The 22-20s - Oxford Zodiac - 28/5/03
3/5
By: Toby L
A chance meeting with a friend led to rockfeedback witnessing The 22-20s' first ever show at Highbury's Buffalo Bar in the Autumn of '02. Dense, grappling hooks, and slicing slide-guitar, coupled with diligent, fiercely firm rhythms, corrosive drumming and pouting bass, and a timeless, Van Morrison-esque, slumbering vocal drifting sleepily on top. On our part, what initially was to be a quiet conversation held in a corner, soon found itself to be rockfeedback and those few in attendance laying claim to quiet discovery, a band-name to possibly tout cautiously to fellow gig-cohorts and slimy, record-label A&R accomplices.
Well, looking back from present day, and who was to know it would have ended up quite how it did...?
One show, that's all it took - let alone a four-song demo of palpably explosive ingenuity for musos so young - and the British record-industry was on its knees. Suddenly the same, desperate conversations in the corners of dingy Camden pubs became more commonplace.
'You checked out The 22-20s yet?!'
'Oh my God - I keep stumbling across that name; how can I hear them?!'
The band and management themselves didn't make it easy for the industry. London shows were strictly held back, and the demos soon became a sought-after rarity - altogether ensuring the blues-rock three-piece to become the hottest new British band in recent memory, a name soon more synonymous than its actual product. The tale ends by the Lincoln trio eventually being snapped up by Heavenly, the credible subsidiary of global-giant EMI, and UK spawning-ground for The Vines and Doves. Sorted.
But, now - amidst the early stages of their debut UK tours - and the word has leaked out publicly. The band's ultra-limited, immediate collectors-item of a debut-7" - the shimmering rattle of 'Such A Fool' - is nearly as scarce as a cure for the Sars epidemic, and razor-sharp, naughtily short live-sets are slaying the country... There's a fever in these tones, alright.
This evening performing their last regional performance of a busy set of British dates, and for the cameras, as part of footage being accumulated for their first music-video, the band have just mildly moved on since our first encounter.
It's louder for one, instantly more contagious, and there's even now the inspired addition of a set of keys - tinkled and jived heartily at the side of the stage, adding vibrant colour and warmth to the stale, primitive, downtrodden riffs and vehement smattering of drums 'n' bass. Similarly, our vocalist and guitarist now prowls the stage with added exuberance, a tempestuous aura of sheer presence emitting from his every head-flick and motion, and it's the aforementioned, inaugural 45 that really sees them soar - all lofty, obscure patterns and a tinge of gentle psychedelia.
Then, after just a mere 25 or so minutes, it ends. The music filters out of speakers to suggest, 'Right, would you please consider drinking up and f**king off now,' and people's faces are firm and rigid with disbelief it could all close so suddenly.
Anyone else, it'd be a raving piss-take. But, when you're presented with something this accomplished, you're quite prepared to accept anything. The future bodes promisingly.
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