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As bands go,Bloc Party are a pretty unassuming bunch. Offstage only twizzle-haired singer Kele Okereke would catch the eye amongst a crowd, and onstage he’s almost apologetic for his bands recent success. But beneath his modesty there‘s a genuine feeling of a love reciprocated between the Party and tonight’s audience. And with the drinks at these prices, it can’t just be the sauce. Indeed it’s a bit of puzzle how Bloc Party seemingly came from nowhere to ascend so quickly to the adoration projected towards the Astoria stage tonight, but the New Cross scene is full of bands waiting to catch a star, and there do seem to be plenty flying past right now.
Leaning toward the punkier side of their repertoire, tonight’s set is one ripe with crowd pleasers. Both their last single ‘So Here We Are’, and a spiky run through ‘Helicopter’ are greeted by scenesters and students alike with buoyant cheers. There’s so much dancing you’d be forgiven for thinking this was a The Music homecoming concert. Guitarist Russell Lissack looks and plays like a ‘Bends’ era Johhny Greenwood in a fit of tourettes; exploding when called upon with thrashes of jagged noise. A moody foil to Okereke’s joyful demeanor, they’re backed up by a solid backline of bassist Gorgon Moakes and drummer Matt Tong who even manage to come in on the wrong beat to the loop on ‘She’s Hearing Voices’ and still make it work. One of tonight’s high points, this song’s “Red pill, blue pill“ mantra is a complete rejection of verse-chorus-verse songwriting that worms its way into the head and eventually makes sense through sheer stomping insistence. However having settled on the pace of their more upbeat tunes, Bloc Party seem uncomfortable winding down for a run though ‘This Modern Love’, which in turn is a little disjointed. This is a temporary fall in form though, and as Okereke bellows “I’m on fire” through new single ‘Banquet‘, exchanging stabs of chords with fellow guitarist Lissack, he watches the crowd with the ear to ear smile of someone onto a winner. So with attention firmly centered around the two guitarists blue lights bathe the band for ‘Blue Light’ (naturally), and soft melodies wound around brooding quiet-loud dynamics suddenly fit the Astoria perfectly.
Slapped with the tag of art-punks, Bloc Party do manage to blatantly rob The Clash of their stomp, and Sonic Youth of their atonal beauty without actually ever really sounding like either band. The final result is something resolutely British, and often quite moving. Amorous, angular, and eager to please; if they ever discover the chorus Bloc Party might be dangerous too.
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