The Cooper Temple Clause
Biffy ClyroEdit this event
Another hot, dizzy night inside the Concorde 2. Another night pushed along by the ever faithful rush of cigarettes and daydream conversation. Just as the overpopulated bar begins to threaten the sixth unwelcome assault upon my already weightless wallet, the bang bang crash of Biffy Clyro shakes the floor underneath me and I am swept with the crowd into the main room, collapsing under the rising shudder of sound. Three men on stage. Each chord hitting with life assuring force and sonic fury. For two minutes I stand bewildered by the side of the room, pinned ruthlessly down by a daze of snare snaps and bass lines that set my spine on edge. It was like hearing the most painfully, beautifully heavy moments of Mogwai in a single key change. It was the most wonderfully bruised Fugazi notes in a single headrush. The drums were incredible- every bass kick, every cymbal smash, provided a thrilling backbone of sound that would have left me weak at the knees if only......well, if only they hadn't started singing. The Nu-Metal vocal din breaking out of such intense, perfect musicianship seemed out of place- and drove the band out of the context I had hurried to place them in. As an instrumental three piece, they would be mind blowing. But the shouting intermittently rapes their sound of its stunning originality- and there is little left but another band who sound like every other band that's ever heard Nirvana.
Which is where I would have instinctively placed the inescapable Cooper Temple Clause. I had managed to avoid the hype until this evening, but curiosity lured me to the front of the stage. They stroll forward, looking like the embodiment of everything that makes rock and roll such a boring ego playground, a boyish pastiche of tight indie T-shirts and haircuts that any Face reading sixth former would kill for.
Whooooosh, and the music starts. I try to concentrate, but their disdainfully uber-cool stares are so distracting that I end up staring dumbly into my beer, managing to catch the try hard pout of one guitarist as he ever so casually flicks his plectrum at a couple of pretty girls. The struts....the stance....it's all out of the sans ironic Spinal Tap bible.
Don't get me wrong- I know first impressions rarely count for much...so I close my eyes and breath in the hushing stream of synths, the sweep of a cello bow gently grazing a guitar, the building rattle of the drums. The sound in the room is huge and beautiful, and I feel like I'm sliding so deep into the music that I can feel the stars stuttering above me. The intro of 'Been Training Dogs' roars with fervesent twang, a blinding mesh of Korgs against Telecasters. Each song drives forward, then lifts with soaring vocals and solo freakouts. My judgmental approach to this band remains....but yes, right now, they sound fucking great.
The beauty of their sound battles against the temptation of vanity, but going by tonight performance, The Cooper Temple Clause are strong enough to stay on top.
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