The Coral / The Libertines / The Thrills / The Bees / The Basement / The Zutons - New Brighton Kings Parade - 21/6/03
5/5
By: Andy Willson
The adverts appeared. So what? 'Coral' is normally found by the seaside: what's the big deal...?
Oops. Then, upon closer inspection, and discovering that it's indeed THE Coral soon to be present by the coast - backed by a whole host of new, striving, thriving up and comings - the mood somewhat changes instantaneously. And in a large marquee with 5,500 other fans to boot? Suits us, sir.
Aptly, New Brighton is just outside the headliners' native Hoylake, Merseyside, overlooking the Irish sea, and actually featuring sand on the beach (and you thought nothing was safe in this part of the UK...), and such a perennial, triumphant staging for the band goes some way, you suspect, to celebrate the longest day of the year.
Events kick off early - about 3-ish - which fortunately leaves enough time to experience a few beers in the town-centre afterwards, true Brit-style. Starting with a mesmerising set from local scallies, The Zutons, it's little wonder why this lot are the latest, hotly-tipped Deltasonic pack; not achingly dissimilar from this evening's main ensemble, their sumptuous, enraptured sea-shanty rifts and joyous odes draw the outsiders into the tent like a modern-day Pied Piper. Refreshing to see also is a contemporary alt-act making usage of the saxophone - and, boy, can Abi Harding blow (... sax, that is). The set is energetic from the get-go, and recent single 'Creepin' And a Crawlin' rouses the crowd into feisty adoration, whilst singer/guitarist Dave McCabe's gravelled voice blends extravagantly over the mix. '04 has something to look forward to.
Next up: another Scouse band (with a hint of Irish), The Basement. After recently supporting The Thrills (more of which later...) they succinctly justify their placing on the running-order with a vividly tight performance reminiscent of The Las, endowed with a 60's blues-rock fetish. Add a bit of homeland folk to the mixture, then you start to get the broader horizon. Hell, it's not rocket science, but why wrestle with 'innovation' of gratuity, when the stakes of something far more simply fulfilling will do every time?
Yet the party, arguably, gets started when The Bees take to the stage. This six-piece may hail from the Isle of Wight, but you would be forgiven if you were thinking more Latin America. Their infectious rhythms, which combine energetic funk with a samba twist, seem to make the sun shine brighter, and when they burst into 'A Minha Menina', you are wistfully transported to a Cuban beach, Pina Colada in one hand, large Havana cigar in the other; just as well -because the bloody beer-tent runs out of sauce at this stage... Mojhito anyone?
Having been hyped by anyone and everyone for the last twelve months, The Thrills, next on, certainly aren't going to disappoint this expectant crowd. Having kissed the greens of Ireland goodbye a long while ago, they have soaked up a myriad of influences from their US setting, but added a unique hallmark-stamp. The wispy vocals of Conor Deasy help maintain the feeling of being on a sun-drenched beach, as they run through an immaculate set, highlighted by recent hit 'One Horse Town' and even more recent one, 'Big Sur'. Indubitably, The Thrills have come a long way from their humble, Dublin roots and, based on today, will continue to climb the slippery slope to stardom at their own dreamily aloft pace. Fittingly, their marker-closing track is 'Santa Cruz...', which takes us all nostalgically back to the beginning.
So, let's see: we've had jangly, funky and hazy so far... Time, if any, to get messy. If you have witnessed The Libertines live before, you would know that the surge of energy that runs through the band's veins is created by the not-so-static relationship of Pete Doherty and Carl Barat. Such a love-hate relationship has been the focus of the media for a while now, but with Pete out of the frame for this current tour, you would be forgiven for expecting a watered-down performance. Not so, tonight. Carl takes on all vocal-duties and Pete's prime position is replaced by technician Nick, who casually stands to the left of Barat and lets him get on with it. They preview a couple of new tracks, which are very Libertinesque (inclusive of the anthemic 'Don't Look Back Into The Sun'), but the cheers are reserved for favourites 'Up The Bracket' and 'Time for Heroes'. The big top is busting at the seams now, and this is the idyllic warm-up for the star attraction. Just a shame that, given their current state of affairs, 'What A Waster' may well come back to haunt them now that the foursome are on the edge of a landmark.
After such an extravagant feast of sounds, the crowd have room for one last hammering. An unusual observation about the ensuing encounter is that everyone you speak to with a Scouse accent is somehow mysteriously related to a member of The Coral. A sister was at the beer-tent (which has finally regained its produce again) and a portly gent, yelling 'That's my boy up there,' shoves his way past to get nearer to the stage.
This place is rollicking as the cheeky, chirpy Coral take their stand. Opening with 'Spanish Main', these boys mean business and the lighting men really do have their work cut out. The majority of the set is from the eponymous debut, but a few new tracks are added for good measure; 'Pass it On' comes over better live than on record, but still reiterates the eclectic folk-skiffle hybrid these lads timelessly provoke. Though the piece de la resistance is a thrilling version take on 'Goodbye', which closes the day's proceedings, singer James Skelly switching hoveringly between guitar and drums. The middle-section is a 10-minute instrumental orchestrated by Skelly, and you deduce that no substance could provide a rush such the one you feel during this. And there's no burning Wickerman tonight; not that one's needed following all this.
The collective triumph in sound was billed as A Midsummer Night's Scream, and if Willy Shakespeare had been around, it's nigh-on certain he would have been just a little curious to see what a play on his words have spawned - simply, a musical miracle.
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