The Magic Numbers - London Bush Hall - 23/3/04
5/5
By: Toby L
Set-List: 'The Mule', 'Forever Lost', 'Long Legs', 'Wheels On Fire', 'Which Way To Happy', 'Hymn For Her', 'Love's A Game', 'Mornings Eleven'.
Force from above, you should have prepared us for this. Shepherd's Bush on a Tuesday eve is anything but salubrious and gracious a setting, yet - even still - there's a saving, guiding spirit this night. They arrive in a unit of four; feature two sets of bro-sis siblings; and conjure the most sweeping, beauteous tales of love and nurture we've heard for an age. Quite possibly, The Magic Numbers have been sent from up there.
Presumably from the school-of-thought that affection is all and abhorrence is, er, f**k-all, their songs are winsome, sweeping, hopelessly timeless ballads of warmth and tender introspection, exuded forth via frontman Romeo (yes, really - jeez, could the romance heighten?) and his pain-stakingly smooth vocal-crackle. Backing - or should that be coupling, for all elements are crucial to their cohesive end-blend - is from the angelic-voiced bassist Michelle, fiercely grooved taps via drummer Sean, and random though vital melodica/percussive accompaniment through Angela. It's not so much a winning formula as a full-on revelation.
And, the songs: oh, the songs... Compositions blend chiming guitars with '60s-styled slow-dance-at-a-US-prom majesty, each of their airings most likely possessive of an instrumental break-down and completely unanticipated self-reworking at every turn; so cocky are this lot that they even have their own song called 'Wheels On Fire', not a cover, that's every bit as beguiling as an ode with a name so vehement should be.
Come a few xylophone-parts and ironic scissor-kicks from our centre-piece Romeo - the latter prompted by gushing yells of approval during the build-ups of a scintillating 'Love's A Game' - and what was such a grandiose, classy setting (the Bush Hall) soon resembles that of a football match, all wolf-whistles and yells of delirious intoxication.
But the just reality is, it's all down to the sheer charm of those onstage in front; The Magic Numbers are not just a band: they're family, and not just biologically either. They sing and play with the feverous comfort and saccharine sweetness that bands who met via ads in the back-pages of the music-press will never be able to, while tracks as melodiously inviting as 'Mornings Eleven' and 'Hymn For Her' are destined future classics.
Contemporaries, they'll have very few, but with the haunting soul of Low, blaring sunshine of The Polyphonic Spree and a dynamic solely of their own, The Magic Numbers are utter, unbridled enchantment that have been (naturally) pruned for greatness. Save the sorrow - surrender your heart immediately.
Artists in this article: The Magic Numbers
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