Looking out over the surprisingly not-packed crowd tonight, Philip Selway confesses that the last time he was in here it was 1992, presumably with Radiohead, and doesn’t that make him feel old; a point helpfully rammed home when my partner in crime pounces in his general direction at the end and points out she was three at the time; hurrah for puncturing popstar’s sense of self-worth.
But he’s jovial and agreeable about it all; in fact everything about this evening is nice; perhaps a little too nice.
Supporting is tipped songster Eaves: a short set of five or six and while it’s far from not any good, it’s also not terribly remarkable.
One man, one acoustic, one sharp line in self-deprecating wit: “How you feeling out there? Mediocre? I’m not going to help”.
I laugh but it’s hard not to agree, just a little.
Seems a jolly cove though and hopefully he recovers from me gambolling up the stairs and splatting straight into him: sorry about that, Eaveso.
He returns to town in May at The Berkley Suite so ye may judge for yourselves.
On to the main event and holy multi-intrumentality!
The ever shifting foursome on stage clamber about vocals, drums, keyboards, maracas, guitar, bass guitar, viola, a weird electronic xylophone thing and a bit of metal attacked with the, presumably slightly weiry, bow rescued from the string section: compelling and entertaining watching them swap places every couple of songs and they’re a talented band, no doubt about that.
Despite the volume seeming a bit muted, Selway and the team deliver an atmospheric set from the two albums Weatherhouse and Familial, all the time with that fine-natured bonhomie; no going mental and beating the hell out of things here.
While this is clearly never on the cards there are moments you yearn for things to loosen up, relax and expand a little; the (tribal) drums, whether looped or the ‘real’ thing, in particular are a thing of joy; plenty of scope to let that thunder grow a little along with the groovy and dubby bass but alas no.
Even the aforementioned xylophone – not perhaps a piece of kit often seen on stage at Tut’s – teeters on the edge of being allowed to let fly in a style reminiscent of ‘Oblong’ by Spooky.
All in, we meander from emotive moods to (very) occasional, almost staccato, funk: it is good, at times very good, but coming away one feels it could have stepped up a little; dispense with just a touch of the finely tuned artistry and let rip.
A highly accomplished bunch of virtuoso musicians though, particularly the keyboardist / viola worrier and some lovely, downbeat, almost pastoral song writing.
I come away entranced by the charm of all the protagonists, thoroughly impressed by the skills on display and full of affection… just not, perhaps, flattened into rock and roll delirium.
Words: Andrew Morrison
Photos: Daphne Michalaki
