Wednesday, February 26, 2003, Manchester, UK
Go back, go back: its just like punk rock happened, and then happened
again and again. Ikara Colt are a bunch of former art student poseurs
who act like they spent hours watching '77 punk footage and striking
poses in front of the mirror. If they haven't assimilated,
regurgitated, and morphed the shtick of The Fall, then I'm a valium
kiche kiche. The bassist wears a school unifom a size too small and
acts the poxy epileptic whilst the singer is a southern Mark Smith,
spitting a-caustic. The guitarist moves like Karren Ablaze's little
sister as she keeps her fretfire burnin'. What do you mean, "Who's
Karren Ablaze?" The beers kicks in and I'm possessed by the rancid
spectre of Mark E Smith. Two people in a room turn into the most
hideous replicas: whilst the singer pulls the young vicious Smith moves
I can't stop the joke the joke (after five years in my own PC camp): a
heckler spray of Smithisms. The band have finely paced their set,
ratcheting up the energy with every consecutive anti-hit. In the end
the singer dedicates the last and best number, a new one, to the Rowche
Rumbler who's been pointing out the obvious. In the bar members of
Manchester garage punkers Jackie O and the Strap Ons are milling
through the grinder. "It's showtime," shouts the friendly doorman and
Yeahs Yeahs Yeahs seize their time, tour sold out before an album even
dropped. First up is the almost genius love-envy song "Maps" extended
to extrude salivating anticipation. Many lesser bands would've shot
their bolt blasting out the total genius guitar noise pop feast "Why
Control?" next. An as yet unreleased gem premiered on their Peel
session, its the bastard lovechild of "Drunken Butterfly" and "Passing
Complexion" but catchier. The lyrics are simple brilliance and simply
brilliant. Are they a nod to Burroughs? How novel for a New York group,
the detractors sneer, but its their loss. Karen O sings like a punked
up Dolly Parton with a vibrator up her and moves like a trash poseur
who doesn't have to look in a cracked mirror. None of the three Yeahs
are replaceable parts, and guitarist Nick Zinner has such a great
chimecrush crescendo onslaught there's no missing the bass. Predictable
that the single "Machine" gets the kids bouncing perhaps, but another
new number is an instant foot hit. Yeah Yeahs Yeahs are going to be the
biggest rock band since Nirvana, easy. I was there then and I know what
I'm talking about, kid. Is it their time to be hated? No, Libertines
are the fuckin' enemy. Useless diluters can go piss up a rope. They
look like shit!
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