The Barrowlands – the venue where, arguably, the national crazy inferno that became The View was set off in 2006. It’s five years on now with a third album ‘Bread and Circuses’ out and there are still hordes of people queuing up outside. Kyle is trying to get in via a backdoor down an alleyway, simultaneously desperately warming up his voice. He is worried. And then he is set upon by two fans who have been denied entry and need to get in too.
‘Kyle, you’re my hero! Let us in.’ Reni comments on the fact that their eyes are as big as bin-lids and they are far too excited – ‘nae wonder’ they were denied entry. Maybe if they calmed down a bit?
Small chance.
Meanwhile, the venue is already packed and salivating after support band Liverpool’s Sound of Guns, a big anthemic rush of guitar and toms. Backstage, Kyle is looking for his Wednesday socks (he doesn’t wear shoes on stage) and Kieren is telling Sound of Guns a joke about an old couple getting down to business in the bedroom and something to do with arthritis. Kyle has got the jitters, Pete re-stocks the fridge with beer ; there are far too many butterflies needing releasing in here.
In the hall, the build-up music is unnecessary. Primal Scream’s ‘Rocks’ stomps in but ‘The View, The View, The View are on fire!’ is already up and running. Hands are clapping against Led Zeppelin.
At last, 9.15pm breaks. The big dark cavern of the Barrowlands is a tough vault to fill and ‘raising the roof’ is usually a cliché. But when MC5’s Jon Sinclair’s intro to ‘Best Lasts Forever’ kicks in, the walls tremble from the screams. The five members walk on to be met with a rain of various Barras arsenal as ‘Grace’ flares up. For anyone who had doubts how the precise musicianship of the album would be translatable in the chaotic arena of a live View gig, this song puts them in the grave. The guitar harmonies and vocals are as clear as on the recording, the atmosphere as euphoric as crowds crush the barrier. For the old favourites: ‘Wasted Little Deejays’, ‘Same Jeans’ and ‘5 Rebbeccas’ the band are greeted with the usual mayhem and communal ecstacy.
‘The View, the View, the View are on fire!’ Well, not quite yet it would appear. The intensity of their heat has moved on from the punk-influenced melodic popsicles to a deeper stronger, fuelled up furnace. Coats and random objects are thrown on stage and Kyle winces as one hits him on the head but he continues into ‘Blondie’ which screams in with a sexy howling guitar intro. One of the biggest improvements is the clarity of the vocals. Falconer’s one liners are no longer lost in a consonant-free blur: ‘My Jupiter and Mars are covered in your snow.’ The bass is bigger live and the song’s met with yelps of adoration and a changeover of guitars.
Kyle: ‘Technical difficulty – but it’s all good.’
‘Girl’ opens with a slower piano keyboard intro. In a corner, four girls are dancing in a round and singing. The audience appear to know all the lyrics.
Kieren: ‘It’s an honour to play the best music venue in the world, to the best crowd in the world.’
‘Realisation’ and ‘Skag Trendy’ are met with the usual Scottish jubilation and bare-chested males pogoing. ‘Tragic Magic’ roars in with its crescendo of guitars and thundering toms – a typhoon of a tune with layers of melody and a change of time two thirds in. The harmonies have translated exactly and the line: ‘They don’t take no prisoners with scum like me…’ is sung with conviction by the Barras crowd.
‘Friend’ comes next – an unexpected dirge. The band have taken bittersweet to a whole new level. A simple, poignant and powerful rage of emotion, making utter misery sound so intoxicating and comforting with the line that scrapes the roof: ‘And I can change – but I can’t change yesterday!’ to follow the anguished repetitive wail of ‘The girl that I’ve been speaking to all night has left me for my friend.’
Kieren’s helium voice introduces the punk Dundonian anthem ‘Wasteland’ which has never sounded so contemporary and bang-on. ‘Typical Time – the thirty second tune which is a ridiculous hit – introduces a slow but deep burner, ‘Face for the Radio’ and Kyle with an acoustic, his vocals finally drowned out by the audience. ‘Witches’ is the exact opposite: a witty runaway rebellious hymn bouncing off the walls before the slower ‘The Best Lasts Forever’ with its eery whistling theme. The harmonies have just stoked the fire -nobody even minds the drum machine which introduces ‘Sunday’. With the next song, ‘Double Yellow Lines’ I am more fascinated by a forty something man vividly pantomiming out every lyric as if his life depended on it. The minor chords and crashing drums of ‘Happy’ lead Kyle to mutter about his fears of a stroke and how the Barras would be a ‘good place to die.’
Next comes ‘I Need a Record’, the raging cover recently completed which sees them exercising the View skills to the fullest: a volley of guitar melodies, structured-yet-still-crazy drums and 70s style harmonies. The last songs are a testament to their precocity; ‘Superstar Tradesman’ was the defiant roar penned by Webster as a teenager which has proven to pave their own destiny and ends with screams and a single howl from Pete. ‘Underneath the Lights’ recounts their rollercoaster ride from initial View hysteria to mediocrity to a new realisation and reclaiming of their musicality. ‘Shock Horror’ is the only appropriate ending the Barras audience will accept: no one is at the sides, just one movement ramming the barrier.
The band leave the stage to an eery silence from a stunned audience and the drone of an empty buzz from the monitors. Thirty seconds later, the flames are up again, the chants start and don’t stop. The View have recharted the territory and built a bigger, better, more unpredictable live machine than even they’d anticipated. The messiness has been honed and directed and now, now the power to move it can really kick in.
Words by Jaime Scrivener
