The Dears @ Joseph's Well
By Andy BuchanThe Dears look like a band on the run. Six disheveled Canadians take to the stage nervously clutching flutes, keyboards, 2 guitars, a bass and best of all, a recorder. They anxiously squint in the dark, furtively looking into the crowd for friendly faces. They look unsure of how to start, the crowd unsure of what to expect. Nothing quite prepares you for it though.
The distorted guitars hum and crackle, the drums smash and the bass implodes as the collective jaw in the Well drops at a speed of light. Imagine Cistercian monks doing battle with a Black Emperor while heavenly guitars fight to the death and you're no where near. Imagine the best live show you've seen for a long, long time and you're still no where near.
Taking Morrissey and Marr's inspired imprint, Murray Lightburn's incendiary vocals give the band emotive purpose while the backing vocals coo softly in your ear, beckoning you into their murkily clear world of wisdom and wine. The tracks range from orchestral epics to prog punk, the band casually taking in vast vistas of sound like lazy drags on a cigarette. The drums pound and pound, gathering intensity as the hot and humid storm begins to break, showering the crowd with windswept emotion leaving you frazzled and unsteady.
The end is simple and destructive as it should be; lonely police sirens echoing after the departed band, perhaps the Mounties searching for Canada's lost gems.
Before the onslaught, we had Kama Loca's good time pop funk to keep us happy. The sound is crystal clear and robust, while the Bloc of party guitars gives them a dynamic feel, thrusting the lickalicious riffs into your face and demanding you suck and see.
People are dancing too, although one suspects their dance moves are due to familial pressure and cheap beer. Still it matters not a jot when everyone starts to sway to the prime time slab of political funk that is dedicated to both The Beatles (Woo!) and Tony Blair (Boo!). Talk about hedging your bets. The accomplished set ends with distorted guitars and intricate harmonies which are effortlessly bashed out like a Sunday date with Palmela Handerson, while the cascading bass line lend a finishing hand. Nice.
