Constantines

What’s so wrong with being right? Too many bands today – and this isn’t a trait exclusive to musicians: refer to major art prize nominees and the increased coverage of sexually explicit cinematic releases – are willing to resort to comparative gimmicks, to so-perceived left-of-centre leanings to warrant attention. We see it every day, and it’s subsequently (and regularly) discussed on this site’s own boards: Band X is purely style over substance, and Band Y wouldn’t be where they are today without headline-grabbing Action A. In the blitz of the New and Young and Fresh that we weave our wicked way through every day, it’s so easy – too easy – to overlook bands of a consistent, if gimmick-free, quality. Constantines are such a band.

The Canadians arrive in London after a mixed few days in Britain – shows supporting Sleater-Kinney were cancelled at the latest possible hour, leaving the quintet with dates to fill and an absence of fans to occupy the space left by the departed ‘Kinney acolytes. Nottingham, in particular, was next to disastrous, so a successful headline gig in the capital is a necessity to provide the band with momentum enough to make it through their forthcoming continental slog. London’s wiser music fans, those that are as happy with meat and potatoes as they are cordon bleu, do not disappoint: the venue is rammed, as befits a band with a superb third album, Tournament Of Hearts, behind them. Fists are pumped and hands are clapped with a kind of joyful enthusiasm rarely seen at London shows – few present assume the Crossed Arms, Unimpressed Frown position favoured by the standard gig-goer round these parts.

Why? Simple: Constantines’ accomplished rock ‘n’ roll is just that, accomplished rock ‘n’ roll. It carries no quasi-cock-chugging prefix, nor is the band part of any particular scene (unless you want to toss them into a spicy Canadian stew alongside The Hidden Cameras and the now defunct Royal City). ‘Draw Us Lines’ opens, thundering drums calling all to (raise) arms. They fall but momentarily, as spindly front man Bryan Webb instructs all to lift their limbs with some frequency. Clearly the band are enjoying themselves: this was booked as a headline show from the outset, and the turnout must be blessed relief after a week of varying receptions. Guitarist and second singer Steve Lambke cheerily knocks back a Belgian beer – coincidentally, said country is next on their itinerary – before leaning into the microphone, almost arching over the front row, for a highly energised rendition of ‘Thieves’. The standout among a series of triumphs, though, is the band’s calling card (Sub Pop issued it as a single, no less): ‘Nighttime/Anytime’ prompts both a substantial sing along among the faithful and more smiles on stage than at any other stage of the set. Even DiS finds itself mouthing along with Webb’s impassioned vocals.

The lyrical shift from previous album Shine A Light to Tournament Of Hearts carries with it indications of the band’s slow and steady rise to a professional status: Webb is merely “learning to survive” on ‘Insectivora’, but come the latest long-player’s ‘Working Full Time’ the mood of relative depression has turned tail and faced up to optimism. With struggle comes ultimate rewards, so the song appears to say, and after six years of playing rock ‘n’ roll to kids unmoved by their out-of-season hair and charity store shirts, Constantines are now at a point where their music can speak louder than outward aesthetics ever could. Watching, listening to and learning from Constantines’ hour-long sermon feels so right, how could it ever be misconstrued otherwise?

Bands X and Y should watch their backs: that shtick might stick for a short while, but fleetingly fashionable sounds will never endure.