Thirteen Senses - London 100 Club - 10/3/04
4/5
By: Toby L
In the hilly, windy terrain of the West Country, it's not just the rained-on cows that are stirring. Seemingly, the ambitious, grandiose, barely-twenty-somethings of today are too.
So, cue: a great, big dollop of wailing, ailing guitars; a vocalist who (in a good way) sounds like he's been freshly, painfully neutered, resulting in a cascading wash of angelic falsetto and warbling divinity; and the sort of cautious, aching introspection that is commonly yielded by the demigods of our age. Yes, Thirteen Senses are here to alleviate and cleanse our souls.
How, you cry? Through shuffling into view and charming the pants off us. It's Indie, with a capital In, with pianos and soaring choruses and tender naivety. Indeed, every time so much as even a guitar-pedal is struck to hurtle into an instantly pummelling, anthemic refrain, it's done-so with admirable precision and lack of assurance - the emblem of earnest beginners.
Which, again - brilliantly - TS are. They're new to this game, and it shows; no suffocating pretence. The guitarist Tom looks around peevishly as he towels himself; notes are missed; and the sold out crowd of the 100 Club is more industry-dominated than South By South-West, suggestive that enticement in recent weeks to discover these latest, emotive bliss-purveyors is a feat best undertaken in the early days, rather than when it'll be too much of a pain in the arse to blag a guest-list spot.
Musically, their 50-minute set - yes, 50, despite the fact it's a debut London-headline: like everything with this group, 'ambition' seems the common consensus - seldom falls flat, a dreamy, airy, melodious track after track that each pilfer reams of elegance and humble class which collectively infatuate their vision. And what a vision. Though they're still quite yet to completely fulfil that widescreen, extortionate soundscape in their minds, just watching them try is often heart-stopping - prior to the sky-scraping serenity and hugeness of their debut-single 'Thru The Glass', an onlooker bellows desperate, breathless joy. 'This is a cathartic experience,' he gushes. And despite the fact the flippant in-dust-ree is stiffer than a freshly tanked-up morgue, this wise, soppy sort couldn't be any closer to the truth.
'I hope you can put up with something quiet,' vocalist Will soon nervously cracks, before the foursome launch into an aptly embossed 'Perfect', and slay us once more. It's all so instantly pretty, yet a touch more - portraying, drippingly, a raw innocence that plagues their majesty, unashamed in its misty romance. It betters with new track - for now, 'Untitled' - which offers the suggestion, 'Come on, put your hands into the fire,' and uttered with such conviction, we probably would. Another two, equally continuing the heart-rending theme - 'Automatic' and 'Undivided' - do little to change our minds. We're already slain.
However, just before: the definitive moment, and a flawless bow-out. 'Thanks to those who bought the single,' our singer beams, genuinely brimming to capacity with gratitude. Though, again - another yell from the assembled. 'But what about those that didn't buy it?'
Will, taken aback slightly by the retort, mildly cringes. And then grins. 'Oh well,' he offers. 'Unlucky.'
We couldn't have surmised it better if we'd tried.
Artists in this article: Thirteen Senses
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