British India, Boy In A Box,City Riots @ The Corner Hotel,Melbourne (26/03/2011)

Thu 31st Mar, 2011 in Gig Reviews

Given their reputation as a live band, it’s no surprise that British India comfortably sold out their home town show at the Corner Hotel on Saturday night. Nor is it surprising that they have built the strong following that they have through their short career. This is a band that has outlasted both hype and backlash, delivering three well-received albums and satisfying countless punters along the way. Upon entering the venue, the anticipation was palpable.

Opening up proceedings on the night were City Riots, an Adelaide band who produced an excellent power pop set. Unsurprisingly, they performed to a reasonably sparse crowd (and one of the most poorly-placed support pillars in Melbourne), but one gets the sense that they won’t find themselves at the bottom of bills for too much longer. With well-crafted songs, fine musicianship and a sense of elegant restraint (not to mention excellent hair and cheekbones; it shouldn’t matter, but it does), City Riots appear to have a lot going for them.

Next were Boy In A Box, who will be familiar to attentive Triple J listeners; a number of whom seemed to be present, as the crowd noticeably swelled. After City Riots, they were a small step down in craft, but a step up in terms of energy and showmanship (no disrespect to either band). Owing no small debt to the blue-collar punk rock of a bygone era, the band worked the partisan room to great effect. Led by the strong vocals and cocky charm of lead singer/prime mover Tobias Priddle, it was no great surprise when Boy In A Box pulled out a Clash cover, I Fought The Law (actually a cover of a cover, or a ‘cover from another mother’, as guitarist Kris Scott quipped). What was a surprise was how naturally this all-time classic sat alongside the band’s original material.

When British India finally hit the stage, they made their intentions clear from the outset, absolutely tearing through a clutch of songs from their short-but-productive career thus far before the crowd could even draw breath. Lead singer Declan Melia had the crowd onside and he knew it, indulging in cheeky banter throughout the set, staying just on the right side of smart-arsery.

As well as energy, Melia and his bandmates exuded confidence, looking for all the world as if they had been born on stage, and that churning out jagged garage rock was the most natural thing in the world. In other words, they looked like a band that had paid their dues, and their fans responded like they knew it as well, chanting along with every chant-along and rocking out with every rock-out, giving similarly enthusiastic responses to singles and album tracks alike. The appreciation was mutual as well, with Melia giving a shout-out to one dedicated fan that he recognized on sight, and the band delivering a set that was light on delay and heavy on gratification, purpose built for the sweaty, drunken catharsis that ensued.

In the band’s strengths, however, lie their weaknesses. Melia’s barbed-wire howl is a fearsome weapon and he isn’t afraid to use it, but over the course of an hour-long set there was precious little variation in delivery, subject matter, et cetera. A capable lyricist, he sells himself short by delivering wry, witty verses before settling for a non-sequitur chorus (_This Ain’t No Fucking Disco_ being a conspicuous example of this). The result is songs that occasionally lack depth. This goes for the band as well, with every other song starting with a brief strum, then full-volume, full-throttle to the finish line. Effective though it is, this approach yielded diminishing returns as the set wore on. The band is capable of variation, as the comparative restraint of their penultimate and possibly best song I Said I’m Sorry demonstrated. For the most part though, they seem reluctant to strip away the noise for fear of boring their audience.

Their audience, though, wasn’t bored, and these are only minor peccadilloes; looking around the packed room as Vanilla reached a squalling climax, I must have been the only one with even these trifling reservations. And by the time the band dusted off their early breakthrough Tie Up My Hands, it was hard not to be sold. No one ever accused The MC5 of being all piss and no vinegar; they were too busy dancing their arses off. And so it is with British India. Despite their flaws, they proved that they are one of the better live bands in the country right now.