Bloc Party Burn Down Brixton
Artist:
Bloc Party
The heat turned unbearable; oxygen became scarce as certain percipients lacked perspirent; and the crowd was condensed into a giant mass of bobbing heads and lost torsos like a thousand Vanessa Feltz clones in a 4 x 10 compression chamber. Yet endurance was essential if we were to observe the mighty art-rock transmissions of East London’s finest contemporary quartet, as Bloc Party graced the renowned recesses of Brixton Academy last night.
Briskly walking on stage with a boyish ardour, they armed themselves with their respective sound-tool of preference. All four, ready to face a wildly receptive audience comprised heavily of hyperactive adolescents with emo styled follicles pasted against their salty foreheads. As part of the Party’s disco enhanced stage set, there were a number of large rectangular walls erected solely from what appeared to be bathroom tiles. This initial perception was reversed as multi-coloured laser lights began flashing via these constructs; our realisation that the band’s stage directors had not become over-enthusiastic at MFI Homeworks for budgeting reasons.
Adorned in a red t-shirt with a brazen Grace Jones front profile (be it anti-stereotypical black iconography, rebellious symbolism, or just plain chic), lead singer Kele Okereke pinched a few guitar strings to coax his vocal pipe into pushing out a melodic exhalation for the opening words to Song For Clay (Disappear Here).
The energy of the crowd participation in the front-centre exploded into a compact prison break. Feet levitated and spinal columns were submitted to reckless dances: all for the love of Matt Tong’s shredding drum strikes that enraged the spirits of all eager youth in tow.
As social commentary rose up, the activist fist unfurled for Russell Lissack to finger the virally infectious riff to the band’s stunning new single Hunting For Witches. Energy remained intense as they re-tredded Silent Alarm favourite’s Like Eating Glass, Banquet.and This Modern Love. In addition they plucked and banged and howled away to further gems from A Weekend In The City, with the Brighton-bound chant Waiting For The 7:18, The Prayer, Uniform[/i] and the anthemic I Still Remember which futher roused fans with it’s cordial nostalgic cadence.
At time though, the amplitude of the sound Bloc Party convey felt ever so slightly betrayed by their lacks of ostentatious on-stage character. Despite the front man being recognized in the past for his austere nature, any timid skin should be shed at a safe distance outside of his gifted domain, for he is indeed one of the most exceptional and sincere talents to emerge from the over-saturated indie scene in the last decade. His admiration evident, as the duo-syllables ‘Kele’ were descant over the heads of the crowd between songs. Yet kudos for the point at which he decided to unconvincingly crowd surf, and risked having those drainpiped legs dismembered from his person and taken home as souvenirs.
Nearing a deceitful end however, the band exited fully aware that imminent roars for their return would follow providing the necessary vote for a monarchial encore.
And so returned a tenderly disposed Kele, protected by and wielding his instrument, offering dedication to his parents (who resided in the audience) with the vividly morose SRXT,. Then the leader of Bloc Party declared in a deadpan gesture to emphasise on the suffix of their name, “let’s have some fun.” Thus ensued one last blitzkrieg medley with the epic She’s Hearing Voices and the brooding Positive Tension, as finally there flew the frenzied Helicopter; Kele’s soaring British wail slicing through the giant speakers overhead like propellers operated by a manic-depressive. The audience’s reaction to this bombardment could only be described as volcanic, with each individual erupting unanimously to the sonic turbulence.
In the back of my mind I questioned weather the band received the appraisal their truly deserve as the lead verbalised one last farewell to the loyal legions. Thus the party ended, the block began to disperse and obese girls began slipping on obtuse plastic cups- a physics-defying phenomenon I only discovered this night after 20 ignorant years on Earth.
Words by Shan Phearon
RWD Magazine
myspace.com/blocparty
The heat turned unbearable; oxygen became scarce as certain percipients lacked perspirent; and the crowd was condensed into a giant mass of bobbing heads and lost torsos like a thousand Vanessa Feltz clones in a 4 x 10 compression chamber. Yet endurance was essential if we were to observe the mighty art-rock transmissions of East London’s finest contemporary quartet, as Bloc Party graced the renowned recesses of Brixton Academy last night.
Briskly walking on stage with a boyish ardour, they armed themselves with their respective sound-tool of preference. All four, ready to face a wildly receptive audience comprised heavily of hyperactive adolescents with emo styled follicles pasted against their salty foreheads. As part of the Party’s disco enhanced stage set, there were a number of large rectangular walls erected solely from what appeared to be bathroom tiles. This initial perception was reversed as multi-coloured laser lights began flashing via these constructs; our realisation that the band’s stage directors had not become over-enthusiastic at MFI Homeworks for budgeting reasons.
Adorned in a red t-shirt with a brazen Grace Jones front profile (be it anti-stereotypical black iconography, rebellious symbolism, or just plain chic), lead singer Kele Okereke pinched a few guitar strings to coax his vocal pipe into pushing out a melodic exhalation for the opening words to Song For Clay (Disappear Here).
The energy of the crowd participation in the front-centre exploded into a compact prison break. Feet levitated and spinal columns were submitted to reckless dances: all for the love of Matt Tong’s shredding drum strikes that enraged the spirits of all eager youth in tow.
As social commentary rose up, the activist fist unfurled for Russell Lissack to finger the virally infectious riff to the band’s stunning new single Hunting For Witches. Energy remained intense as they re-tredded Silent Alarm favourite’s Like Eating Glass, Banquet.and This Modern Love. In addition they plucked and banged and howled away to further gems from A Weekend In The City, with the Brighton-bound chant Waiting For The 7:18, The Prayer, Uniform[/i] and the anthemic I Still Remember which futher roused fans with it’s cordial nostalgic cadence.
At time though, the amplitude of the sound Bloc Party convey felt ever so slightly betrayed by their lacks of ostentatious on-stage character. Despite the front man being recognized in the past for his austere nature, any timid skin should be shed at a safe distance outside of his gifted domain, for he is indeed one of the most exceptional and sincere talents to emerge from the over-saturated indie scene in the last decade. His admiration evident, as the duo-syllables ‘Kele’ were descant over the heads of the crowd between songs. Yet kudos for the point at which he decided to unconvincingly crowd surf, and risked having those drainpiped legs dismembered from his person and taken home as souvenirs.
Nearing a deceitful end however, the band exited fully aware that imminent roars for their return would follow providing the necessary vote for a monarchial encore.
And so returned a tenderly disposed Kele, protected by and wielding his instrument, offering dedication to his parents (who resided in the audience) with the vividly morose SRXT,. Then the leader of Bloc Party declared in a deadpan gesture to emphasise on the suffix of their name, “let’s have some fun.” Thus ensued one last blitzkrieg medley with the epic She’s Hearing Voices and the brooding Positive Tension, as finally there flew the frenzied Helicopter; Kele’s soaring British wail slicing through the giant speakers overhead like propellers operated by a manic-depressive. The audience’s reaction to this bombardment could only be described as volcanic, with each individual erupting unanimously to the sonic turbulence.
In the back of my mind I questioned weather the band received the appraisal their truly deserve as the lead verbalised one last farewell to the loyal legions. Thus the party ended, the block began to disperse and obese girls began slipping on obtuse plastic cups- a physics-defying phenomenon I only discovered this night after 20 ignorant years on Earth.
Words by Shan Phearon
RWD Magazine
myspace.com/blocparty
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Comments
M-Bop.
25 Apr 2007, 00:46
25 Apr 2007, 00:46
The night was f*cking amazing and i think this review just explained everything anyone who didn't go what it felt like. Good Job Mr Phearon. *Thumbs Up*
Yusuf B
25 Apr 2007, 01:16
25 Apr 2007, 01:16
T'was a night to remember. Reading this just brings it all back.
tallbloke
10 Oct 2007, 12:37
10 Oct 2007, 12:37
What a horrendously badly written review. Gt a new thesaurus for christmas did you? Next time stop trying to appear literary and concentrate on reviewing the bloody show!
