Saturday 05/06/04 Razorlight @ Academy 2, Liverpool

Self belief is important. Like that mantra bollocks that Americans seem to buy into. Stare deep into your own eyes in the bathroom mirror and tell yourself that you’re right mega at the one thing that you have no confidence in - this is apparently how you overcome your lack of self belief. After watching Johnny Borrell’s antics over the past year, it would seem that as a child he was bullied copiously, told he would never make it as a musician, never have any luck with the opposite sex, and has since spent months in a hall of mirrors repeating "I am the greatest rock star in the world".

While the album’s just a twinkle in the band's eye, its easier to play the undiscovered-genius-who’s-come-to-save-music card. After three surprisingly brilliant singles, the pressure’s on, and when you get to the promotional tour for the forthcoming debut, that’s when people find out whether the self appreciating garb you’ve cloaked yourself in has any credence. Call it Potential Gay Dad syndrome if you will, this is the tour that could have left Borrell looking like a puffed up wanker.

Good job then the band are supported by London post-punk trio Neils Children. Their twisted, shreddingly gaunt punk leaps off stage, ramming its un-perturbed petulance down the disbelieving throats of the Borrell loving teenagers pressed up against the front. Gang of Four come Adam And The Ants, come Clockwork Orange, come the oddly dressed Londoners who could come up with killer one liners in any argument. They’re every scenesters dream, but it's real. From the shout punk bolster of ‘I Hate Models’, the paranoid noisy disco pop of ‘Trying To Be Someone Else’,  to the freak-beat references that litter the set, Borrell being upstaged is looking more and more likely with each passing minute.

Opening with ‘Rip It Up’, it's obvious from the start that Borrell and Razorlight are not that arsed. Here’s the man who proclaimed he’s a modern day Bob Dylan, the man who walked out of a certain music magazine's award ceremony when he saw he wasn’t up for ‘Godlike Genius’, and it’s the same man whose performance seems slightly dejected because the venue’s not full.

Though the uncertain affection of ‘Stumble And Fall’ and the genius that is ‘Golden Touch’ stir the crowd, tracks like the Patti Smith infused ‘In The City’ and ‘Get It And Go’ become mere headnodders. ‘Don’t Go Back To Daltson’ though, restores faith that Borrell’s not just full of shit and you’ve been right to tell your friends that the band are going to be big.

True, the majority of the album’s been stolen, but it’s been stolen from the greats. The Cure, The Smiths, and various other schmindie heroes all combine to make dance floor stormers, brooding tormentors, and just down right great songs. It’s just a shame that Borrell's ego stands in the way of showcasing a great album, leaving us with a mediocre gig. 

If Mr. Borrell really is the greatest songwriter of our generation, we saw little sign of it this evening.

Photos by Dave Evans