The Rivers - London Water Rats - 11/1/07
3/5
By: Chris O'Toole
When did we begin? Can anybody remember anymore? What did music sound like before this new-wave-neo-revival? The sound that has grown up from the sweaty bars of outer London to encompass all recorded sound in the previous three or four years? What was life like in those years before the Libertines arrested the new millennium in its infancy and set in place a lithograph of what British popular music would attempt to imitate over the coming years? What was it like when rock stars were on a pedestal, leading charmed lives in far off mansions, and not in the queue for some slum bar and fighting with the same bouncers as us?
Memory seems to reveal a time when Toploader, Coldplay and Travis where our saviours; having reinvented the guitar, this was to be their time. We had hunkered down in anticipation of another decade of miserableism; the come down to accompany the ecstasy fuelled 90s. But then one mini-cultural explosion later and the whole blueprint was changed. Now angular guitars are back on the menu, and at discount prices, everybody has one and a haircut to match. Beats have to be as tight as your little sister on prom-night, licks shrapnel sharp and moves heart attack casual.
In this new environment a multitude of new bands have flourished; a new and exciting time, with everybody keen to get a slice of the action. About one hundred and fifty bands photocopied the blue print, cut their hair and headed out onto the stage. Some made it to the big time (notably the Futureheads, Bloc Party and more recently the Artic Monkeys) whilst some flounder on the shores of failure (the Datsuns, Nine Black Alps...). However, one essential tenet linked the majority of these acts; they all used the same ingredients and emerged with similar sounds. Sure, some were more rehearsed and better looking, or had wealthier families to support better recording, but they all largely imitated one pallet of sounds. It has now become impossible to separate the wheat from the chaff as so many bands compete for the same limited stage space. How can we begin to tell the difference between the weeds and the roses when only the colour of their petals separates them?
The Rivers are one of the bands up for contention in this crowded playing field. As such their sound is as you would imagine. A raucous front man strides about the stage mustering as much panache as possible, discussing the merits of being poor and drunk, and winning the full support of the audience. Flanked on either side by guitar and bass players, all of whom sport skinny black jeans, the Rivers look like a giant militaristic spider sprawling about the stage.
Now your opinion of this band is going to depend largely on your opinion of this particular 'scene' in general. If this is a vibrant cultural explosion, allowing a host of new talent the shot at the limelight they would otherwise have been denied in other times, then the Rivers are for you. They cover all the bases, sharp guitars, everyman lyrics about girls and drinking, tight drums and rumble bass. Charming. If, however, you feel the field is a little in need of a cull, that too many bands are plying their trade with little reward, then the Rivers will be on your pipe bomb list. The Rivers approximate the sound of everything you have heard in the last few years, jumble it up a little and attempt to re-sell it to you at half the price.
It's hard to say which of these categories the Rivers fall into. Are they an imitation of what they have seen on the passing billboards and heard in the clubs, following in the coat tails of popular culture with their heads down hoping not to be noticed? Or a radical reappraisal of a tired sound, refreshed, reenergised and reformed? Am I looking away from the lead singers gaze because he is a rock-star in the making, and this is literally the last time he will be able to stand amongst mortals before he ascends to a higher plain, or am I just embarrassed at the false bravado of what is obviously a journeyman rock band?
Again, any opinion depends on the individual. Normally I would come down hard on pretenders like this, forced them from the stage and banned them from ever appearing live in public again. But this time the affable charm of the band won me over, and their apparent excitement of playing live, in small town London, also won over the crowd. But then, the decision is not mine - I can only tell you what I saw.
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