Monday 09/02/04 The Raveonettes, The Veils @ Cockpit, Leeds

Named after a Buddy Holly song, The Raveonettes are Sune Rose Wagner and Sharin Foo. Two years ago, they were virtual unknowns out side of their native Denmark which, up until the release of their 2002 mini-album ‘Whip It On’, was famous only for bacon and Jan Molby. At 21 minutes and 41 seconds, it’s no epic, but this, we are led to believe, is the whole point. In case you’re unfamiliar with The Raveonettes’ thang, none of their songs contain more than three chords, and rarely top three minutes.

Their appearance on stage, however, is frustratingly delayed by dreary support act The Veils. This is a band which currently seems to be receiving mixed feedback. Awkwardly billed by Uncut magazine as a roaringly good band, the doom and gloom which plagues the songs on their forthcoming album ‘The Runaway Found’ suggests otherwise. They have a dark take on indie which draws distinct inspiration from The Smiths, and even, it would seem, Placebo’s highly overrated 'Sleeping With Ghosts' album. Their 19 year-old frontman, Finn’s voice carries a unique, (that doesn’t always mean ‘good’, people) warbling tremolo sound which he occasionally ditches for a deeper tone à la Neil Hammond (Divine Comedy). They boast only a couple of songs such as ‘Guiding Light’ (track 2 on the album) which merit a fair amount of praise, but their overall performance, though mildly intriguing, is probably best reserved for record and radio.

“Sharin! Sharin! Sharin!” chant a cluster of lairy students out of adoration for six-foot bass-wielding beauty Sharin Foo of The Raveonettes. Their first two offerings of the evening are greeted with a distinct lull in the crowd, which is hastily quashed with the more up-tempo ‘Do You Believe Her’. The almost deliberate lack of invention in their songs limits the crowd excitability factor; although amused, ironic glances are cast in all directions as Sune strums the first few chords of Eddie Cochran’s ‘C’mon Everybody’. You get the feeling, however, that irony is not something they do, even as the Cochran classic wanders off into a dark, shadowy howl of feedback. Sune’s trebly guitar sound and their jazz drummer’s incessant, muffled beat (which, by the way, is played on the barest minimum of equipment) make one song fairly indistinguishable to the next.

Having said this, it seems that The Raveonettes have managed, even with no more than three chords, to hone their own intense, mesmerising sound. The retro chic which oozes out of every chord of every bar of every song is out of nothing more than admiration for their bluesmen heroes who effectively invented rock and roll. They leave the stage, give the drummer only enough time to light a fag, and then re-emerge to play the long-awaited ‘Attack of the Ghost Riders’, whose catchy surf riff draws a more positive reaction from the crowd, gigwise included. The excellent ‘Cops on our Tail’ brings an end to proceedings, epitomising the effortless cool of which The Raveonettes have more than enough.