every musical gesture, waiting expectantly
for the music to erupt.
And it does - frequently. We learnt to beware the songs that started
with slow, stately tread, as they often gave way to a thrashed-out refrain.
In the wrong hands this would be a tired cliché, but Oceansize put their
own individual stamp on proceedings, the adrenalin rushes fuelled by singer
Mike Vennart hurling vocals into one of his two microphones. At
times it felt like listening to a fusion of the solemnity of Elbow
and the pumped, angry guitars of Metallica, truly not as bad as it
sounds!
A propensity for time signatures that deviate from the normal four is a
characteristic of the band's work - five and seven are employed without
fuss or effort. This may raise the 'p' word, but anything progressive about
the outfit concerns the here and now, rather than three decades ago.
Sure
you'll catch echoes of Pink Floyd and even My Bloody
Valentine but there's a contemporary edge to their style, a refusal to
stick to order in soundscapes that take in '90s Manchester one minute,
Seattle the next. When Vennart dedicates the euphoric You Can't Keep A Bad
Man Down to "the greatest band that ever walked this earth" however, the
sweepstake plumps for Floyd again.
And while the singer holds court at the front of the stage, requiring
minimal interaction with the audience, his band get on with doing what they
do best, energetically riffing in a virtuoso display, doom-laden bass and a
spectral set of keyboard sounds the trimmings to enjoy. And that guitar
sound! At climax point on more than one occasion the band strum furiously
as one, their collective heartbeat racing, before suddenly pulling the
plug, leaving the shocked audience to pick up the pieces.
It's more than
appropriate that drummer Mark Herrin is left alone to conclude the
set with a mighty closing gesture, delighting the capacity crowd who stay
away from the bar for close on an hour - a sure sign that the band has
captured their undivided attention.
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