The Realistics - London Highbury Buffalo Bar - 24/7/02
3/5
By: Toby L
Within the back pages of press-publications for the last fortnight, a distinctive advert has particularly loomed out, featuring details of a new, unsigned NYC act and their debut UK showcase-tour of small venues. However, despite this, some present tonight don't quite know just what they're witnessing. A mouthy audience-member stares at the four-piece on-stage tonight in a relatively busy Buffalo Bar, the group in question having played their first few numbers, and he soon gains enough courage to shout something to the musicians in front.
'WHAT'S YOUR NAME,' the man bellows in an intoxicated allure.
The band quiver gently with laughter. 'We're The Realistics,' announces frontman and guitarist, Dennis, somewhat defiantly. 'And we'll change your lives forever...' He leaves a comedic pause. 'Wait a sec - that's the wrong band!'
Indeed; and such an in-joke reference is, of course, made in regards to a press-statement once made on The Strokes, their fellow New York contemporaries and the fellas that reignited interest within the East Side alt-music-scene following a virtual 25-year break. But, although The Realistics on first presumption may seem to try and associate to such a current wave of activity, their musical-produce suggests a group with very much a new way of looking at things.
Chipper, almost eager, and confident, the band-members shuffle themselves on to the confined performance-area, taking to their places amidst a welcoming, if drunken, cheer. Staring at their attendees with fire in their eyes, The Realistics rocket tumultuously into sound, creating a vast collision of fiery indie-rock that's presented as musically tight as a peanut lodged between the butt-cheeks of an 18-year-old American cheerleader.
However, the specific calling-card of uniqueness that separates The R's from themselves and their current species is the act's distinctive interlocking of repetitive hooks amidst a wall of bright, spacey Moog, as operated ably by Will, alongside the sonically devastating rhythm-section delivered from Mike on bass and the very-nearly violent Dave on drums, who resembles some kind of modern-day Keith Moon. It's Dennis as a singer and six-string-pulveriser, too that the quartet effortlessly elevate beyond the wannabes; every one of his garage-rock riffs, expressive vocal-tones and leaps in the air during their groove-filled 'Angie' make for compulsive viewing, only bettered when seeing them as an entire entity charging through energy-dosed soul-punk, flavoured with a 50's rock 'n' roll-musicality for melody. In all, it's serves as quite an inviting package, further ripples of excitement trickling through the turbo-charged finale where all characters recklessly tackle with their instruments and leave their drummer to smash cymbals in the blurry-eyed belief that it's not over yet. Well, it is. And it's a shame.
Punchy, and unashamed to experiment with subtle genre-fusing amongst an ever-showy performance, The Realistics have the correct ingredients to cause a minor A&R frenzy during their brief sejour on British waters. Rightly so - and the fact that they're from New York? Well, you know what - who cares; they're a modern example of just why it's where you're at as opposed to where you're from that makes all the difference between triumphs and failures... And, certainly, The Realistics can, for the moment, feel safe within the knowledge that they're a steadily focussed triumph.
Artists in this article: The Realistics
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