Paris Wells was the sort of opening act who can expect not to be confined to the early slot for very much longer. Her voice is soulful and versatile and she has character in super-abundance. Not only that, but she has surrounded herself with a band of the highest calibre – as witnessed on the bass-guitar showcase Firetruck Man. She didn’t do herself any favours by releasing the slightly grating Dat Du Dat as her first single, but with shades of Sharon Jones, dashes of Amy Winehouse (the artist, not the addict), and an all important dose of nobody-else-but-Paris, there’s no reason why she can’t make a name for herself internationally. As Paris herself puts it, her first album Keep It is – œa good in your face introduction’, but she has a lot more to offer yet.
Three years ago, True Live impressed with their debut release, the excellent Miltons EP. With their emphasis on live instrumentals, improvisation and freestyle rapping, it seemed that True Live were a rare bastion of originality in the otherwise relatively homogenous landscape of mainstream hip-hop. However that originality has translated largely into stale showmanship and posturing in the years since – œ06.
Frontman Ryan – œRHyNO’ Richie takes himself almost painfully seriously. – œThere’s no fucking DJ here. This is real fucking music,’ he proudly proclaimed at one point. And by the end of the gig he was acknowledging the various band members exactly as if he were the leader of a hard-bop jazz quintet out of New York in the 60s. But lets be clear, Rhyno MC is no Coltrane.
In fact, True Live are at their best when they stay closest to the tried and tested hip hop formula. New single Damn Right and old-classic TV with their chant-along choruses, for example, both worked well on the night because what they’re effectively offering is – œhip hop with strings’; which is great. It’s only on tracks where there is a pretence of genuine jazz / hip hop fusion that things begin to go awry.
Fusion or genre bending isn’t the problem, far from it – it was precisely that element of True Live’s schtick that had impressed so much on the EP and debut album. But if you’re going to boast that you’re – œthe real True Live’ making – œreal fucking music’, you’d better bloody had be, or you’re setting yourself up for a particularly graceless fall.
With the exception of Tim Blake’s excellent cello, the improvised solos on Friday night were all either repetitive or gimmicky. And Richie’s attempts at melodic rather than rapped vocals were all marred by the fact that he simply can’t sing that well (the jazzed up version of Revolutions and the undeniably karaoke-like cover of Sitting on the Dock of the Bay during the encore being particularly bad in this respect). Disappointly there was virtually no freestyling from Richie which has been such a highlight of True Live’s sets.
True Live haven’t really moved forward in the last three years. They may have grown more cocksure and confident, but in all their claims to – œauthenticity’ the irony is that they were actually a far more authentic outfit when they weren’t so intent on telling us about it.
Paris was the highlight of the evening, but from the crowd’s response to True Live’s headline slot that’s probably a minority opinion.
to listen to their music now on 
