Funeral for a Friend @ The Refectory
By Ben PartridgeWho was Franz Ferdinand? He was an arch-Duke of the Austro Hungarian Empire until 1914 when he was killed by an assassin in Sarajevo. That bullet caused the First World war. Last night, the band who have adopted his namesake as their moniker, demonstrated their own efforts to influence musical history with perhaps the same significance that old Franz' death carried for world politics.
Casually waltzing on stage and with no introduction, Franz Ferdinand began their short and definitely sprightly set list, leaving me full of admiration at the fact I could see their faces! If their music doesn't impress people, I'm sure their influence on the imminent death of the Indie mullet will be warmly received. The Caledonian close crop will be everywhere within weeks I assure you.
The music however, is fun, funky, and fabulously crafted, with a keen melodic sensibility that enhances the excellent live performance. This band I think will be just as important to British music as The Coral and Muse have been in terms of sustaining our old traditions of inventive song-writing coupled with individualism and character that is sorely missed in most bands. Mid set, I realised that to sum up Franz' sound, you must think of the Kinks, the Jam and Gary Numan wrestling the Gang of Four to the floor of Talking Heads era CBGB's. You don't have to like these comparisons to like Franz Ferdinand either; you just have to like good music. And by good I mean filled with an innate listenable quality that is hard to fault.
'Take Me Out' was played far too early for my liking, but 'Darts of Pleasure' finished the performance superbly; 'Ich eiser superfantastique' indeed.
Who decides who gets to play on the NME tour? Someone must have dropped out at the last minute for them to let The Von Bondies on. Seriously, garage rock is soooo last year. Unless you're the Hives of course, which means you're timeless. I know that these cute Detroit guys and dolls have tried to glam their sound up a bit, but someone should tell them that Marc Bolan did it better than anyone else already, and that mirroring Gary Glitter lyrics really isn't popular with the kids at all. Plus, this may only be me, but when I watch a band, it's the, the attitude and the music that I want to see, not the fashion friendly image. After the clean and crisp brilliance of the Franz boys, The Von Bondies bluesy take on garage-punk did not excite me one bit. The Grolsch out of a plastic cup I drank was more interesting while it lasted. Les Flames beat these guys hands down.
The Refectory is probably the worst venue in Leeds you know. Not because of the sound, the engineers did a real good job last night. Not because of the lighting, they were just fine. It's the place itself. For a start, it's a dining room. It wasn't meant to be used as a venue; there are pillars everywhere, which restrict the view from each side of the room, there is no permanent bar, which means getting a drink is ridiculously sketchy because crowd control is appalling, and the labyrinth which hides the Gents toilets makes for a subterranean near-hike.
It's a good thing The Rapture didn't care. No they really don't, and it's the best thing about them. They make music they can dance too, so all they ask is that we dance too. The atmosphere they create saturates the room so heavily that people sweat with the buzz. Disco beats, improvised jazz sax, cow bells and the screeching holler of Luke Jenner, combined with electro-pop keyboards accompanying the greatest sounding bass I have ever heard, indicates the sheer pleasure of listening to this band. Current single 'Love is all' and the anthem 'House of Jealous lovers', were easily the most popular songs amongst the crowd, but the faultless delivery of '4,5,6,7' and opener, 'Out of the races and on to the tracks' confirmed to me that no-one grooves as hard as The Rapture, whilst adding blissful, a cappella harmony to boot.
A casual listener may find recorded Rapture a little too repetitive and for some, electronica needs no revival and should stay in clubs only, but when you want to see skinny New Yorkers bounce erratically to the fruitful joy of their rhythm-filled dance-punk, there are no others who can do it the way the Rapture do.
None too surprisingly, the bulk of the audience left after the Rapture had finished, leaving only the curious or the hardcore faithful to brace themselves in anticipation of Funeral for a Friend's sonic assault on the room.
Abrasive and heavy in comparison with the other acts, but tinged with emotional depth and melodic prowess, Funeral for a Friend are fast becoming the best British entry to the post nu-metal, alternative punk-rock scene that is dominated by Americans such as Finch, Billy Talent and now AFI. More original and insightful than fellow Welshmen Lost Prophets, FFAF show how to express angst and despondency but enjoy themselves while they do it. However, because they aren't as technically proficient or experienced as Glassjaw, with not enough melancholy or intellectualism as ...Trail of Dead, unless Funeral for a Friend can begin to write with much more ingenuity and tweak their double-edged sound beyond anyone else's reach, critical acclaim or not, they will be left with no opportunity for furthering their genre, instead of merely defining it. It is this indistinct, same old same old nature that spoils what was other wise a decent show for an energetic and hopeful band.
