I'm late. I've been running through the gobbing rain and I'm completely
soaked. So to finally get my arse into the dry and intimate surroundings of
the Monarch is wonderful.
Its only 8.45 and, bizarrely, it's already packed. This is almost
unprecedented for so early on a Wednesday night. And all these people are
here for a support act; Thomson.
They're half way through a song when I drag myself in. It sounds
suspiciously like The Rembrandts. Remember them? They were the heathen
bastards who did made that "catchy" 'Friends' theme tune. Catchy like herpes.
The first thing I notice from these Hives labelmates is everyone's in
uniform. Cashing in on their more successful playmates or loving the look?
They sport green army jackets with the Thomson insignia on shoulders or
backs. It looks the Yen sign without the Y at the top.
They sound like Dad Rock, that irritating middle-class warbling a la
Stereophonics. Almost completely unadulterated Dad Rock. The third from last
song sounds like a Kelly Jones / Bruce Springsteen collaboration, as bad as
that sounds.
There is, on the other hand, one song that saves their proverbial bacon.
The second to last is a great Rolling Stones bluesy rock'n'roll number with
lovely harmonised vocals from the two lead singers and very pretty melodic
guitar. Nice.
Dirt Magic follow this emotional wallowing with a sound we've heard a
thousand times before. Unfortunately, it was better the first thousand.
The lead singer is an extremely shaggable PJ Harvey lookalike, but you
can see the pleading in her eyes. Pleading to be... PJ Harvey. Sorry luv,
it's not gonna happen.
Each song is virtually indistinguishable from the last and is far from
anything original. Harsh riffs and crashing symbols abound, but for the
life of me I can't remember a single lyric or song title that caught my
attention.
And so we get to saving grace with Aereogramme. These teamsters are
perfect for a depressing summer's evening in the garden, watching the sun go
down and lamenting over memories.
Their lilting Beta Band-esque guitars drift over you while a darker
undercurrent pervades throughout via Radiohead licks. Each songs wanders
into the next and the band don't really bother introducing them so the
effect is one of prolonged beautiful anguish.
So I end the night with a comfortable depression and the smell of wet
leaves all around me from everyone who got caught in the shower. So I leave
with Aereogramme, still playing in my head.
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