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Down Liverpoolâs most famous staircase, past glass displays holding The Quarrymenâs guitars, on the brick arch facsimile of legend (the original Cavern stage The Beatles played on was about 20 feet away), a wild, screaming pop furore is breaking out. Dual frontmen harmonise âwo-oh!âs over frenetic blasts of roaring beat-rock while the drummer, in buttoned-down Ringo jacket, climbs onto the snare drum to pummel his kit from above. The primary difference between â62 and â20 is that, tonight, bar a couple of cameramen, theyâre the only three people in the room.
READ MORE: The Cribs on surviving implosion: âDave Grohl told us, âMake a fucking album’â
Instead of a well-drilled gigging machine, The Cribs storm The Cavern looking like a garage band reborn. For the past two years their righteous but costly battles with major labels over ownership of their music could easily have left them bankrupt and broken, so their relief and exuberance at playing âliveâ after a period spent fighting tooth-and-nail for survival gives the stream a palpable sense of celebration, albeit one tinged with a certain frustration at the wider Cribs family having to be cinematically distanced.
Theyâre here to salute their journey (and their Cavern forebears) as much as christen new album âNight Networkâ, and as the new, fittingly beat-era alt-pop stormer âRunning Into Youâ gives way to a glorious âMirror Kissersâ â with Gary and Ryan harmonising like angelic pack wolves and Ross clambering onto his kit for the military paced middle-eight â itâs like watching a band of heroesâ televised return.
Livestreams can be unforgiving for bands that rage rather than refine. The bum notes and strained melodies that add to the freewheeling punkoid charm of a Cribs gig are forensically exposed by the cameraâs steely eye. But they donât hold back for the lensâs sake. They rip into âIâm Alright Meâ (âTake drugs! Donât eat! Have contempt for those that you meet!â) as if grabbing wildly at its tail for three minutes, then pile straight into âMenâs Needsâ knowing that, whatever tempo it ends up at, their war-of-the-sexes hit has a riff that can make an empty room explode.
Besides a mid-set point where they pause to pay their respects to their Britpop godparents, coupling rinky-dink Blur homage âIt Was Only Loveâ with the Noel-ish âShoot The Poetsâ, plus the odd moment of throat-shredding canyon rock euphoria like âBack To The Boltholeâ, they keep up a furious garage-pop pace while throwing out thanks in a multitude of languages. This is, after all, an entire world tour crammed into 75 minutes.
The clarity of the format helps focus elements of The Cribsâ music youâd often miss â Ryanâs more evocative guitar work making âBurning For No Oneâ seem weightless or âI Donât Know Who I Amâ sound oceanic; the chic Cardigans undercurrent to âYou Were Always The Oneâ; the Northern Soul root of âThings You Should Be Knowingâ, getting its first live outing in 15 years for the occasion. But weâre here for the dizzy rushes of âDifferent Angleâ, âIâm A Realistâ and âCome On, Be A No-Oneâ, the chorus of which is the Jarmanâs untamed gutter-pop concentrated.
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They close with a âBroken Arrowâ so passionate it breaks the internet as surely as if theyâd staged a PS5 giveaway, but itâs new track âScreaming In Suburbiaâ that epitomises the restated passions of the event. âStill the same kids / Screaming in suburbia,â Gary bawls over one of their finest melodies yet, and if The Cavern stream proves anything, itâs that The Cribs have emerged from their darkest period with their original fire undimmed. Being no-ones was never an option.
The Cribs played:
‘I’m A Realist’
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