Crack

There’s no tougher curveball for a fashionable fan of a fashionable band to navigate than how exactly to dress for a show on a hot summer's eve. And surely enough the day's (dead) weather left a crowded Anson Rooms feeling as close as a coffin. So by the time The Kills had played the first few bars of Heart Is A Beating Drum I was already sweating like a paedophile dressed as a school.

No problem there for the pristine Alison Mosshart and Jamie Hince, however; resplendent in black, dripping nothing but cool. A colour shifting leopard print provided the backdrop, red and orange light giving the stage an intimate boudoir feel, leaving the performers free to prime the sexual tension levels.

With Mosshart recently declaring her love for Hince, and with him announcing his engagement to a certain supermodel, they could be forgiven if their piercing stares and close posturing of mic stands exuded a bit of awkwardness. Which begs the question of whether or not the impending marriage will affect their future live show, and the band themselves. But then, spouses never posed a problem for The White Stripes ...

Critics make lazy, obvious comparisons for a reason. A: because they are too lazy to think of anything better, and B: because they contain some semblance of truth or are too obvious to be ignored. If the only reason for The Kills lack of a drummer – live, at least – is that they can’t bear to be compared to The White Stripes any more than entirely necessary, then this is another area they are caught lacking. For what is supposed to be visceral, driving rock and roll, a live drummer cannot be matched by electronic beats from an MPC, especially noticeable during Sour Cherry which unfortunately sounds like Jamie Hince knocked out a drum pattern on the coach to Bristol using a metronome in Garageband. And when the power cuts out half way through the sixth or seventh track - with no live drummer to fill the gaps - Hince and Mosshart are left to awkwardly move to opposite ends of the stage for several minutes and wait in trepidation.

Fortunately, the now drenched crowd don’t hold it against them, and the hum of amplifers eventually returns. On request, the crowd loudly prompt for a quick run through of DNA once more, before they showcase new album Blood Pressure's first single, Satellite, which for me sounds kinda like The Black Ghosts 2007 track Some Way Through This dragged through a reggae swamp. No bad thing.

Next up; the obligatory encore, starting with Last Goodbye, the emotional centrepiece of Blood Pressures - intended to showcase Mosshart’s vocal range and provide some sonic variation to proceedings - which can’t help but feel too down-tempo for a crowd suffering from the heat by this point. Pots and Pans fares much better however, with Alison stepping up to the plate on drumming duty, ironically only serving to prove the effectiveness of their songs with an added live drummer.

Saving one of the best ‘til last, Fried My Little Brains is an inspired choice, and closes the set to silhouettes of pint glasses flying across the leopard backdrop to rapturous applause. The Kills have been really quite good tonight, yet I can’t help but feel that their stars are fading and Blood Pressures might be the last decent effort they have left in them.




- - - - - - - - - - - - -

Words: Artbeats

http://www.myspace.com/thekills

- - - - - - - - - - - - -