By Jonathan Bradwell
Quickening straight to what festivals are about, “The King Blues” kick-start the carousal with four of their most panegyric and severalized songs, meaning even those who assimilate with the band only very little don’t have to sojourn long to be necessitated. “Lets hang the Landlord” and neoteric single “HeadButt” transmogrify the rather unexpectedly age diverse crowd into jollification and nonchalance. ‘Jonny ‘Itch’ Fox’ proliferates just a Lilliputian amount more of puissance than the overplus of the band as he modulates that if we “Hang the Landlord from the top of the stairs; we can live here forever without a care”.
The rap and ska inspirations show effectually in this live show. This explicates the conjecture that no matter which record label labours to restrain this sound, no cover sheet and CD will ever cannonade across the portrayal of “The King Blues”. Those expecting only outmoded album material stood redressed tonight, as the band quintessential a concomitant cracking tune hailed “I want to set the world on fire”; it had that fierceness to anguish the crowd into shrieking along on the rearmost chorus. If the new impedimenta are customarily this advantageous, succeeding tours should be an obligation to see.
Live punk evenings can be discombobulating when bands grazing in money start to speak about today’s domain, as if it is just all for affect and ramification. Indulgingly, “The King Blues” are not a self ingurgitation band, and ‘Fox’s’ harangues come with a rooted dauntlessness and malignance. Two speeches from this ruffled anger deluged frontman tonight: One on the ‘BNP’ and the other on the ‘English Defence League’. After caterwauling that “There are more of us than them”, and to trounce them it will take “More than the ballet”, ‘Fox’ roars into the amaroidal, politically deepening and unhinged performance of “The Streets are Ours”.
Seizing the medial of the stage, ‘Fox’ performs, without much aid from fellow band members, the soft Ukulele and Acoustic guitar fraught tunes “Our of Luck” and “Underneath this Lamppost Light”. Surprisingly the crowd temporize in veneration, soundlessly, thumped by the precipitous doldrums under this blackened gambrel of tales of falling in love and those wearisome episodes in life. Retreading the cusp of “Underneath this lamppost Light” lyrics, just at the end of the song, to “Sheffield, you look beautiful tonight”, had that magnetism and charm that scintillates when a band legitimately appreciates their fans, and the fans appreciate the band.
Justifying once more that this bands frontrunner is one of the unassailable ratiocinations to the bands overall recognition, ‘Fox’ spits the cult poem “5 bottles of shampoo”. Enunciating about women’s rights and how people being “Too fat, too thin” is just “Media Spin”, fulfils an insinuation of subservient cheering as the rest of the band join the stage for one last song: “Taking Over”. From profanation to unadulterated reggae inspired joyousness; “The King Blues” put out a resplendent set list. Long term fans, they were complacent, and those dissimilar to the band, well, everyone I glimpsed at flitted with a glimmer on there face.
(Picture courtesy of Egigs)
The King Blues live in Sheffield (Not a video from the gig reviewed above, but from a different time)