Report: The Basement #24 - 27/1/05
By: Toby L
It's a tense night of expectation, of intrigue. Two bands yet to release anything, though both of reputations that all too viciously precede them. Many would buckle; Yeti and Battle, however, soar.
Let's start with the latter: a sprightly Canterbury foursome that have been grafting and playing for two years. Formerly known as Killing Moon - 'til the legal beagle provocation no doubt reared its head - the quartet, led by wilfully impassioned frontman Jason Bavanandan, have been the subject of much an industry furore for their jittery and geek-sexy savvy, a melange of cheap keyboards and unhampered soul.
It's with rigid anticipation that we greet their onstage shuffling. Immediately, it's every bit of the term 'fantastic' we can imagine. They gaze piercingly, longingly into the eyes of the front rows, save for Jason, who's - as far as we can tell - completely off on one. Palpitations aplenty, watching Jason sing as if he's having an electric shock is both a terrifying and hair-raising experience. For Radio One-aired demo 'Tendency', a commonly mooted nod to The Cure's 'Forest', the intensity and rigour is palpable: a band that write tunes with a view to harnessing a greater good, a resounding solace to the disaffected. With Bloc Party leading the way with a similar message in 2005, and Battle already selected as a hand-picked support on several dates, it's quite clear where this is all heading. A room silenced between every airing, and ecstatic in between, Battle have raged against the senses and fought for a better future.
On the way out after such a display is Seymour Stein - pictured, with Basement Club DJ, Pickles - the man responsible for signing Madonna, prior Basement headliner Regina Spektor and Talking Heads. His verdict? 'That band,' he drawls, 'were f**king amazing.'
It's a tough act to better. So why bother. Instead, headliners Yeti showcase their own form of ebullient genius, albeit a less contemporary one. Think The Beatles, The Las, The Coral, any Scouse act of prevalence, in fact, and there are distant echoes abound. Yet something about ex-Libertine John Hassall's new set smacks of a flair errant from any present scene-nesters.
So, detached they are, they impress and beguile with a fleet of romantic odes and mini-anthems that surpass our expectations and make us dance, damn it. They could be that band onstage in a Tarantino movie before someone's head gets blown off. Openers 'Sense Of Wonder' and 'Industry' - to form the basis of their debut-45 - are lilting, sing-along bar-anthems, acoustically strummed and electrically plucked and reared into soothing cascades of delicate indie-skiffle. They're capable of wooing us with balladry beyond their mere peers also - 'Merry-Go-Round' is a deeply tragic slice of smack-baiting, with sublime, three-part harmonies, while the 'When I'm Cleaning Windows'-esque encore - a song of insects, no less - is a stomping piece of modern pop ingenuity.
And because of the display, we deem it fit to shame ourselves, with a fluttering of post-gig dance-moves that would make Ricky Gervais blush. DJ The Hellion claims his stomach-muscles are f**ked as a consequence. Oops. We'll see you on Feb 24th to see if we make a full recovery.