Variously tipped for the top by big-shots like Gigwise and small fry like Rolling Stone, The Indelicates’ success has been foretold for years now. But the five piece have not yet hit the big time as the industry predicted. Is it merely ill luck, or do they lack talent? Thursday’s gig at the bungalow-like Windmill pub, The Indelicates’ first of 2008, threatened to shed light on the mystery…
The Windmill ranks among London’s kookier gig venues. Located at the end of an otherwise unremarkable Brixton side street ten minutes from the tube, it unites various London species in happy bonhomie. Here hairbrush-hating, tee-shirted kids share cheap pints with pretty chicks in tweed shorts and H&M blouses as gruff locals look on admiringly.
And in such a motley melting pot, The Indelicates’ genre-surfing sound works a treat. Taking the stage after an indescribably terrible ‘antifolk’ pioneer, a ditty-delivering trio containing Keith from The Office (or a very good look-alike) and the Restlesslists, a Brighton-based indie-dance delight, the Indelicates face an immediate challenge. It’s gone 11pm and many punters have last tubes and an early morning on their mind.
They soon see sense. Beginning with a raucous rendition of ‘The Last Significant Statement to be Made in Rock ‘n’ Roll’ – great song, but bad for word counts – the five Indelicates quickly get toes tapping and Top Shop cowboy shirts shaking. Singing duties and crowd banter are shared by pianist Julia and guitarist Simon; both are charming and charismatic, without being especially outgoing.
In the second row are drummer Ed, Kate on bass and, dressed like Dennis the Menace, the zealous Al on rhythm guitar. Along with the piano, it’s Al’s furious fingerwork that enervate the band’s fast-paced songs, including second tune of the night ‘Sixteen’. Containing the refrain ‘Oh-ho, it would be so funny’, it’s catchily cheerful, causing bums to bop and voices to join in.
Later efforts like ‘America’ and ‘Julia We Don’t Live in the 60s’ offer similarly soaring riffs plus lyrics that are at once wry, nostalgic and deliciously doom-laden. As Simon bellows ‘life is sweet’ during the latter song, his angry cynicism and sweaty posturing calls to mind Carter USM, or even the Sex Pistols, albeit dieted with a dose of pop.
Between these punky anthems comes slower, subtler stuff like ‘New Art For The People’ with much more emphasis placed on Julia’s innocent voice and classy piano-playing. These are full of tender moments of unexpected grace and sobriety. Often they take the form of slow, poignant intros where the audience sways admiringly, before once more swinging their fringes as the full din returns.
The best-received songs are those that marry all the Indelicates’ talents together - for instance the incessant ‘Fun is the For the Feeble-Minded’, which offers riotous choruses, furious guitars, a tinkling piano and Julia and Simon’s vocals in glorious tandem. In the midst of such mayhem, The Indelicates’ prosper thanks to a fine on-stage chemistry and their two singers’ clear, audible voices.
Song after fine song rushes by until suddenly the dreaded words arrive: “this is our last song”. It turns out to be 'We Hate the Kids', a hellraiser with particularly bitter, pretty lines. Perhaps not coincidentally the last line is “no more music, thank you, good night”. In a flash the Windmill empties, happy faces humming contentedly into the night. Will this be the Indelicates’ year? This lot sure hope so.
