Mclusky - 20th November 2004

But first, a cursory word for the support acts: Tricky Nixon throw
out some passable indie pop to a small but growing crowd, before Modey
Lemon adjust our ears to the coming onslaught with some messy punk. Now
for Mclusky, who, despite their status as best kept secret in British
rock, have got us packed into the miniscule Academy 2 like cattle in
the slaughterhouse.

Mclusky are a strange band to say the least. Musically they combine
wiry guitars and fuzzy bass with Frank Black-style vocal contortions
and Steve Albini production, but any potential trendiness is offset by
singer Andy Falkous being a fat Welsh bloke in jeans and t-shirt, with
sideburns that envelop his face like a balaclava. There's also the song
titles - their first offering tonight is a crowd-pleasing rendition of
"Lightsabre Cocksucking Blues", and the t-shirt designs offer us the
equally catchy slogan of "Fuck This Band").

All of which suggests that tonight's crowd should be made up of
beer-drenched Oasis fans in fake Burberry looking for an excuse to
swear at high volumes. And there certainly are some (I stood in close
proximity, like David Attenborough observing the wildlife of the
Congo), as well as a strange area of the crowd consisting entirely of
unfeasibly tall people, but a large section of us are perfectly erudite
types who would surely never be fooled by a lot of noise and some curse
words.

The only explanation is that Mclusky have better riffs, better lyrics,
better songs and more energy than you or any of your friends do. When
Jon Chapple's bass breaks down in a whine of feedback, the rendition of
"What We've Learned" that eventually follows is pure aggressive energy
for band and crowd alike, all wrapped up in three minutes of riffing
and thrashing and screaming about the lust for celebrity. Very few of
the songs ever fall below these high standards, with "Gareth Brown
Says" and "Falco vs. The Young Canoeist" sounding particularly
vicious.

A night with Mclusky is also likely to be one full of the surreal
experiences that you just don't get with Keane - from the vision of
hundreds of people shouting "Alan is a cowboy killer!" before starting
off a mass mosh, to the between song calls for b-sides like "Rice Is
Nice" or "Dave, Stop Killing Prostitutes", and Falkous urging the
friends of two hecklers to "unknow them".

At this point I could list more song titles and suggest the individual
merits of each, but it would be a pointless exercise. All you need to
know is that you (probably) missed it; do not make the same mistake
again. As the front men disassemble the drum kit while Jack Egglestone
tries to carry on playing it, the lyrics of closer "To Hell With Good
Intentions" seem to sum things up in the most concise way - "My band is
better than your band". I wouldn't argue with them if I were you.