It’s just gone 7pm and the Brixton Academy is near capacity already.
The reward for an early turnout is the truly captivating Florence Welch (aka Florence and the Machine). She wails, cavorts, jumps and teases her way around the stage, seemingly channeling the spirit of Patti Smith with the lungs of Kate Bush. The fact she’s also parading in a simple pair of sparkly knickers and oversized tee does no harm either. With the crowd hanging on every word, every glorious note, Welch could easily be headlining this place tonight. Her short but astounding set is one sure to live long in the memory. Ending with the popular ‘Kiss with a Fist’ the bar is set incredibly high for those who follow.
The opening high is quickly floored however, when White Lies take to the stage. This droning drivel is so monotonous that any sense of enjoyment is very quickly diminished. The only thing lifting this set above the mediocre is a brief return by Welch, who takes lead vocals and then executes a perfect stage dive into the middle of the Academy’s crowd. It awakens and excites those watching just as quickly as White Lies send them back to sleep once she is reclaimed by security.
Next up, Friendly Fires – excuse the pun – set the stage alight once more. Their form of radio-friendly mid-tempo dance hits all the right notes in Brixton, warming the crowd up nicely from their post-White Lies comatose state. This is the perfect slot for them and the band is clearly loving every minute onstage. By the time their euphoric single ‘Paris’ airs, it’s impossible to not be dancing along with them.
Glasvegas bring the night to a resounding close. Somewhere in the midst of the hundreds of gigs they’ve played in the last twelve months something has happened to this band, something truly incredible. Their sound has been honed far beyond what was even laid down for their debut record last year. You find yourself bathing in an incredible soundscape of harmonious noise and reverb, with beautiful smooth melodies that pay homage to classic ‘50s and ‘60s acts such as The Everly Brothers and Elvis Presley, at the core.
With everyone singing along to large elements of ‘Daddy’s Gone’ and ‘Flowers & Football Tops’, Glasvegas take this beyond a simple gig. This is sheer communal joy and love of music. My only niggle: James Allen’s Glaswegian accent is so thick that I can’t understand a single word he says or sings all night. That aside, as someone who walked in an adamant Glasvegas naysayer, I found my opinion blown sideways to one of love. Surely the world is now theirs for the taking?
