Good Work If You Can Get It! There are really two types of Blur songs and by extension, there are two kinds of Kaiser Chief songs. There is the full on, mad-fer-it rave-ups that not only predict riots but can also incite them. Then there are the sardonic long views chock full of pithy if somewhat fey insights into class, culture and such. This review is much like the two types of Blur/KC songs. I’m of two minds. Part of me wants to submit to the 13-year-old hormonally/socially challenged fanboy that I am and fall over myself to say good things. My higher brain functions want to subject the proceedings to the cold harsh mascara-less glare of the jaded "Barry from High Fidelity" bastard I secretly wish I was. Which side will prevail?

Prior to The Delany winning tickets to Saturday night’s invite-only KC show at Mod Club Theatre (and not being able to attend-sorry you missed a belter) I was a little skeptical.. NME fell over themselves, as I fully expected, to hype their UK chart-busting debut "Employment". Pitchfork was expectedly cooler and less enthusiastic. I once again found myself some where in the middle. "I Predict a Riot" has been rocking my office stereo for weeks. "Modern Way" coupled with recent computer upgrades at the SFB#1 compound have inspired countless themes for mix CD-R comps (the new mix tape). And yet it all feels a bit BLUR 2.0. I even thought, dare I say it, that they were the thinking man’s Menswear. I’ve been burned before by that white-hot next big thing. Anyone, aside from the NFLD contingent, remember Dodgy? Didn’t think so.


Come off you stupid microphone. Bloody Canadian sound techs. 

Well tonight’s show put paid to a lot of that stinkin’ thinkin’. The lads from Leeds take the stage by way of the Camden High Street. This show brought to you by Fred Perry and Doctor Marten: the modern way indeed with their smart blazers and top oxblood 8-holes. Hardly a hand full of bars of "Na Na Na Na Naa" pass before front man Ricky Wilson is pogo-ing around the stage like a manic child who’s inadvertently sprinkled amphetamine sulfate over his sugar bombs. This certainly does move me and get me going. This young apprentice bounds around the stage the way a certain Brit Pop master used to. Whitey (guitarist) may have stolen his sartorial sense from Grand Dame Weller but his echo drenched surf-riffing is beyond reproach. The HHH show has me still ambivalent about scarves and curly tresses: thankfully Simon’s Hooky-esque bass undulations are spot on. Peanut may be shrouded in darkness, but his keyboard noodling shines. Nick looks like he could be the feckless child of one lusty Charlie Stubbs, but he keeps the beat and bangs like hell. Cor…


Does my bum look big in this? 

When the student is ready the master will appear. Ricky welcomes a special guest on stage for "I Predict a Riot" and DAMON E-FFFIN’ ALBARN appears. Oh My God! A shot of adolescent adrenaline hits my cortex and rational thought shuts down. I bound forward at least three feet knocking women and children over to get closer. And yet I hold back. I can’t fully commit to fanboy-dom here. There are also two Damon Albarns. There's the arrogant ego of 95 that would have given Our Kid and that Borrel Lad a run for their money. Now there’s the chilled out dance-mad hipster who is out-Norman Cooking old Norm Cook in the Beats and Bevvies department. The hairline’s stronger than ever, though. I wonder who he uses and if he’s available. His slit-eyed gaze and visible body-stone seem to permit just enough range of motion to spray beer at us. Struggling for relevance? A desperate cry for the attention of Graham Coxon? Becoming a caricature of himself? Or should I say "cartoon". A little of column A… And Graham seems to be doing well enough on his own. Yet his star still shines brightly. By the chorus all my cynicism has evaporated. IT’S DAMON FREAKIN’ ALBARN. I predict a comeback, I predict a comeback.


Oasis, yer whot? I'll 'ave 'im.


I predict a, whot? Where's yer specs, Graham? Ricky who? Never heard of you, mate. 

You would think the show peaks here. Yet Damon’s presence seems to be enough to invest the album’s mid-tempo tracks with the sort of "1995 and at height of his power" energy to make the remaining songs truly memorable. "Oh My God" it’s a bloody brilliant show. A-Ranger and I have found the love again. It’s like an afternoon of drinks and the SFB#1 love mix on the Gloucester Jukebox. This is what shows should be about. It makes me nostalgic for an Engerland that, until recently, I’d never been to. A show should take you to that moment in your life when everything was right and show you that those experiences are not lost to the mists of time. Those times are right now. I lose no time telling Peanut this as he frantically tries to escape my stalker-ish behaviour. "I GOT THE ONE IN THE HAT! I GOT THE ONE IN THE HAT!!!!"


Here's me with Mr. Bean, er I mean Mr. Peanut. 

We hang around after the show in vein hope that Ricky or Damon will do a DJ set. After countless songs from our record collection are played back to us and the place fills with the kind of guys that would have kicked the shite out of me in high school, we decide to bail to the Dance Cave to relive our own Brit Pop glory. DC has changed. Handbag girls hang out there, but that’s for another time. We are totally munted and feelin’ the love. Perfec!

Maybe I am only of one mind about this show after all. We all know which side wins out in the end. I am and forever will be Super Fanboy Number One.

PS. Nice coreography on the openers.

Ok Go are a part of the rhythm nation.   ¶ 5:39 PM