Setlist
Island Swing / Summer Song / Really Hard / Skullduggery / Scarecrow / Black Hole / Medieval / Just Hip / What's The World / If Things Were Perfect / Chain Mail / FolkloreSupport
n/aMore Information & Reviews
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James are enjoyable wimps. Their neurotic set jerks through all manner of stolen children’s TV theme tunes. These days their novelty value is fading slightly, and one wonders just where the exit signs lie for James. Still, armed with platefuls of vegetarian curries, James leave the spotlight in high spirits.
James are changing so fast these days it’s hard to keep touch. Their set is, by the very nature of who they are, the excitement of chance rather than a sterile pursuit of perfection, but their repertoire of feelings and melodies have expanded since I saw them last.
So has their audience who seem to have laid claim to a natural right to change places with vocalist Tim at the end of the set. As with the early Smiths, there’s a genuine sense of celebration about James that breaks the structure of the standard concert as they break the structure of the standard song.
Up until now, James records have been relatively calm in comparison with their live set, where melody will cascade in chaotic noise, fragility flip into violence and hysteria. There’s never anything easy to cling to, which has flummoxed conservatively-minded critics.
Their language certainly is personal as it was with the peak periods of The Fire Engines or Wire. James use words as sense and nonsense, language as fun and games, but beneath their layers of melodies there’s sometimes a stark and striking honesty.
James are a mile ahead of any other band in Britain, unreservedly.
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The encore of this gig was recorded for the Old Grey Whistle Test.
The last Big Noise to burst forth from an ICA Rock Week was The Jesus And Mary Chain and this they did literally when scowls from the stage gave way to scuffles in the foyer. This might explained the “police presence” outside the prim bunker-like venue on the first night of “I Want Independents” week. But really, they needn’t have bothered.
See, James are nice boys, raised on Mama Morrissey’s milk of tragicomic humanism (I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry when singer Tim wailed “An earwig crawled into my ear / Made a meal of the wax and hair) and gloriously devoid of trappings.
So the amps stayed miraculously upright, drummer Gavan stayed (for the most part) behind his Ringo-style kit – leaving the music to dwell amongst us with good deal of swank and even more swell.
To explain : James have completely redefined the traditional rock dynamic by replacing the ingenious devices of tension and release with … well, one long crescendo. So a song like “Prison” goes from bulky bass chords and hamstrung high-life guitar propped up by Tim’s nursery rhyme vocal melodies to a polyrhythmic explosion charged by octopus-armed Gavan and animated by Tim’s preacher man paroxysms.
The tease and dare is reinstated by James unique, not to say camp, delivery. And here lay my reservations for the evening. Music suffers from being bathed in contentment: what’s needed now is a more restless approach from this over-rehearsed quartet. But such nagging pales beside the simple fact that these grinning Mancunians have revamped the tones of guitar rock without replacing them with a worthless rattle of meaningless murk.
The next Big Noise.