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Thank God then for James, a Factory band with the sort of talent that most headliners would struggle to find in a month of Blue Mondays. If regulation guitar, drums, bass and vocals are back in style then add to your list of potential hitmakers this magnificent four-piece band.
Beginning a well-constructed, well-received set with the patting of a cow-bell in ‘Hymn From A Village’, James build their sound around flurries of cascading vocals tacked onto the janglies of a post-Postcard guitar. Skipping from a chugging, almost Latin beat in ‘Withdrawn’ to the up-and-down, fast-and-slow motions of ‘What’s The World’, James not only make enjoyable music but actually look as though they enjoy making it. Throwing himself into spasms, lead-singer Tim Booth amazes the audience by singing full pelt “I-I-I-I-I-I” then modestly bouncing backstage and almost throwing away the lines “I wear an armour plated suit / You put your lips to helmet slits / You try to suck me out the tin / I can’t get out, I’m welded in”
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Discobolisk
NME Review
The staunch antagonistic and ever so simply named James succeeded in blustering through their edgy rock dream with a good deal more dignity and composure than the preceding Diskobolisk. Ruefully lacking in melody, Diskobolisk opt for the topically introspective soul search, without ever looking more than faceless wooden dolls in Carmel hand me downs.
But where Diskobolisk were too clumsy to be plaintive and too miserable to be anything more, James confront, with a determined exhibition of hard handed noise and rock dramatics – hack and otherwise. Fronted by a scraggy youth twitching and trespassing further into art school exhibitionism than he would care to admit, the fourpiece nevertheless etch out a rugged individuality from taut rhythms and tart aggression.
On the evidence at hand, James deserve a fair amount, if not all, of the currently circulating gossip, but the truest test of their rousing revelry will not be before the dilettantes of the Hacienda.