Friday 05/08/05 Idlewild, Nine Black Alps @ Somerset House, London

Pastoral, ornate, sedate… Somerset House is the perfect setting for an evening with Idlewild.  Singer Roddy Woomble seems enraptured by the place, genuinely impressed his dressing room was once graced by the likes of Nelson. It’s easy to imagine a previous life when his band, kitted out in wigs and stockings, performed romantic baroque n’ roll for king and court.

But it’s a safe bet the four walls of the Somerset courtyard have never witnessed a racket as glorious as Nine Black Alps’. The Manc neo-grungesters explode onto stage and rip through their debut album, ‘Everything Is’, without pausing for breath or banter. Frontman Sam Forrest howls like a man possessed by the raw punk spirit of Kurt Cobain, guitarist David Jones tweaks ray gun blasts out of his pedals, and Martin Cohen plays into the speakers, as if transfixed by the unholy thunder rolling through his bass. The Alps’ sound is pure 90's grunge, via Nirvana, the Lemonheads and even early Idlewild. And when they ease off the accelerator for new single ‘Unsatisfied’, NBA prove that if they tire of thrashing out, they could easily follow the headliners into “mature” territory. But for now they’re going to rock like it’s 1995, storming through the organised chaos of set closer ‘Shot Down’, with the crowd roaring back at them, “shot down spun round strung out!” Fame beckons…

Idlewild make a more elegant entrance, striding out against a backdrop of fairy lights to the sound of a 1950s prom slow-dance. They open with a series of beautiful songs from their recent ‘Warnings/Promises’ album, which the crowd lap up. Sadly, Woomble looks bored - swaying from side to side at the back of the stage and half-heartedly shaking the mic stand.  Maybe he knows the new REM-esque material is a little too mellow to really hit home live. Or maybe he’s cultivating a dull personality to go with his new Beckham image (complete with beard and beads and frilly shirt). Whatever it is, he’s more idle than wild. It takes head-down thrasher ‘A Modern Way' of Letting Go’ to rekindle the Idlewild fire. Woomble grips the mic with real intensity, epilepsy strobes throw guitarist Rod Jones’ rock star shapes onto the courtyard walls, and Somerset House turns into a moshpit. From here on in, it’s jackets off and down to business. Next, the band juxtaposes a mean version of 1999’s ‘These Wooden Ideas’ with the shiny happy folk-pop of recent single ‘I Understand It’.
 
This tension between Idlewild’s past and present provides the dynamic that drives their performance. During ‘You Held The World In Your Arms’, Jones pogos like a madman, guitarist Allan Stewart and bassist Gavin Fox play to each other, Quo- style, and the stage is lit up with mile-wide smiles. But instead of trying to top this with more overblown histrionics, the band quietly follow it with a gorgeous acoustic rendition of  ‘Not Just Sometimes But Always’. Then, without warning, they revisit their garage days with post-punk showstopper ‘A Film for the Future’. Bodies fly across the stage, heads in amps and feet on monitors, while Woomble roars, “sometimes I feel like going all the way back to when I started”.

Which says it all. Idlewild are not a band to hark after their glory days, but they are- justifiably- as proud of their past successes as their current direction. They’ve matured rather than conformed, and clearly enjoy the contradictions inherent in playing a set of gritty grunge, honeyed ballads and indie anthems. And so Rod Jones crawls offstage on his hands and knees, leaving his squealing guitar behind him… and it’s off to the tour bus to pen another beautiful love song.