An essential part of being an 'indie kid' is opening yourself up to new things - asserting to the world that indie isn't the only thing you like is paradoxically the most indie thing you could possibly do. You could say it's a requirement. It's why we've all got that Dizzee Rascal record. It's why Lightning Bolt sell out shows to crowds comprising solely of boys in tight jeans. But there's nothing us indie lot (that's what we are, sod it, I'm fed up of acting embarrassed about it) like more than a good old straight and proper indie band.
That's exactly what My Sad Captains are. And that's why there are so many people here to see them, and each one enjoying it so much, despite their not really having released any music on to the public at all. When they do, it'll fall on some very receptive ears if tonight is anything to go by - this is sparkling indie pop in the vein of Pavement, the Lemonheads or Broken Social Scene, and the kind of music it's possible to fall deeply in love to with people across the room whose gaze you momentarily caught but will never meet. They're the kind of band who look entirely comfortable wearing hole-ridden jumpers on stage and appear to look entirely lost until they start playing songs, a stage presence that's very difficult to convincingly pull off.
Yes, indie bands, we love them, and My Sad Captains are the archetype. But as we said before, part of the indie philosophy (forgive us for using the word indie so many times that it starts to lose meaning - one could argue it doesn't really have a meaning these days anyway - ooh err...) is to embrace all forms of musical culture, and as such there's a duty to enjoy something as unique as Iceland's Jakobinarina as well as our jangle-making, guitar-wielding heroes. That makes it sound like a chore, but it certainly wasn't. Jakobinarina were as fun a band as we've ever seen.
Plus, despite their frontman running around the audience like some cross between Suggs, Linford Christie jogging on the spot and Magnus Magnusson (go on, you think of another Icelandic person - male person...) and yelping like Terry Hall, there's actually something decidedly jangly about this lot too. 'The Smiths meets Rammstein', we heard one punter quip, and that's pretty darn close. Analogue synths, jarring rhythms and a band looking like they'd never had more fun than playing to our confused, bemused, amused and abused faces all made for one of the most unashamedly enjoyable Basement Club sets ever.
To My Boy seem lost in another world. Yeah, they talk to the crowd, they even come across as very friendly (to my) boys, but mid song it seems like they believe the only people in the world are the two of them, and the only sound is the one they, their guitars, synths and drum machines are making. It's all in the way they smile - there's real 'I'd die for you, my keyboard smacking pal' friendship in that grin. It makes for a fantastic and bracingly self assured performance from a very young band, brave enough to jettison most well known song 'The Grid' with a startlingly cool rendition a mere two songs in, they proceeded to woo everyone in our one little bit of Islington with a blend of Clor's feelgood vibes, Devo's jerky rhythms and The Human Leagues way with a good pop croon.
No sooner was it over however than we started planning making the next one even better...
All Photographs Copyright Sol Archer 2007. To view Sol's exhibition of Jakobinarina photos from the night (beware, they're well screwy), cliketh HERE.