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Welcome to the Hot Club of Paris. Open since October 2006, it is an intriguing proposition featuring a range of curiosities. These include Post-Punk barbershop harmonies sung through antique microphones, wry social observation, scouse interpretations of the Minutemen back catalogue and all manner of polyrhythmic fun.
‘Live at Dead Lake’ is the second grand ballroom enchantment under the sea dance at the club. We easily have the best, most idiosyncratic song titles since The Locust. These include such hilarities as ‘I Wasn’t Being Heartless When I Said Your Favourite Song Lacked Heart’ and ‘Call Me Mr Demolition Ball’. Oh, how we laughed!
However, when the laughter died down people began to realise that the Hot Club, whilst a fun and occasionally wondrous place to be can also sound a bit hollow. Like it exists midway between pop music and clever math rock without really excelling at either. Sure, it has intelligent clientele and has a playlist that reaches far, far beyond your average Indie schmindie schmucks night but this doesn’t mean that it isn’t disposable. It is in fact the over familiar sound of three men in a room playing instruments and singing. Committed to tape with no studio trickery in this instance makes for a rushed, paper thin sound.
Not that you won’t want to dance. ‘Boy Awaits Return Of The Runaway Girl’ is the sweetest minimalist sing-along pop song that we’ve heard in a long time. ‘For Parties Past And Present’ is a compact gem of a track, good old sea shanty action like Tom Waits through an Indie filter. ‘Hey Housebrick’ has its unique charms too, silly knockabout fun. Sure, the club has its moments. You’ll want to pop your head around the door and be seen there but perhaps won’t be going back every week or necessarily investing in a souvenir of the experience.
Shame that all of the essential ingredients are there but at its very core the experience feels strangely vacuous, a moment of disenchantment like the water draining out of an ornate fountain or getting that Paul Daniels magic set for Christmas and realising that the poisoned dwarf isn’t actually sawing people in half. With that in mind, it is time to leave the Hot Club of Paris.
