A barren, no-gig fast of more than three months is eventually broken and then speedily followed by a couple of smashing evenings in a week. By rights I should be writing about Alasdair Roberts coming over to Cheltenham (it was a good time – I’m sure I’ll get onto it) but I’ve spent most of this Saturday chuckling indulgently to myself as I think back to a classic Thekla Thursday night…
Lemon Twigs, Thekla
Coleser has of late taken to texting me with “I’ve bought you a ticket for,,, You’re going to love them!”. I approve of this hugely, of course, and I’m hoping to be the beneficiary of similar largesse in the future. I’d certainly never heard of siblings the Lemon Twigs from Long Island when I received the most recent message, but a few sessions on YouTube and the loan of their debut record had me suitably piqued, although I have to say I wasn’t sure I quite ‘got’ it…
Pretty much missed the support band, having been caught in traffic coming in, which always seems a shame, but then again, I’ve seen some pretty ropey support slots of recent. The charming, old boat was rammed full of ove-excited college lads and lasses (and a few curious old gits), and was suitably dense, drab and humid, for the first date of what I reckon’ll be an unforgettable UK tour.
Older (but still only 20) brother, Brian Addario, led from the front, dressed in some sort of mauve crushed velvet jacket, longish hair tucked studiously behind his ears, introducing the band and launching into a lustily-received “I want to prove to you”. It was a great start and they banged through three or four more songs really quickly, with all the playfulness and lack of restraint that makes the record such a bag of tricks. It’s as if they can’t resist adding an extra run of notes or another sprig of tinsel to the tree.
“We could make this part sound like a fairground jig!”
“Yeah! Yeah! Yeah!”
“Or, what if we tried a waltz here?”
He was supported by Danny Ayala on keyboards and ooh-sha-la-la vocals, a retiring, put-upon Megan Zeankovski on bass, and the not-so-retiring figure of younger brother Michael slugging away flamboyantly on a drum kit he’d damaged within 10 minutes. He actually spent an unwarranted amount of his drumming duties standing, twirling his sticks aloft, and as Coleser wryly observed, it was obvious there was no way he was going to spend the whole of his evening behind the kit.
It was only when older brother moved to Ayala’s keyboard for “How lucky am I?”, that we got a real look at Michael, stepping forward for backing vocal duties. From this point, it was clear Brian wasn’t coming back. (An acrimonious Noel/Liam, Ray/Dave split looms…)
Resplendent in leopard-skin catsuit, open to the waist, and furiously primping his feather cut, Our Kid looked like a blinking, alien rock-child, parachuted into the West Country from a Ziggy bootleg. Wearing his 18 years proudly, he cut an impressive and outlandish figure. The confidence of youth for sure…
I’ve gotta say though, that from the moment he propelled himself into his vocal part and latterly took up his guitar to lead the rest of the set, there was no question of him being some sort of dumb parody. He absolutely had star quality and the whole show went up another notch from here on.
Into each song he crammed heaps of precocious, hormonal oomph and referred to pretty much every page of the rock’n’roll book of stage tricks – extravagant high kicks, prone guitar solos and a whole series of gratifyingly lewd guitar gestures. Oh, and a hell of a voice – powerful, frisky and self-knowing.
It was only when they launched into an Alex Chilton cover that I twigged (Ah… sorry… I’m not changing it now…) that instead of being a Dolls band, with a line in Rubettes harmonies, the overwhelming influence was Big Star, not in a Teenage Fanclub sort of a way but with a full on seventies power-pop sound. It was a great sound.
Thought I’d try recording the gig with my iPhone as an experiment which has turned out ok but the sound is not quite as “full” as with my normal recorder. It was also a pretty rowdy night, with loads of unruly audience participation and a general feel of insobriety. It gets in the way of the recordings a little but, to be fair, it all seemed entirely appropriate. Even I can’t find it in my curmudgeonly old heart to get upset about foolish young things having massive fun while a band of foolish young things do the same onstage.
There’s a good Alex Petridis interview with the brothers online and quite a bunch of YouTube stuff available, including a whole lot of charming videos of the lads practicing as youngsters, shot by their father (one of whose songs they covered on the night – another first for me).