Before you enter the atmosphere of a Ricky show, you have to prepare yourself for what is, essentially, a football crowd. Chants, jeers and cheering are more prominent here tonight than at the majority of gigs you'll ever attend. It seems to be something that the band take simultaneously well and uncomfortably.
James Lines, himself an avid Portsmouth FC fan walks on-stage with all the confidence of someone who is about to take on the world, the band almost seem over-confident tonight, but this is a crowd that adores the swagger and attitude of Ricky and other bands of their ilk. Whilst James may look like a stalwart of the terraces, he sings almost angelically over hook-laden, melody-filled pop-rock songs. The beauty of having three competent vocalists is that you can continually maintain the interest of the audience by switching between them and, as particularly highlighted in Ricky's case - harmonising. It's in this harmony that we find the best in Ricky.
When you play in a band that is consciously attempting to emulate an era, you leave yourself open to an easy barrage of abuse, but tonight, the US West-coast melody and 'jingle-jangle sound' is executed in such a manner that you can't help but be drawn in and simulateously picked up. It's like Summer blossomed all over again in a sticky-floored sweatbox in North London and we're all invited to revel with glee. A large proportion of the crowd here knows the words and it only adds to an atmosphere that went from Fratton Park to Hyde Park in the space of the first two tunes.
There's not a hint of any issues that could have arisen from having recently changed live drummer and altered the instrumentalists' line-up and the increased usage of six-string over twelve-string guitars makes for a slightly more accessible sound and for what's shaping up to be a great second LP. Unfortunately, at occasion the band are extremely keen to brag and exclaim at how they have the single of the week at Virgin Megastores and how they made it so high in the charts whilst still being unsigned. Part of me wants to tell them to shutup and get on with the tunes, but I find myself actually realising that selling 3,500 copies of an album with virtually no press and getting a DIY single onto Radio 2's playlist after two supporting tours is actually quite impressive.
There's a reason they have a following tonight, something of a loyal fanbase already, "it's about time we got some recognition," James tells his audience - and he's probably right.
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Thought not.
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Plus: Southampton, a bigger club than Portsmouth a while ago maybe, but not anymore.
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Fuck me, you're actually missing Nigel Quashie, who is quite possibly the worst player I've seen in a Forest shirt since the halcyon days of Lee Glover circa 1994.
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