KILLERS
Cardiff International Arena
From the opening bars of Human, Killers’ frontman Brandon Flowers signals
his intent, ‘It’s Saturday night and we’re all yours,’ he
bellows to the crowd in his Nevada inflection. Flowers is clearly at the top
of his game; striding purposefully across the stage in his signature matador
jacket and guyliner, he blasts his way through the colossal Somebody Told Me
with pompous finesse.
Tracks from the new album Day and Age are skillfully weaved into the set list
with Joy Ride, a playful nod to Berlin-era Lou Reed. The chugging rhythms of
Bling are backdropped by the Joy Division biopic Control, with the expansive
mono screen adding to the bleak sentiment.
The mood is swiftly lifted with Spaceman, another Flowers oddity full of wonderfully
daft lyrics about dream makers and star makers, culminating in a crescendo
of terrace style ‘oh oh ohs’. Usually an introverted character,
Flowers is on the charm offensive, playing to the gallery at every opportunity
and turning in a superb solo outing on Sam’s Town; stripped of its idiosyncratic
dynamic with just Flowers and his deft piano playing.
Flowers rewinds the crowd right back to the early days, narrating the band’s
almost accidental coming together before guitarist Dave Keuning launches into
the ubiquitous Mr Brightside, sending 8,000 punters into total delirium. Set
closer All These Things That I’ve Done as Flowers marshals the crowd
into one voice as the mantra of ‘I’ve got soul/but I’m not
a soldier’ reverberates around the venue. Although they’ve yet
to better their early output, on this evidence, The Killers still remain one
of the most engaging live bands in the world.
ELBOW
Newport Centre
This time last year, The Seldom Seen Kid was released with a minimal amount
of fanfare, entering the charts almost unnoticed before making its inevitable
slide out again. Since winning the Mercury Music Prize and BRIT Award for Best
British Band, Elbow have been thrust triumphantly into the public domain. Shiny
accolades always bolster album sales, but The Seldom Seen Kid has seeped into
the public consciousness via a million television soundtracks and the band’s
workmanlike approach to touring.
Startlings has opened the Elbow set list for the best part of twelve months
and tonight is no different; beginning with a lilting percussion before giving
way to a round of blaring horns and Guy Garvey’s unmistakable soft timbre.
The Bones Of You follows, bouncing with flashes of flamenco rhythm and Garvey’s
furrowed narrative, ‘cramming commitments like cats in a sack’.
Newborn signals a rare dip into the back catalogue; a lush acoustic strum that
transmogrifies into a pounding all-out wall of noise. The mood lightens with
Weather To Fly as Garvey rounds his troops up into a single huddle for a haphazard
acapella, you get the feeling they stuff it up on purpose but luckily a rebooted,
sleeker version is offered up.
Although it’s been an unavoidable advertising anthem, One Day Like This
still sounds as poignant as it did on the day of its release - crashing in
with swooping strings and Garvey’s mushy sentiment as two guns loaded
with ticker tape are fired into the crowd (the live budget has definitely seen
an increase). After such a rousing send off, the encore is a little anti-climatic
- but this is of little significance, Elbow have captivated tonight.
Photo: Shirlaine Forrest
SHRED YR FACE 2 TOUR
Clwb Ifor Bach
Fast-rising Sheffield thrash-pop kids Rolo Tomassi are, with misleadingly polite
demeanours, comparative odd ones out on this package bill of world-beating
rock noisemakers. Convulsing through expansive neck-snapping metallic contortions,
the focus is cute-as-a-button screamer Eva Spence. What the diminutive lead
lady lacks in stature, she compensates via throat-lacerating roars.
The main event aren't Spence's charges, however, or even tuneful US hardcore
punk headliners The Bronx. Because when the unstoppable behemoth that is Fucked
Up hits town, no onlookers are entirely safe. The Canadian chargers maintain
a nigh-on legendary live rep, chiefly thanks to heavyweight vocalist Damian
Abraham. Stripped to the waist, the rotund rabble-rouser positively demands
attention, largely spending the set among offstage. Abraham is a force of nature,
hoisting one bewildered audience member above his shoulders weightlifter fashion
and generally skittling through a sold-out venue with unhinged disregard. In
between, he finds time to playfully insult Welsh institution Tom Jones for
apparently questioning his singing abilities and, crucially, lend grizzly gruffness
to liberatingly exhilarating terrace-refrained punk-rock mini-anthems.
The Bronx were always going to struggle after that, even if defeat isn't in
frontman Matt Caughthran's vocab. Going eyeball-to-eyeball with the front rows,
Caughthran contributes heroic crowd surfing and amiable charisma that has previously
filled rooms five times this size. Yet he can't disguise the fact that highlights
from The Bronx's three self-titled albums to date don't quite measure up to
the bulging waistline and compellingly animated antics of Damian Abraham.
Take care out there – gigging is getting interactive!