Live at Rocket on Tuesday, 2nd July 2002
Sadly missing the workaholic Being 747 (four gigs this week for them!) it was straight into the nitty-gritty of Futuresound. Mums. A whole band's worth of Mums, bopping away merrily. Gleefully obscuring the view of chin-stroking lurkers at the back. Quite glamorous they were too. You read it here first. The Cribs have got nice Mums. There's a pretty cool look about their progeny, four shaggy-haired indie-guitar pups. It's a fully Vines-ish NME-friendly kind of racket that they play and with a small dash of luck, a few more tunes than the two standouts from towards the end of their set and some more gigs could well see some A&R types sniffing around and asking the Mums whether they'd countenance a life of sex, drugs and rock and roll for their sons.
Yellow Stripe Nine's modest but polished sound sure comes over as a couple of notches tighter than The Cribs in the performance stakes but just sadly much less compelling in terms of pure rock and roll thrills. It's all really competent poppy indie fayre, but just too safe. They are emphatically not playing in 18th Century Paris, their balls on a guillotine and steely blade poised for release the moment the assembled peasants look bored.
Lead singer Pete Bott stands centre-stage resplendent in a French Revolution-contemporary British Army redcoat. Last time one of those was worn in indie anger was on the taut shoulders of Johnny Menswear (ask your Mum, skank fans) back in the heyday of the Good Mixer and all that. He's a good singer in what is essentially a decent enough band. The fact is though, with the White Stripes rocking away as though their lives depended on it, what are their yellow-striped nearly namesakes doing? They're playing pretty well and that's about it.
Maybe Yellow Stripe Nine should persuade their Mums to give it some next time they play...