The Darkness - Reading Fez Club - 27/11/02
4/5
By: Toby L
Seen what we've all done now..? Beyond a year of hilariously excitable hyperbole over the re-emergence of rock 'n' roll and then this comes along. And, well, in case you hadn't heard or witnessed this yet, then beware - The Darkness will use all their might to become noticed. Though they may not have to try too hard for that to even occur.
The fruitful fruition (presumably) of years spent observing and beholding Guns 'N' Roses, Jethro Tull, Iron Maiden, (insert additional cheesy, classic rock-band names here at your desire/peril), Justin Hawkins and his fellow co-horts form the basis of the most-talked-about revivalists of classic riffery and long-hair since, ooh, The Datsuns. However, whereas the former New Zealand act can stand up to be counted as amongst the pedigree of the presently essential, nu-garage explosion that has defined our last two summers, The Darkness are the rewardingly light-hearted antidote to all those that take something so raucous in far too serious a context.
For, indubitably, this quartet embodies the full irony of their hotly-tipped pursuit. The Thin Lizzy T-shirts. The heavy-metal, devil-horn hand-signals. The bassist that looks like a Dutch porn-star, complete with a black handkerchief tied around the forehead. It's as simultaneously laugh-out-loud hysterical as it is full-on, guitar-racing genius.
'Give me a D,' bellows Hawkins to a half-full room of students, demanding their participation.
'D!'
'Give me an Arkness!'
'Arkness!'
They proceed to launch into a plethora of admirably complex licks and squeals, knocking out hooks at the same pace as if they were pricing baked-beans in a supermarket, only with less aggression. It could turn out too ridiculous at times if it wasn't for the saving grace quality of the material with which they brandish: tightly executed textures and melodies, fully given a faithful blasting thanks to the evening's ear-bashingly, deafening PA-stacks, with Justin's falsetto-range emphatically rising their hip-shaking 'Best Of Me' and humorously-dubbed 'Get Your Hands Off My Woman, Motherf**ker' into cataclysmic surges of stadium-rock.
Soon after an encore-break and the announcement that this, their latest UK tour, is to be their 'farewell' clutch of dates (don't worry, they're lying), we eventually find a closer in the form of a track lifted from their already cult debut-EP 'I Believe In A Thing Called Love', sending the crowd and band wild alike, and triggering off the opportunity for our frontman to be carried around the room via the aid of an onstage-helper whilst he provides a meaty solo.
Not necessarily the most presentable of types, nor the most extremely sincere, where The Darkness persevere is through sheer performance, gut-fuelled energy and compulsory competence... For a band so bleakly titled, really, it's a wonder how much they can truly brighten your potential Wednesday night in Reading.
Artists in this article: The Darkness
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