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When it gets to the stage of literally bribing fans
to come to gigs, you need to start worrying about a
couple of things. But we’re not quite there, not yet,
relax child. This is just a smart little arrangement,
potentially beneficial to all sides. Veteran indie label
Fierce Panda dangles a big fat (well, more a skinny-fit
t-shirt clad waif of a) record deal in front of your
face in return for you turning up and taking in the
first two bands on their newly launched Temptation
Records. Judging from the tapes and CDRs spilling
from a box marked ‘demos’, a substantial number of the
plain-Joe stereotypes around us fancy themselves as
the next Will Champion from Coldplay. But who are we
to speculate on the capital’s unsigned b(l)and tastes.
All it takes is one good demo anyway.
If Temptation’s main aim is to instil a benchmark of
worthiness into proceedings, they could have done a
hell of a lot worse than John Clough of Medium 21. A
towering bundle of freshly uncorked adrenaline and targeted
twitching, in a way that only a very tall English indie
gentleman can really pull off, he and by association
they are as bold and a special a thing as this tour
could have hoped for. Special as in the opposite of
crudely arranged, one dimensional, unnecessary or weak,
Medium 21 feel like a band that should be, rather than
a band that just are. Even though they just are in their
own way, because there’s no excess of effort from where
we’re standing, you know what we mean. And for that
they seem like a rare breed, despite being one of the
most mongrel bands we’ve seen this year.
They put their heads down, thrash and groan and are
The Pixies. They splash around in cascading keyboards
melodies and are Mercury Rev. They tighten their posture
and are latter-day career-peak Pulp. They’re a bit Pavement,
a bit Dinosaur Jr, a bit Flaming Lips. And all in all
quite a bit Six By Seven. But with the goth extracted.
And the lights on. And they come with a basket full
of rough-diamond anthems from their excellent debut
album ‘Killings from the Dial’, no better displayed
tonight than with the stormy sunset epic ‘Albert Ross’
and choppy anguished single ‘Daybreak Vs Pride’. And
what an Ugly Duckling transformation since this corespondent
last saw them on a stage.
And so, from beauty back to runt of the litter, reverse
artistic evolution in the time it takes to change the
drum kit. We could have understood this over a decade
ago when Madchester’s unregulated extended family went
way beyond blood. And then they could have just been
swept under the carpet. Problem is, doing this now The
Rain Band are seen as part of a revival of sorts rather
than some scene joyrider that rarely hits 30mph. They
are crudely arranged, one dimensional, unnecessary and
weak in most senses. And they have the most pointless
drummer.
They’re Manchester In A Box, a flat-pack region-specific
band devoid of genuine interactivity but made from all
the right fabrics, and with a right nice finish. The
lead Ian Brown clone repeatedly says “fank yooou Lundun”
in a treacle thick accent, whenever the button on his
spine is depressed probably. Does he mean it? Possibly.
He seems sincere as he could be, even if you doubt the
credibility of his adopted demeanour. Doesn’t change
anything. All the pieces of the jigsaw are there, in
place, in order, but there’s no picture. At least The
Music try to draw their own on top. But here, in spite
of the bright colours and the dark expressions, there’s
nothing more than a void.
James Berry for Crud Magazine 2003©
Relevant sites:
www.therainband.com/
www.cargo-london.com/
www.fiercepanda.co.uk/
www.temptationrecords.co.uk/
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