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The Old House disappoint from the off when it becomes clear that they are not the Shakin’ Stevens tribute act I was expecting. They continue to disappoint throughout their monotonous set of sub-sub-sub-Libertines songs. That they have chosen to pursue a career in an unimaginitive, unambitious music is one thing; that they do it with so little success is quite another. When people say guitar bands are dead, this entirely unmemorable music is what they’re thinking of.
The Bilderberg Group are much better. Though flawed in places, they at least have a working knowledge of melody, which they use to full effect on roughly half their set of jaunty pop songs. There’s a 60s flavour underpinning much of the set, a playful disregard for genre conventions which allows them to add silly Spaghetti Western touches to 'Billy' without sacrificing the song’s basic charm. At moments like these, they remind me of the throwaway pop of Dave Dee, Dozy, Beaky, Mick and Titch – it might sound like a dig, but its meant as a complement. Elsewhere, the clever word play and expertly deployed harmonies on 'Working Weak' demonstrate their melancholy side. Some of the material is simply too lightweight, but in their best moments The Bilderberg Group occupy a hitherto undiscovered niche somewhere between Elvis Costello and The Coral.
10,000 Things are better still. In the wake of The Kaiser Chiefs’ rampant success, the Things are surely poised to follow them into the Top 40 and beyond. Though they might be lacking in originality, they more than make up for it in star presence, and a good percentage of that comes courtesy of frontman Sam Riley. Clearly a born entertainer, Riley plays the buffoon, but there’s a quick wit lurking behind his laddish façade. Like Joey Bell from Nottingham’s Punish The Atom, he’s a ball of chaotic energy onstage. He’s a much warmer character than Bell, however, and whilst 10,000 Things lack PTA’s dark edge, they have an appeal all of their own. Of course, the key factor is the songs, which are mostly hilarious, scabrous, warts’n’all accounts of Riley’s sex life. And whilst his defiantly non-PC take on sexual politics might not to everyone’s taste, his self-deprecating humour, both in his lyrics and his on-stage banter, is infectious. The band play fine, knockabout punk rock and - by sheer weight of numbers - do a great line in shout-along choruses. Charming and good fun are possibly not epithets 10,000 Things are looking for, but nevertheless, they’ve earned them.
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