Vampire Weekend – First Direct Arena (4/5)
As the current music scene leaves us aching for new bands to present an original and unpretentious sound, it is a relief to hear Vampire Weekend moving from strength to strength. In the six years since the New York boys’ explosive self-titled debut, snappy lyricism and Afrobeat influenced indie pop has matured into a diverse and expertly crafted back catalogue worthy of the huge venues it now echoes through. Crucial to this rolling success is their simultaneous humility and boundless charisma, evident from the instant the curtain lifts to find the foursome met by the unanimous roar in First Direct Arena.
After a deliberate moment of tense anticipation, the swift jump into opener ‘Diane Young’ provides an energetic start and a perfect embodiment of Vampire quirkiness. The band operate as a seasoned unit; skillful percussion on ‘Cape Cod Kwassa Kwassa’ moves to support driving bass and riffing guitars on vibrant numbers ‘A-Punk’ and ‘Cousins’, while ‘Step’ pronounces warm synth and soft vocals. It seems the set in its entirety is not only a deft blend of the quartet’s three albums but an amalgamation of the many faces of Vampire Weekend.
Koenig’s vocal prowess is clear throughout, displaying a purity of tone and lyrical honesty that few frontmen can equal. Moreover he quickly develops a rapport that puts his audience at ease, cracking jokes and emphasising “Who gives a fuck about an Oxford Comma?” with brilliantly manic expressions. Clearly three albums in doesn’t only see Vampire Weekend continue to craft their personal brand of indie rock; they’ve kept their sense of fun too. It is this quirky charisma, apparent on the record and more so live, commanding a frenzied rendition of ‘Walcott’ as the night draws to a close. The kids might have grown up, but they definitely stand a chance.
Sam Corcoran
Savages – Vox Warehouse (5/5)
“I need something new”, Jehnny Beth half says through gritted teeth. She stalks the stage, pacing slowly. “I need something new”, she states again, this time with vindication; her eyes roam the silenced audience looking for sorry fools to catch her eye, as she continues along the same vein. No one dares. Beth’s presence is intimidating to say the least but Savages aren’t here for niceties.
The set sees the four-piece unleash the sound which has put them on the map. It’s one of exhilarating momentum: thrashing, loud and unrelenting. ‘I Am Here’ and ‘Shut Up’ roll over each other to introduce the set, the combination of the two sounding like a brash call to arms as a smoky haze fills the stage and transforms the band into ghostly silhouettes.
Beth bucks and twitches her way through the set; she rocks back and forth; she bashes her head on the speakers; she yelps and cries, animalistic and feral, her vocal fighting through the furious noise of Faye Milton (drums), Ayse Hassan (bass) and Gemma Thompson (guitar) who build up the noise in a frenzy that is all-consuming.
Hassan’s bolshy bass indicates the arrival of crowd favourite ‘Husbands’, crawling along its underbelly, while Thompson and Milton crash over the top as the track flits between one that is quiet and one that is sheer noise. The song is a turning point of the evening; the crowd from this point are as pumped up as the four-piece as they catapult towards the final showdown.
This comes in the form of ‘Fuckers’, a six minute foray into the heart of Savages’ musical core. Six minutes of thrashing and abrasive instrumental fill the room as Beth whispers, shouts, and cries “don’t let the fuckers get you down” over and over, a ferocious and inspiring parting message.
Tania Burnham