The Subways - The Sugarmill, Stoke on Trent - 21/8/07
5/5
By: Alex Lee Thomson
For years, The Sugarmill has been a right of passage for many up and coming bands. It seems that every band worth their salt plays the intimate venue before thrashing the big time and it seems all the bands that have 'made it' return to the small, cut off area of the country (Stoke-On-where exactly?) to try out new material. In the past few years a myriad of bands have road tested new songs, from The Futureheads to James Dean Bradfield, and in the revelation hour of a new album it seemed only right the imitable Subways graced it's purple halls with their rock 'n' roll essence.
This venue is make or break for new material and as Billy, our epic pioneer of the kitsch-rock genre, breaks into 'California', a glimpse into the new world of guitar-led pop, the reception is more than demonstrative. You've never heard three people make so much noise and you've never heard three hundred people match that noise with as much praise and physically and emotionally deep, deep adoration. People had talked before hand about the possible volume level of the show and how many times Billy would fling himself the mere two foot gap from the stage to the crowd, and looking around at the adult playground of the venue the sense of anticipation was intolerable, the balcony menacingly peering over us. 'City Pavement' found the Subways front man breaching the divide for what was the first of many times, hurling himself into the waiting, loving audience arms who embraced their champion with the same respect and pure adulation they would have Brandon Flowers, Morrissey or Roger Daltry had they the bollocks to throw themselves into a thick crowd with the same sense of danger than Lunn thrives to generate.
This was probably the smallest crowd The Subways had played to since their early days and certainly within the last few years, and while the crowd remained on the pin point of what was a remarkable performance the band themselves were taking advantage of the situation by letting everything go, all the superstar hang-ups, all the album sales and TV appearances, and just going for it. Charlotte was beyond stunning, both in looks and playing ability, her show-stopping drama faηade more than on form throughout their embracing presentation and while Billy leapt off the Sugarmill balcony once more she was left to fill (conquering easily) the stage, a feat that she handled so effortlessly. Charlotte and Billy are one of the greatest musical double acts around showing that Pete/Carl bond with an added genuine emotional contact. Josh too was the focal point of many of the bands best moments, his energy the archetype for drummers everywhere thus completing a tripod of stability that's based on the model of rock 'n' roll bands dating back to the late 1950's and now incorporates the best of quintessential British grunge and punk.
'Oh Yeah' is so simple it's a wonder it's so intoxicating yet on show at the Mill draws energy from the very walls around it until it's as high-octane and unadulterated as rock music dares to be, The Subways begging just one more inch from it's already swelling ability to move you. The soft yet jagged hardcore ballad of 'Mary' has the band merely lip-synching to the roar of the crowd, batting on as though the world had stopped spinning for the hour that The Subways flicked their picks to a collection of fine, fine songs. The climax of the show, quite rightly, was the immense, unstoppable rampage of the intrepidly chaotic 'Rock 'n' Roll Queen'. The song has come to define the band and has lit the dancefloors of dancehalls for the past three years and when the first recognisable power chord is strummed, dull and through the sweat of Billy's aching fingers, there's a wave of disbelief that such a song, seemingly brought to life by the heavens, can find solace in our mere surrounding ramparts. The three hundred bodies crying out the lines to the anthem were just that, crying, part love, part sorrow that the show's climatic number was adorning, and part sheer fidelity and worship, the words streaming over the amplitude of their simple musicality, harrowing, "you are the sun, you are the only one, my heart is blue, my heart is blue for you, be my little rock 'n' roll queen". The pounding amphetamine-like drug that is the songs chorus surges through your body and you're left reaching for the stage with reverence, the music of the night and bright white lights of the bands future blinding you from all angles while the bands final bow of the night finds them exiting the stage to rapturous, euphoric and deafening applaud.
The Subways have conquered the world's scenes, tapped in to America, annihilated Japan and inspired millions to follow suit, but there's something triumphant about laying waste to this small midland venue. The crowd in Stoke can either love or hate you, and as such there's always a sense that achieving such praise at the Mill is a testament to your true ability, not of course that the city's populace is the be all and end all of critique, rather they represent a small town England that has seen the development of the rest of the countries scenes and remained impartial to their effect and can as such judge from a completely outsider perspective all the facets of what makes a band great. By any standards, not just the deafening roar of screams within this Neverland that makes twenty something feel as free as toddlers, The Subways have landed, spread their wings and are now ready to kick it all up another notch, if such a thing is possible. Let's hope so.
Your Feedback
Login to post your comment