Live Review

The Twang – Liverpool University, Students Union

13th Oct 2007

Despite their Sheffield roots and a strutting write about that happens to you approach. The debauchery espousing, Jon Windle quintet of Little Man Tate has managed to carve out their distinctive model of modern life gazing. Undoubtedly, their bouncing pop slant and Windle’s calming, yet punchy vocals has helped them steer enough away from the Arctic Monkeys base, to establish their own identity. A pop friendly and underpinning mod streak is more pronounced display through the fatter newer numbers.

It shows that their edge and infectious enthusiasm, on top of a broader and worldlier subject matter to the songs, will continue through second album territory and beyond. Leery, boozy anthems of ‘Sexy In Latin’ and ‘House Party At Boothy’s’, adds urgency to the plight of those embedded in the five deep queues at the two bars.

Buoyant and rugged Britpop flag-bearing ‘She’s Electric’, booms out during the interim to be greeted by a buoyant and feisty chorus, as the old skool and adventurous youngsters begin to feel that they haven’t been in an environment as “up fer it” as this before. For all the retro tagging that follows this five strong Brummie troupe, The Twang around. They open out with a cocky and flighty, beefed up Jamie T veined pang helped by the urban tale of growing old ‘The Neighbourhood’.

Phil Etheridge and Martin Saunders provide the hard-hitting and fast paced vocal hits. Possessing the interplay and understanding that Dalglish and Sourness once shared. Knowing exactly where the other one is without having to look over at them once.

The beer flies through the air with such regularity, you’d think that someone has smuggled their own pump in, much to the chagrin of the more glamorously clad female attendees. Drummer Dave Lowe, starts to take a more prominent tempo lifting role and the catchy dance-off of ‘Ice Cream Sundae’, is like a shot of tequila to the existing beer-fuelled mayhem and a monster of a mosh-pit emerges, sending arms flailing and bodies falling. Before a rugged early The Charlatans pitch starts to take over and rhythm seeps onto the dance floor.

Two Lovers’, is that baggy revival kick up the arse that British music needed, judging by the buoyancy with which it is greeted tonight and it seems to be covered by an even murkier guitar pushed veil, giving it more mystique. A seventy minute set of mood switching bravado shows that The Twang and their fans alike seem set for a lengthy connection. This is not just idle time passing, whilst waiting for that over-talked about Stone Roses re-union.