Lead me to the world that you know The review of Chikinki's Metro Club gig earlier this month. The review was written sometime between one and two in the morning on a train from King's Cross to Cambridge (calling EVERYWHERE) because I was a twit and missed my train, so if it doesn't make sense, I'm not correcting it now. Here is as it was written in my notebook:

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Arriving at Oxford Street's Metro Club was rather akin to turning up at band night at school. A few people wandering, a couple more sitting on ledges, waiting for the interesting stuff later to happen. This gig, though, didn't require cheap cans of Strongbow to be sipped illicitly from rucksacks away from the prying eyes of supervising teachers. (In hindsight, with cans of Red Stripe at £3.20, I wish I did smuggle in some sneaky contraband.) It did, however, have the obligatory inexplicable early act — the lone man, with just his guitar and the mic for company, squawking out his inner poetic voice over a scratchy ill-recorded iPod-stored backing track.

Next up, and with a slightly fuller audience (even spots for leaning at the bar now premium space), The Michelles took to the stage, after what appeared to be a slight hiccup in finding their fourth member. Helpfully, he did arrive in time for the opening riff.

At first slightly shaky, The Michelles (made of men and not four lasses sharing the same moniker) poured out some pretty standard rock of the New York flavour (think Strokes, YYYs) but soon found their feet and the sound developed into something approaching perhaps ska. A very tight performance and catchy riffs made for a good support act: some work on the vocals and these guys could be away.

Following hot on their heels came headline act Chikinki, a blend of electronic beats with solid guitar and drum work to really bring those audio nerves alive. These guys have been around a few years now, having released a record or two before going quiet for rather a long time. It's good to see (and hear) them back, a push in the right direction might see them break through this time.

A lead singer for whom the word 'squiffy' was made for fronted this show of a band that could only just fit on the stage. At points, the music became raw, live drum'n'bass — mostly provided by the drummer himself (insanely fast arms he has), but the electronic sounds given by a guy peering with one eye through a chin-length fringe. Meanwhile, the keyboardist in moments of hyperactivity stabs and pummels the instrument in thrusts and rocks of the body. The guitarist watches on, concentrating on his complicated but elegantly addictive riff.

This is good stuff. When the venue's security staff come over to watch and dance, you know there's something right here. And may it continue to burst ear drums until we are all struck deaf.

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For you delectation, I have included some photos of the Metro Club gig below. (For those of you with RSS readers, press the red button NOW. I mean click the link to this post (above somewhere I guess, depending on your software) and you'll find them all beneath the text, which by now you'll have already read.) I have also popped in a couple of pictures of the Patrick Wolf gig from before that I hadn't uploaded photos for yet. Aren't I good to you, with all these multimedia extras? Enjoy!

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Listening to: lots of Memphis Industries new music.







Posted: 21-05-06 09:31 :: Permalink: http://ben.corale.co.uk/archive/v1/227.html

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