The Horrors

Hanging around in the pouring rain isn’t the best way to spend a Friday evening. Unfortunately, the doors should have opened 45 minutes ago and with a ridiculously long queue of people wanting to get into the venue, DiS is quite prepared to brave the elements now rather than later, particularly as it would mean missing part of the show.

Which is what happened to a good two-thirds of tonight’s audience. We’ve only just walked inside when a dirge-like keyboard solo introduces The Horrors. Perhaps you have heard them? If not, you will most certainly have read about them. They play Screamin’ Lord Sutch covers and Eighties Matchbox b-sides and answer to silly self-appointed names like Faris Badwan and Joshua Von Grimm. Unexpectedly, they’re also one of the most entertaining opening acts I’ve seen in a long while, particularly frontman Badwan, whose admittedly indecipherable between-song rants turn into full-on confrontations with various audience members at (ir)regular intervals throughout their set. Whilst buying one of their records would never enter the equation, in the flesh their 20 minutes are about as dangerous and exciting as you’ll see this autumn. ‘Tis just a shame more people weren’t in the room to see it.

Sadly, the next band The Dykeenies don’t quite cut the mustard. Sure, the haircuts look neat, the clobber fairly cool, and they seem genuinely thrilled, if not a little surprised, to be partaking in what is by all accounts a fairly prestigious tour slot. Musically, their songs are quite forgettable, in that they sound like an amalgam of late '90s Britpop and Hot Fuss-era Killers. Next.

Thankfully, the arrival of The Maccabees brings with it the first real burst of fervour, from a musical point of view at least, and with it a firm belief that finally tonight’s bill can actually boast something decidedly exceptional, if not entirely original.

You see, The Maccabees somehow make the most ordinary, mundane, laconic situations sound like the beginning of time and the end of the world all in one three-minute measure. When the reading of swimming rules and regulations from their local leisure centre delivered over power-pop fuelled guitars that is ‘Latchmere’ morphs into the unmistakeable “Look left, look right, crossing roads whilst holding hands” chorus of ‘Lego’, it’s no surprise that the whole room feels the urge to actually wake up, dance and throw themselves around like it’s 11:59 pm on the 31st December. Of course, all good things have to come to an end: as far as we’re concerned, this might as well have been the end of the night.

No such luck, though, as The Fratellis (pictured) follow. In their wake, several-hundred non-plussed frowns and gasps of “Whaaaa…???” at their strange elevation to their current status as one of Britain’s biggest bands.

Of course, everyone who actually gives a shit about this lot - and judging by the surge to the bar after the first couple of songs, a fair few don’t – are only here for the one that goes “Der-der-der, Der-der-der, der-der-der-da-da-da-da”..._ ‘Chelsea...’_ something-or-other. Once again, it’s like being transported back to 1998ish: Be Here Now has just signalled the death knell of Britpop and all that remain are the odd one-hit wonder chancers snapped up by [INSERT NAME OF] major record label desperate for one last big pay day. Whereas The Maccabees could also probably cite the same era as an influence, they use it in a positive manner to create something new and exciting. The Fratellis? Well, I guess one word can sum them up to perfection: why?