Review by Ewan Jamieson – A Negative Narrative
On Wednesday night The Cribs played a tiny homecoming show in Wakefield, their first in the ‘merrie’ city for over five years and a decade since their first gig took place in less grandiose surroundings “in a tiny room, above a pub, up the road”. The band – who last played Escobar in 2007 – attribute the lack of home turf shows to the fact there aren’t any venues left, but tonight the folks at Jack Daniel’s have convinced the Theatre Royal to reschedule a performance of The Sound Of Music in order to make this show possible. Jarmans over Germans. Always.
You can see why the marketing bods at Jack Daniel’s are breaking out in a sour-mash sweat in excitement at associating their brand with this band. The trio of brothers – torch-bearers for independence and fervent supporters of having a good time – have never failed to stand up for the values that are inherent in their music and morals. They are unquestionably ‘for real’ and marketeers like that because it bathes their questionable message in the cooling shade of kudos. Or so it goes.
Kicking things off, The Black Belles – signed to Jack White’s Nashville-based Third Man Records and dressed like they’re from Salem – channel the collective energies of their mentor, voodoo and Karen O, and mash it up into a swirling, swampy stomp of free range goth-garage blues that is an indicative assumption of their geographical particulars.
Retarded Fish are up next, largely due to the fact they were one of the first bands the band saw in their more formative years as punters. Or, as Ryan says: “They were this punk band who used to walk around town with mohawks, but we got kicked out for being underage, so technically it wasn’t our first gig. I don’t remember much about it except that Gary was sick over everything because it was too hot for him.” In light of the evidence, nostalgia probably isn’t the best divining conduit for sourcing support acts, but tonight it’s largely irrelevant. Shall we get to the relevant bit?
Although tickets have been allocated for free via a random selection process, the crowd is a rag-tag mish-mash of people who have helped The Cribs on their way to this lofty mantle they now find themselves proudly perched on, local bands and musicians, and the ardent army of Cribs fans, all of whom welcome their friends/family/heroes on-stage with the same rabid fervency that the band themselves use to rip through recent release and opener Chi-Town.
Chugging through back-to-back career-spanning classics from the last decade with an assured aplomb, the band throw in everything from flipsides (To Jackson) to early singles (Baby Don’t Sweat), polling the audience on which songs they want to hear from the first record (for the record, popular consensus chose Direction and The Lights Went Out) and perforating the set with tracks from In The Belly Of The Brazen Bull – their latest long-player, produced notably by Steve Albini and Dave Fridmann.
Ryan – who recently spoke of his self-loathing while recording the band’s new album – is in fine fettle, bantering with Gary (who mocks his American drawl). There’s no Johnny Marr any more of course, but the trio’s output is still bulked up by a fourth member for live shows (David Jones from Nine Black Alps), who is either banished from the limelight, or content with his position in the shadowy eaves.
The breadth of The Cribs’ reach, and their burgeoning popularity across the pond, manifests itself with Lee Ranaldo’s head joining them via a gloriously-choreographed, uber-sized projection for Be Safe, a modern opus for lotus-eaters and the moment that brings the crowd out in a cumulative ripple of goose-bumps and dizzying euphoria. It’s one of those moments. It’s the night’s crescendo. It’s an outlet for stockpiled emotions. An arsenal. An armour.
The Brudenell (which hosted the band’s three-date Cribsmas extravaganza in 2007) gets a vociferous shout-out and as is testament to the community that surrounds The Cribs. The Brudenell is screening the gig tonight on a live feed, as is The Hop. Squirrel Records – who put out the first Cribs single get a nod too (and are later huffing poppers in the toilets, singing ‘Headache In A Bottle’ and discussing porn plots).
Unfortunately there’s no room for Martell in tonight’s set. The conspiracy theorist that squats in my brain wonders whether this was the sponsor’s request. The right side of my brain assures me that The Cribs would be unlikely to entertain the notion of being told what to do.
Finishing aptly with Arena Rock Encore With Full Cast (which is currently vying with Clubfoot By Kasabian by Blacklisters as the most confusing tune title of recent times), the curtain falls, stages are exited and hands are flogged without mercy. There’s no encore. The Cribs don’t do encores. Some bands don’t need to. This has been one big encore. The Theatre Royal has 499 seats and I doubt they have ever been as neglected during a full-house performance before, which is testament to tonight’s triumph. The crowd flocks off to the after-party. I crawl off into the night. I’m not from round here, but a tiny little bit of me feels like I am. The sound of real music keeps these streets alive.
The gig will be viewable in full over at the J.D. Roots website at some point in the near future.
I love The Cribs and wish I was there, the previous times I have been to the lovely Wakefield theatre have been for very different and less racaus occaisions. Wakefield does need a decent music venue.
The Merry Cribsmas gig at the Brudenell has to be way at the top of gigs I’ve been to (who else would get the audience to play bingo & pass the parcel at a sweaty rock gig!)
Wakefield should be proud of the Jarmans, long may they continue.