White Rabbits

For some reason, White Rabbits’ album Fort Nightly was released with little media pomp surrounding it last year. A single appeared on Young Turks/XL and the album followed on Fierce Panda, but the blogs, that hype machine making us aware of new music, proved relatively quiet. Yet Fort Nightly is, far and wide, that new favourite album you have yet to discover. It is dense, honest and inventive, creating a sound encircling our 'indie' world that sounds new, fresh and unlike anything else out there. It’s a folkloric circus act of indie-pop, buttressed by baritone sax, side-winding vocals and brash, melodic conjecture. So, predictably, The Borderline is not bursting at the seams tonight. It’s busy, sure, but breathable. This band should be playing Koko, not The Borderline. And it is far from sold out.

Melbourne/Sydney, Australia's Teenagers in Tokyo are first. On offer is a well travelled but thoroughly mediocre take on basic art-rock. It's the musical equivalent of plywood: it functions well enough and has its basic uses, but is only worthwhile when nothing better is available. The mostly-female quintet employ coiffed film noir hair akin to Ipso Facto and The Organ, and sound like them and everyone else. Swirling melodic pop accompany screaming vocals, backs turned to the audience, and predictable, almost jokingly so hooks. Twenty minutes is enough of yet one more derivative example of the new-wave, punk-fueled zeitgeist sound that is surely coming and going quickly. Enjoy it now, girls.

A break allows the headliners to set up an auxiliary drum rig and, now, the room is busier, but not by much. There’s room to move around, always nice, but this sextet deserves better. It should be heaving. Still, the band is appreciative from the onset, knowing this is their busiest London show to date. The energy on stage immediately lashing into ‘Navy Wives’ is reflective, as loud, brash melodic hyperbole intersects with two drummers consistently battling it out while an standalone organ stabs coils of guitar, leaking more enthusiasm with each jab. Two songs in, the job is done. There is nothing out there like this, absolutely nothing at all, and White Rabbits know this.

Their confidence fills the cracks in the room, gaining strength through ‘March of the Camels’ and their album’s title track. ‘The Plot’ is a spurious two-minute beast live, too short maybe, but a powerful statement on where rock music should be heading, infiltrated by samba, jazz and percussion, pushed more towards the intellect than the dance floor. ‘Kid on My Shoulders’ and a Specials-influenced take on Bob Dylan’s ‘Maggie’s Farm’ signal the exit after 40 minutes. Both are as beguiling as the rest: loud, ballsy, but over too soon.

Intimacy is not the best atmosphere for this music, as these intricate song structures are more suited for bigger venues, places allowing more space to explore, squeeze into and influence. These songs may be too impatient for a rockabilly basement, but a treat hearing each on attack mode tonight. I bet Koko is next.

Photo: Ben Yacobi