Indie sleaze? Make that indieĀ suave. As fashion revolves and The Cribs and their ebullient fanbase can once more reasonably describe themselves as scenesters, the Jarman brothers greet the return of the zeitgeist slicker and smarter than ever: guitarist and co-vocalist Ryan takes to the Roundhouse stage looking more James Dean than Shaggy.
20 years in, longevity looks good on The Cribs. As they take on the same sort of enduring respect enjoyed by similarly principled US counterparts like Band Of Horses or Spoon, tracks from 2020ās āNight Networkā ā āNever Thought Iād Feel Againā, āRunning Into Youā, āI Donāt Know Who I Amā ā are deployed as evidence of how the trio have honed and finessed their volcanic rock over the years, building Beach Boys harmonies and excavating melodic depths behind their scorched-earth surf pop noise.
When bassist Gary notes how difficult the pandemic has been for a āband of brothersā, he could just as easily be referencing the wider Cribs family. They roar out the intro to āAnother Numberā (The Cribs have chant-along riffs) and make like a geyser erupting to classic Cribs songs of romance, ennui, small-town ambition and undying dedication to rockānāroll (āIām A Realistā, āOur Bovine Publicā, āCome On, Be A No-Oneā). For the first 45 minutes theyāre bombarded with grunge-laced punk pop like a venue besieged, revelling in the hedonistic outsider fatalism of āIām Alright, Meā (āTake drugs! Donāt eat! Have contempt for those you meet!ā) and even lapping up the previously unplayed 2012 B-side āOn A Hotel Wallā ā no āKilling Of A Flash Boyā as flipsides go, but nonetheless slaps.
It might all start to feel like exuberant white noise after a while, but for the presence of the acoustic Oasis-like āShoot The Poetsā and their secret weapon. As with Arcade Fire and āWake Upā, The Cribs have a song so stupendous that they could basically sit around picking their arses for the first hour and still pull off one of the best gigs of the year with it. It is, of course, āBe Safeā, their monumental poetry rock collaboration with Lee Ranaldo, and a tangible ripple of elation goes around the room as it grinds into life, stays its brooding course, steers on to anthemic freedom and opens all the emotional boxes.
The rest is sheer explosion. The pogo frenzies that greet āMirror Kissersā and āMenās Needsā likely start earthquakes in New Zealand, and a final āPink Snowā builds to a head-spinning psych-rock blitzkrieg. The archetypal band of British indie rock they may be, but time and again, no matter fashionās vagaries, The Cribs prove their power.
The Cribs played:
‘Running Into You’
‘I’m A Realist’
‘Our Bovine Public’
‘I’m Alright Me’
‘Another Number’
‘Never Thought Iād Feel Again’
‘I Donāt Know Who I Am’
‘Come On, Be A No-One’
‘My Life Flashed Before My Eyes’
‘Swinging At Shadows’
‘On A Hotel Wall’
‘Shoot The Poets’
‘We Share The Same Skies’
‘Screaming In Suburbia’
‘Hey Scenesters!’
‘What About Me’
‘Sheās My Style’
‘Be Safe’
‘Mirror Kissers’
‘Men’s Needs’
‘Pink Snow’
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