Reviews

Franz Ferdinand have chosen as their support for their tour of club venues a Chilean band, Panico. The band's opening song instantly makes me think of a Ramones/Mary Chain mix of bubblegum and distortion emphasised by the lead singer's mop-top hair. Not to say that Panico are as extreme as those two bands but I loved their sound. They blend in an electro element well but they're a rock and roll band first and foremost, just a little different. It's a blend of styles which I can understand appealing to the Ferdinands.

The band come from Chile, although they met up in Paris, and there's touches of Latin music making them a sort of darker Tropicalia for the 21st century. Songs about black magic add to the atmosphere of exotic darkness. There currently seems to be a big re-imagining of music broadly under the umbrella of psychedelia, from the new folk stuff to extended electric freak out bands. Panico have a space all their own within this pantheon, giving a special reinterpretation from outside of the UK/USA axis. Paint it black.

And now the band everyone's been waiting for. FF open up with early hit ‘The Dark of the Matinee'. I was a little concerned that the band might be playing small gigs just to test drive new material and steer clear of old favourites but they obviously dispel that fear straight off - this is, most definitely, a ‘real' gig and the band are in the mood to entertain. Alex Kapranos remarks ‘You're all very close, aren't you' - it seems even for a tour of intimate venues, Moles gets more up close and personal than anywhere else. They blend in new songs with the old favourites and, although the old faves are obviously the best received because everyone knows and loves them already, the new stuff, such as ‘Kathryn Kiss Me', is still given an exuberant welcome and gives notice that the band are not about to run out of steam. I seem to remember an interview where Kapranos talked, probably tongue-in-cheek, about doing an album where they dispense with the guitars and use synthesizers. There's a touch of the electro on one of the songs but, thankfully for me anyway, the guitar still rules, although Franz Ferdinand have always played with their varied influences to create a pop-rock blend that crosses boundaries, matching fun pop sensibility with serious musical ambition.

The big hits like ‘Take Me Out' and ‘Walk Away' get the predictable, ecstatic response from the crowd. From a distance it might seem like Franz Ferdinand are a band that revel in irony and playfulness rather than a down-and-dirty rock band but they seem to be loving the chance to put on a show where they can feel the sweat from the fans and they respond with their own passion and energy. For a big band to decide to do a whole tour of small venues says a lot about their desire to play music for the love of it rather than just as a corporate money-making scheme.

Tonight is a night not quite like any other in my long history of gig-going at Moles. Of course I've been to some massively packed, heaving sweaty masses of gigs but the exclusive nature of this one, and the fact that tickets were limited to just the optimum amount so that (hopefully) everyone was within sight of the stage, meant a special, happy, close-knit atmosphere. The resulting frenzied partying is not in the form of a free-for-all mosh pit but instead it seems like the whole audience are at times leaping up and down in perfect synchronisation. The final song of the encore, ‘This Fire', is a stormer that is particularly appropriate considering the sticky heat that everyone is feeling on their skin. Paul the drummer is carried bodily over the crowd in the direction of the bar at the end prompting him to say on the band's MySpace that the ‘crowd was wild'. It was good to see Alex hanging around for a while after the gig, chatting and having a drink with the fans. Apparently it was around this time that they decided to head down to Glastonbury and play an unscheduled slot. The band were obviously as fired up by our intimate little gig as we all were.

Fair dos to Franz Ferdinand, with the completion of that difficult third album, they could have resumed the arduous process of promotion by stepping straight back into the enormodome circuit but have instead plumped for a short tour of cosier venues, which is why Moles is gratefully packed to the rafters. ‘Wow! You feel so close,' marvels Alex Kapranos, eyeball to eyeball with grinning fans, ‘but I like it!' He clearly does. Venue's last encounter with Franz Ferdinand was in New York City's vast Madison Square Gardens complex while they were still doggedly touring the debut album; it's no secret that the bigger the venue, the further away the music seems to get.

This is also a chance to iron out any creases in as-yet-untested new songs. Difficult births, by all accounts, including abandoned sessions with the Girls Aloud production team. There's been do dramatic reinvention, it's fair to say. It's still music that girls love to dance to, with brittle, bone-dry guitars and tub-thumping bass and drums. A discreet electro edge has been added, suggesting someone has been listening intently to the first Peaches album. There's also a slight whiff of Russian collective farm about the new material, songs from a utilitarian alternative future where pop is regulated pleasure, parsimoniously parcelled out by Calvinist Scots. Harmonies soar, but only in the choruses. There's also some one-finger synth that stirs uneasy memories of Spandau Ballet's ‘To Cut A Long Story Sort'. The crowd go mental for ‘Take Me Out', frantic pogo-ing prompting an unexpected shower of sticky beer. They encore with a triumphant ‘This Fire' and are immediately straight back out to sign autographs and pose for camera pictures. It looks like the ‘Ferd have heard the word, nasty rumours that, in these uncertain times, the kids might have fallen out of love with pop. Their solution? Reconnect. If any band has the intelligence to weather the current storm of an industry in turmoil, it's this one. Three days later they are the unbilled surprise guests at Emily Eavis's park stage at Glastonbury playing the same set to thousands.

After the excitement of the new, suggesting that the band are going to keep developing their talent and sound towards the stars, they turn to ‘songs we know how to play...Here's a selection of our hits'. Previous single ‘Jacques Rigaut' would have pride of place on my compilation. It has that resounding, ringing, roar of a riff that inspires and screams.

There's a mutual appreciation between the two bands tonight, VB heartily recommending Die! Die! Die! and the New Zealand three piece are equally complimentary about their support (even though the lead singer can't pronounce their name). He says he's been disappointed with the other bands they've played with since coming over to England. It's soon obvious from the way they attack their music that they're a band who accept no half-hearted, insipid attempts at rock. Die! Die! Die! live up to the kamikaze billing of their name and throw themselves, literally, into their performance. From the first crashing notes, lead singer and guitarist are dashing through the crowd, endangering gobsmacked punters with guitar/microphone leads, writhing on the floor and, in the case of the guitarist, leaping from an amp whilst seriously risking taking off either part of the lovely new stage lights and/or his own head. It's a furious, torrential melee of a set that has to go down as one of the messiest I've seen in a long time. The music is punk, visceral and angry. The singer has his mike stand off the stage, confronting the audience. The still-intact lights cast his face in a sickly yellowy glow as spilt drink stains his cheeks. This is a band who echo back to the days of punk as a way of shaking people up, releasing energy and demanding the crowd take notice. The music isn't subtle but nor is it overpoweringly loud. It's the break with the mundane that Saturday night should be.