The Drums @ Brewhouse, 11th March 2012
After a quick slice of pizza pie we rocked up to the venue half way through Yast’s support slot, walking into the 1/3 full room hearing their dulcet tones I was expecting to see a bunch of young Beach Boys surfy look a likes, but instead ’twas the other end of the scale, surfer dude look a likes, looking more likely to be shredding out early 90s grunge than happy sex wax smooth pop.
At times I got a little scared as they seemed to have the tendency to drift into the late career safeness of Athlete when all of a sudden they drop in some delicious sunshiny licks & take the song in an altogether better, dreamlike direction. Their blend of summery, psych Beach House meets Girls deserves to be massive! They do it and they do it very well!
Now the danger of a non-instrument playing singer is the ever fearful chance of them being an accountant-esq, stiff as a board shit fest of a bore stood with his band mates behind him not doing a thing, well not a chance of this happening tonight folks, step forward lead singer Jonathan Pierce. Losing control of his limbs like a rhythmical Brett Anderson with the voice of a silk tonsiled Morrissey (imagine if he lived on a diet of foi gras, reduced bunny rabbit roux all washed down with finest koala bear sap).
Gone are the days of their eponymous debut albums perfect summer pop, welcome in a slightly darker, heavier, Postal Servicey sound, with synth tones and epic dreamscapes all put together with a building, catchy, hip wobbling drive. The live sound is a lot heavier than what you hear on record, with bassy licks that filthy that you could bang your granny too, vinager strokes unall. Occasionally they pop in to Debbie Harry town to buy a couple of doowhops and a bag of ahh haaa’s, but they can be forgiven for this as it only aids to the nostalgic feel of the show.
The largely teenage crowd were lapping it up, it felt at times like a blonde teens busmans holiday outing, all dancing & a whoopin ‘n a hollarin to every note played, so not Swedish teens then, this bus came from further afield!
And so it was to the end of the show, the world’s biggest case of dry mouth crept up on me, and to counteract the oral cotton I popped into the (always pointless) ‘drinking area’, upon my return I see I’m stuck behind Sweden’s tallest photographer. My fingers were crossed that they weren’t going to return and play ‘Let’s Go Surfing’, not that I don’t like it mind, more that they didn’t need to and it would have been a nice non hat-tip to the sceensters. They did play it. However only after a rather nastily good electro jaunt (more than likely a throwback to their Goat Explosion days).
All it all it was an enjoyable Sunday eve, a nice time was had by all and all Göteborg parents would have been happy that their little cherub’s were home before 11.