It’s a match made in Cilla Black-heaven: the anthemic, cacophonous sound and fervent politics of Reverend and the Makers, and the arty supersonics offered by Camden’s Roundhouse. With thousands of pairs of eyes on them, Sheffield’s second-finest seem immediately at home as they take the stage above the Roundhouse’s pit – a sort of rock’n’roll Globe theatre with extra ramparts and a roof.
Fronted by the effervescent Jon McClure – famously once in a band with lead Arctic Monkey Alex Turner – the seven-piece’s star is steadily rising, and tonight it shows. The normally-dignified Roundhouse is rammed, raucous and rather expectant – if the Makers are to make it, they need to make this, among their biggest shows to date, a good’un.
The set begins in darkness, with a slow, orchestral intro, helmed around Ed Cosens’ bass and Tom Jarvis’ pulsing electric guitar. With tenterhooks at breaking point, the lights come up and McClure launches into a version of ‘Ryan’. Rapturous applause follows and then swiftly comes the next effort, a similarly fast-paced number laced by some solo warbling by keyboarding Laura Manuel.
The stage arrangement is by now established. Surrounded by an semi-circle of musicians – including the gorgeous Manuel provocatively gyrating her hips, and a never-still Jarvis – McClure postures, jabs fingers, jogs on the spot, claps and sings without seeming to break sweat. He is the conductor of the choir, evidenced as he encourages the mosh pit during third effort ‘Bandits’, a particularly chirpy tune about fruit machines and frustrated wives.
But Reverend and the Makers have a serious side, too. Name-checking the likes of Joe Strummer and the Manics, McClure labels himself the new musical politician du jour. The subsequent song laments America’s aggressive foreign policy, but a nagging feeling persists: are any of the fans here really listening? Or do they just enjoy the tunes? McClure seems to wonder himself, imploring everyone to ‘really listen to what I’m saying’ between verses.
The ‘revolutionary rhetoric’, as he later calls it, continues with McClure reciting beat poetry between numbers, but it’s still the tunes themselves that get the most reaction. A rousing version of ‘Heavyweight Champion of the World’ goes down especially well, with young and old audience members alike screaming along to the Marlon Brando quote “I could have been a contender…”.
Song after belting song follows. The soulful ‘Open Your Window’ provides hair-raising high notes and a hypnotic, undulating keyboard rhythm. ‘18-30’ sees the crowd singing ‘la la la’s’ in McClure’s place. There are slow ballads, trumpet solos, fizzing electro sounds and strobe lights. At the end of one anthem all the band down tools, stand arms astride and chant “aaaaaghs” for all they’re worth.
The show ends with an epic, feverish rendition of ‘He Said He Loved Me’. Prancing around stage, the previously placid Manuel leers the chorus in a faux-pikey voice either side of funky guitar chords and frenzied drum beats. On record this song sounds okay but live it’s an infectious din, positively defying you not to break into a stupid dance and sing along.
When finally it ends, McClure promises his enamoured public that he’ll continue the show outdoors. And so it proves, as he and his guitar move across Chalk Farm Road to a lonely pavement and delight a sweaty horde with acoustic renditions of Bob Marley, Radiohead and others. Traffic comes to a standstill and fans clamber on phone-boxes and fences. It’s anarchy, delicious anarchy, and the Reverend wouldn’t have it any other way.
