Tuesday 15/11/05 Clap Your Hands Say Yeah, Hockey Night @ The Faversham, Leeds

Hype. Where would we be without superlative-exhausting, foaming at the mouth, blown out of all proportion hype?

One thing's for sure. Were it not for the ever-intensifying word of mouth surrounding Clap Your Hands Say Yeah, they certainly wouldn't be headlining a sold-out Faversham before the band's accomplished as much as their first UK single release. The cynical-minded might suspect that the 'buzz' is just a cost-conscious conspiracy of music industry megacorps keen to avoid costly ad campaigns and greasing the wheels of radio playlisters, but surely it's more than a few strategically placed plaudits that's enabled the New York five-piece to shift 25,000 copies of their self-released debut (out here on Wichita in January) in the US and land a top slot on everyone's must-see list of the season?

 

Before we can find out, the stage belongs to Hockey Night. The Minneapolis five-piece has decided to, ahem, tackle the most bizarre mix of influences possible, with the most artful outer fringes of indie rock, complete with Paul Sprangers' feverishly chanted off-key vocals, dual drum kit assaults and song structures that defy logic and common sense merging with fluid guitar duels favoured by the classic rock likes of Allman Brothers Band, Thin Lizzy and, yikes, Lynyrd Skynyrd. The results steer erratically from the execrable to the excellent, with the latter and much preferred option triumphing towards the end of the set as the band shake off their initial timidity and lift off to some spectacular space rockin' shenanigans. All told, Hockey Night shouldn't just refuse to kick out the jams, they should allow them to multiply and take over entirely.

 

Following a tortuously long tune-up ritual, Clap Your Hands Say Yeah emerge on stage, only to embark on another incessant bout of fiddling. Eventually, they manage to launch into what turns out to be 'Jean Genie'. Only it isn't, even if the riff's identical enough to be of interest to David Bowie's legal team, just as Alec Ounsworth's miaowing vocals invite trademark infringement proceedings from David Byrne. The former Talking Head, however, never displayed such a liberal attitude towards staying somewhere in the vicinity of tune, but the gusto with which Ounsworth ignores the limitations of his pipes to munch on each set of lyrics like his life depended on it can only be applauded.

 

"Are you having a good time?" one of them asks, finally acknowledging such time-honoured gig rituals as addressing the gathered throng, but the response is worryingly muted. Perhaps it's the extended, atmosphere-busting breaks between the tunes, maybe it's the air of great and possibly unreasonable expectations few bands could hope to meet, and it could well be the onslaught of material few here could have heard previously. Whatever the reason, Clap Your Hands Say Yeah's melt of jingle jangle guitars, quirky pop chops, vintage space-age synths, krautrock grooves and the odd ferocious foray to bass- and hi-hat-heavy disco stomp mostly fails to conjure the kind of giddy excitement promised by both the plentiful acclaim and that exhilarating handle of theirs, and which is there in spades amidst the woozy harmonies on their upcoming UK debut single 'Is This Love?' (sadly not a cover of the Whitesnake smoocher it shares its moniker with).

 

Maybe it's an off-night, but by the time they bow out, few in the capacity crowd can be bothered to clap hands and hardly anyone is inspired to say yeah. There is no encore, only the unmistakable hiss of a hot air-filled balloon slowly deflating.