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There's one thing that you have to know if you're going to see a band from
Greece, and that is that they firmly believe in the dictum that short sets
are for wusses. Don't even think about the half-hour-then-maybe-a-two-song-encore approach. Both bands on tonight's bill were from Greece, so I settled
in for the long haul.
Closer took to the stage with an ebullience not
usually seen outside a rave. After a very James Bond-sounding opening, the
band's lead singer -- who spend most of their 90-minute set either jumping
around or playing energetic air-guitar -- arrived onstage and met the crowd
with a shout, then launched straight into their set. Closer's style is
difficult: it borrows heavily from assorted indie bands, sounding a
lot like Puressence, filtered through an '80s record collection. They
rock, undoubtedly, though this is sometimes obscured by the layers of
effects that shroud a number of the instruments -- the violin, particularly.
There's a bit of a strain in the approach; while the vocals are certainly as
strong (and stylistically, very similar) to James Dean Bradfield of The
Manic Street Preachers, this is undermined by a feeling that, sometimes, the
band is torn between being soulful and rocking out. They sometimes attempt
to do both at once...unsucessfully. Still, their energy level put most
support acts to shame, and earned a lot of praise, even if Closer's
direction could be honed a little more.
Diafana Krina arrived on stage and a huge, smoky crush ensued. Looking more like Black Crowes than
Tindersticks, they proceeded to detonate their tunes in an effective -- though never workmanlike -- manner. Their extremely long (20-plus songs,
going by the setlist) set relied heavily on their latest album, Silence Gives The Odour of Wild Cherries. Unfortunately, a fair chunk of the subtlety found in the recordings
is lost in the translation to the stage. This isn't as terrible as you'd
imagine; the musicianship was excellent, and the vocals were every bit as
emotional and gut-punchingly strong as I'd hoped they'd be. The problem is
just that when the songs are heard in a different order than they appear on the
disc, the formulas behind some of them are thrown into sharp relief. Live,
they're not as closely-aligned to the grandeur of Sigur Rós as other reviews
have suggested; while the sweeping majesty of their recorded output isn't
recreated exactly, what you get is a very well-honed version of the
band's particular strain of gloom. This is, indubitably, a good thing,
though it can also be a rather wearying thing -- by the gig's end, Diafana Krina's
multiple-hour set had taken its toll.
While the show wasn't quite as satisfying as I'd
hoped, both bands gave more than I'd expected -- and in these days of
shortened gigs and inflated door prices, that's a precious thing. The
hardcore fans that had been waiting for this tour weren't disappointed,
judging by the gleefully gesticulating crowd that made its way
down to the bus stop. And if it's good enough for people who know what the
band are singing about, then that's good enough for me.
Article by Luke Martin.
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