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Review by Jake May |
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FOR those of you who have had your fingers in your ears for the past few
months it is my duty to inform you that electro has risen from the ashes of
the eighties and is spearheading an onslaught, synths set to stun, on today's
dance charts.
Leading the charge is the Liverpool collective Ladytron, riding high on the
electro-stallions of Human League and Kraftwerk (followed by a string of little
robo-ponies in the shape of Derrick May, Depeche Mode and Gary Neuman).
Along with acts such as Felix Da Housecat and Fischerspooner, Ladytron have
infused the genre with a new vitality, edginess and a much-needed dose of
self-deprecation. Somehow, this has lead those members of the music-paparazzi
who like to slap a label on everything to dub the movement "electroclash".
Marvellous.
As all respectable electro acts should, Ladytron held an austere stage presence (Fischerspooner take note), the waif-like figures of singers Mira and Helena belying powerful voices that drifted effortlessly from harmonic dirge to crisp melody. The rest of the group hid in the shadows, justifiably nervous of the increasingly maniacal lightshow blitzing the packed auditorium.
The set predominantly drew upon Ladytron's latest hit album Light and Magic
(following the underground success of their first album 604) weaving a blend
of classics including Playgirl and He Took Her to a Movie with
fresher material such as Blue Jeans and Seventeen.
Thumping beats remained tight throughout whilst synth sounds mashed and crescendoed
and, as the strobes began to border upon the epileptic, the already jiggling
beery audience began to bop about like a bunch of hyperactive weebles on springs,
leaving me uncertain as to whether they were really enjoying themselves or
on the verge of some group fit.
Just as I was contemplating a pre-emptive call to St. Johns Ambulance the music stopped and the crowd went mental (in the good way, not the writhing-about-on-the-floor-gnawing-your-tongue type). Not one but two encores later they were still whooping away, but by then Ladytron had fully exhausted both themselves and their repertoire and so made their final exit of the night.
Despite remaining virtually motionless throughout the entire set Ladytron managed to defy about, ooh, three laws of performance physics and electrified the stage, sending static charges coursing through the audience. My only disappointment of the evening was that none of the ladies present came dressed up in the "Hitler Youth" styled outfits worn in the video for Seventeen, but that's because I am a filthy reprobate. Speaking of which…
Support was thrashed out by glam-rock perverts Pink Grease, currently a nose
ahead for Sheffield's skinniest sextet award - time to start mixing some steroids
in with the amphetamines, boys.
Bawling like the bastard offspring of Roxy Music and the Ramones, they inflicted
brutal sonic assault with tracks from their recent singles Soul Paco
and Working All Day/Manhattan On Fire. Anarchic onstage antics left
no doubt that the band was lost in some onanistic audio orgy, leaving punters
feeling soiled but sated.
Oh, band-member Nick also scores high in the "Scariest Synthesizer"
category, buckling onstage under the weight of the home-built beast that,
rumour has it, houses an electrode-clamped Labrador puppy wired up to a vocoder.
You can view this torture machine and read all about the strutting debauchery
that is Pink Grease at http://www.pinkgrease.com/