It’s come to be accepted as natural evolution, that once a music publication enjoys a certain level of popularity and notoriety it will endeavour to further give to its readers and expand its hold as a music authority by staging a club night.
A banner of a bash to let loose the holds of the working week, Clash Club returned from a period of dormancy to one of East London’s much loved live music squats, recruiting a notably fine roster to mark its memorable return.
On these publication inspired evenings, patrons will gather to enjoy the hand picked acts deemed delicious enough by the magazine they read and love.
That is, unless the headline act is Guillemots, who are known, praised and adored by every daily paper and press circulating and discarded on tubes alike, making the London based quartet the obvious draw card for the overwhelming attendance.
But then witnessing this excruciatingly talented lot’s powerful, mood-soaked set, dripping in the melodies that made the bands second album ‘Red’ such a broadly enjoyed collection of songs, it’s understandable how Fyfe Dangerfield and friends are the much rated indie band of the moment.
As pop sensible as U2 and more euphoric than a theme song to a twenty million pound lottery win, ‘Clarion’ and smash single ‘Get Over It’ had the whole room giddy in musical delight, as Guillemots firmly installed our faith in the critics’ choice. Playing ‘Kriss Kross’ and ‘Big Dog’, Dangerfield proved such a naturally charismatic and dashingly handsome front man, rightfully basking in the joy that overwhelming oozed from the audience.
Just before them, equally admired act Hot Club de Paris stormed the stage and performed a set that sadly, resembled nothing of the chipper-punk party goodness this trio is well known for, replaced with what I imagined the first rehearsal of Blink 182 sounded like; a flat, battered out racket.
The Liverpool lads were even less interesting as their limp attempts to arouse Saturday night fever in the audience were isolated to the last song, when they finally remembered to enjoy themselves. Grossly unfortunate and quite unexpected that Hot Club de Paris were completely out showed by one of the most thrilling support bands I’ve seen to date.
Boasting more members than the average sailor has teeth, The Bookhouse Boys were able to evoke such a captivating, surf-rock infused set that in its musical genius, drew breath from my lungs like a swift punch to the gut. Sharply attired front man Paul Van Oestren rattled out ‘Dead’ as truthfully as a man wailing his last words; chilling, spiteful and yet painfully beautiful.
The instrumental jingle ‘G-Surf’ splashed this relatively unknown London band in understated cool and I can’t help but feel that The Bookhouse Boys will enjoy bountiful fruits of success, far and beyond the page twenty review section of a disposable commuter read. And so as bonnie as your (now) monthly music magazine, a grand welcome back to Clash Club.