Jet - London Barfly @ Monarch - 7/3/03
4/5
By: Toby L
Set-List: 'Move On', 'Get Me Outta Here', 'Rollover DJ', 'Hey Kids', 'Last Chance', 'Come Round Again', 'Radio', 'Get What You Need', 'Cold Hard Bitch', 'Are You Gonna', 'Take It Or Leave It', 'That's Alright Mamma'.
After a fierce course of terror-rock indulgence via the inhumanely gritty fumbling of support-act, The Hunches - a group as equally suited to the closed set of a low-budget slasher-movie as the miniscule Monarch performance-space - it's all arched eyebrows and photographers lining the front of the room soon after. Unquestionable, the arrival of Australia's Jet on-stage, to perform their third show in the UK, and first in the British capital, is as hotly anticipated a prospect as they come.
A sold-out, as-rare-as-world-peace EP in the can (the 12" 'Dirtysweet'), and the very same brand of advance journalistic hyperbole that helped elevate their fellow countrymen The Vines to an overnight star, tonight's show - barely announced in advance, nor even billed formally as 'Jet' headlining - is the ticket of the night; more industry refused entry than usually PR-advisory. But those in are rewarded for their extra efforts in gaining a spot.
Taking to the stage in a mere drove of two, you'd worry that they're gonna go all Kills/White Stripesy on our ass, but - more likely - this could be known as 'easing us in'. The brothers Sester - Nick and Chris - emerge in view, the latter with a tambourine, and former with a guitar, together storming the opening basis of the Stones-tinged slow-burner, 'Move On' - a welcomingly unobvious entrance to a set that soon kicks into trad. rock 'n' roll overdrive - from the lightning dissonance of 'Get Me Outta Here' through to a searing 'Hey Kids': almost an accelerated, sleazified rendition of The WS' 'Dead Leaves & The Dirty Ground'.
'Hands up if you paid to get in,' they jest at one instance, literally prompting a couple of spectators to force their fists towards the ceiling out of a room of hundreds. 'Oh, five people,' they smirk, addressing the cold industry brutality of the attendance, whilst - musically - not giving a flying f**k, relishing the experience as their own opportunity to share ragged, stubbly gems, with or without support. Indeed, it nigh-on approaches breaking-point when one audience-member bellows, 'I'm so underwhelmed.' The band eye in his direction. 'F**k off, then.' It's a memorable moment, which deservedly ends in their favour.
Save for such occasional stalwarts, unable to see past the diminishing gleam of early press-sensationalism and calculate what the band's function and aims are, this is a performance rigidly replete with steely-eyed, brassy confidence, striking, AC/DC-hallmark doses of guitar, and an admirable trove of melodies, ransacked and dusted up from the back-catalogues of every classic artist of the past forty years; 'Get What...' triggering the original tuneful panache of early Kinks, whilst Iggy Pop's 'Lust For Life' is provided a glorious once-over so shamelessly that plagiarism seems a justifiable means of getting by... Hey; no-one ever shouted at Oasis for it...
But to pedigree them as 'copyists' would be a deed far from fair; with the wailing engagingness of 'Radio' and killer-crescendo following a rampant, show-conclusive rendition of Elvis' 'That's Alright Mamma', there's enough excited innovation and capable musical-expertise to suggest something really is happening here. Especially with the added bolster of three of the four members able to sing and take turns as the lead - perhaps more conventionally commercially when it's pretty-boy, ace axe-wielder Cameron Muncey's turn to take on vocal-duties - there's a vantage-point to their aptitude which cuts, carves and crafts a distinctive ringing line over the rest, the immediacy of their initial A&R interest more noticeable in the rawer live-arena, away from the glossy images and interview-quotes in bold.
2003 has been prescribed in advance as this Melbourne four-piece's year. Though it's tough to truthfully predict the full likelihood of a statement without coming across as scandalously lurid, what with their inaugural batch of material firm-in-place, and an electrifying passion in heart, proceedings are fast looking to fall firmly flat-out in Jet's grandiose favour.
Artists in this article: Jet, Jetplane Landing
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