Wednesday 06/06/03 The Stands, Jet @ Academy 2, Liverpool

Receiving the royal seal of approval from Noel Gallagher has become the modern day version of the curse of Morrissey. It's a weighty and dubious albatross that has hung around the neck of many a fallen hero - just ask Smaller or Proud Mary. The latest band to accept this "honour" are Liverpool's The Stands, but on this showing alone you feel their effort to defy historical convention will be far more successful. To those in the know it's long been common knowledge that lead singer Howie Payne has both the voice and looks of a true star and after god knows how many false starts he looks like he's finally found his vehicle in this most gorgeous of bands. Picture the scene: it's the late sixties, you're heading back to your shack in Laurel Canyon, you've bought some fine coke off David Crosby and you don't even mind that Joni Mitchell hates you and The Eagles have nicked all your ideas. Well The Stands are what's playing on your AM Radio. Sun drenched harmonies dripping with honey and tinged with the bitter sweet harmonica that tells of chances missed and women scorned. While bands like The Thrills take these influences and some how fashion a Bluetones B side, the Stands write songs like 'The Way She Does' 'It's Only Everything'. It really is exceptional and by the time the much hyped Jet saunter on half the crowd still seem to be slightly in awe of what they've just seen.

Like The Stands, Jet too have friends in high places. Fresh from supporting the Rolling Stones in their Aussie homeland, this band of hairy fashion victims seem keen to believe the reasons for this are their louch way with a riff rather than a desperate attempt to "look with it" on Mick and Keefs part. Either way this looks to be Jagger's worst decision since 'Dancing In The Street'. Jet rely on so many clichés they should be appearing in Stella Street. Lead singer Nick Sester actually wears a flat cap and vest in a rather desperate tribute to fellow countrymen AC/DC and takes the joke further by attempting to replicate Bon Scott's fags for breakfast growl on every song. The tunes themselves are a worn out mish-mash of Toxic Twins hand me downs with only opening ballad 'Move On' showing any deviation from the riffs and swagger template. 'Rollover DJ' with it's anti dance posturing and pathetic call and response routine displays a luddite attitude so primitive they make The Datsuns look like the avant-garde. By the time Jet's set comes crashing to a halt with an admittedly exuberant yet ill-advised cover of Elvis' 'That's Alright Mama' the crowd are already beginning to drift home. If this is the best Australia can throw at us we should win those Ashes back in no time.