Albert Hammond Jr. - Live Review, Wedgewood Rooms

Albert Hammond Jr - A blistering 90 minutes of stylish garage rock

****

The Wedgewood Rooms, Portsmouth

                                       Photo by Charlie Makemson

As per the now-almost blueprint of “going solo”, it’s difficult separating Albert Hammond Jr. from his revered, fascinating past as The Strokes lead guitarist. It’s similarly difficult making this distinction between the music; much of his set tonight, compromised from all three studio albums and sole EP, is extremely evocative of his iconic New York indie outfit. From the stylish, distinctive guitar tones, frantic rhythms or stop-start dynamics, Hammond’s set makes for very familiar territory.

Indeed, you can hear much of The Strokes’s catalogue across the show; Born Slippy’s stalking, heavy groove is particularly reminiscent of Angles’ Machu Pichu, and ‘Rude Customer’s chugging rhythms and scatty guitar leads could of come came straight from the band’s second record Room on Fire. Despite a lengthy set barren of any Strokes material, it’s perhaps testament to Hammond’s importance to the band that their sound should feel so prominent here.

That said, to write off Hammond Jr. as a mere Strokes by-numbers would be at best extremely unfair, and at worst flat-out ignorant; his 90 minute performance stands on its own merit as a blistering set of finely-crafted garage rock. An exceptionally tight live act, the band play the set with quick-fire precision, keeping stage banter to a minimal (“The album was released 2 months ago…” guitarist Hammarsing Kharmar gestures four fingers at him. “Four!?” Hammond replies incredulously. “Four months… where did that time go. Mother Time… you old slut.”), and flying through an extensive set with breathless energy.

The wonderful, inexplicably nostalgic ‘In Transit’ is played to utterly rapturous reception, humorously offset by a drunken punter yelling the song’s title back at him. Then a storming ‘Touché’ followed by an equally breakneck ‘Carnal Cruise’ prove to be the show’s ferocious highlights. Suitably, Hammond’s band make for energetic stage presence; none more so than the haywire Hammond himself, and at odds with The Strokes’s often-static live performances. Clutching his face in his hands and swinging his guitar behind his back, Hammond Jr becomes increasingly wide-eyed and unpredictable as the show progresses. While he occasionally strays into maniacal delivery echoing that of his Strokes frontman Julian Casablancas, he nonetheless proves a captivating frontman of surprising showmanship. That’s not to say it is not all so raucous. Given the quick-fire nature of the set, it may be easy to overlook the fine balance it strikes between its predominant, punchy immediacy and the band’s more restrained, rhythmic tendencies.

What’s perhaps most impressive of all is the effortlessness with which Hammond and his band, all of whom seemingly formidable with their instruments, pull the whole thing off. It makes for an effortlessly slick, stylish and above-all superb 90 minutes.  

Foals: What Went Down Review

Foals: What Went Down – Holy Fire’s sometime brilliant but frequently frustrating big brother

***

 After 2013’s Holy Fire elevated Foals into the alternative big leagues, the band return with What Went Down; their self-proclaimed biggest, most muscular record yet. Curtain raiser and the titular What Went Down sets the tone; taking the brutal baton begun with Prelude, passed to Inhaler and subsequently Providence, it’s the final, ferocious 100m sprint to Foal’s finish line.

The band’s reach for the arenas continues with the Radioheadesque Mountain At My Gates, and guitar leads on Birch Tree unshakeably evocative of By The Way-era Red Hot Chillis. Blending their new, riff-heavy edge (Snake Oil) with their signature oriental guitar textures (Birch Tree, Night Swimmers),What Went Down delivers some genuinely brilliant moments; with Night Swimmers, Albatross and the eponymous What Went Down proving genuinely thrilling, captivating highlights as good as anything in the band’s previous repertoire. It sounds bigger, grander, almost cinematic - and the sound of a band oozing confidence. So it’s then strange that What Went Down should prove such a frustrating, unbalanced listen.

Increasingly bloated as it progresses, and too often settling into drawn out, dead-end melodies, it lacks the dynamism and excitement that made Holy Fire (think Prelude, Providence) such a compelling record. Yannis Philippakis’s wild vocals give the album drama and passion to match its elaborate, blockbuster melodies; but fail to give gravitas and weight to weak, melodramatic lyrics (‘When I come to walk the line, the fire may come, but we'll be just fine’).

Ultimately, What Went Down sounds like a band brimming with confidence and urgency, but what is sometimes brilliant is more frequently indulgent, pretentious and bloated - sonically and in length. An album that should be captivating instead sounds predictable and frustrating, leaving the band's swagger feeling uncomfortably misplaced and its audience wondering what might, or should, have been.