Delays

Shh. Shut up a moment. Hear that? That’s the sound of Pellumair. A band who, in comparison to most of the ensembles that roam this sort of venue with noises almost designed to loosen jaw hinges, seem to be the shy types. Not that that is necessarily a bad thing, because the sounds they do make conjure up images of Kings of Convenience singing over a half-empty glass, or Badly Drawn Boy being left out in the woods to build his own instruments, or Low being skimmed along the Irish Sea. Pleasant enough in a soft, pastoral sort of way, if you can hear it above drinkers discussing how great Delays are.

But that’s later. Before them we are treated to the first gig ever by The Real Sweet Deal, and boy is it evident. More of their slot is devoted to banter than actual songs. The synth operator and bassist decide to swap instruments after two songs. There are false starts, song titles made up on the spot (like ‘Scott Walker’, for instance) and the group encourages the audience to heckle them just to make things more interesting. And bloody marvellous it is too. The vocals are particularly brilliant seeing as a lot of them don’t involve actual words, more the sort of slurred moaning produced when having a bad dream about Clinic chasing you. Disco-scuzz reminiscent of a Death in Vegas DJ set played by thin truckers, anyone? Thought so…keep your eyes peeled, people.

Being quite possibly the biggest artist to come out of Southampton since Craig ‘Pencil Beard All Over My Chin’ David, the homecoming venture by Delays comes complete with a capacity crowd, and a ballistic one at that. You may already be au fait with their recent jaunt ‘Hey Girl’ and all the Byrdsian references it evoked, but tonight there is not a single twelve-string Rickenbacker or pair of granny sunglasses in sight. Live it appears that for every part chiming and breezy pop hook they’re two parts thunderous swagger and half-throbbing, bouncing beat-driven guitar beast. Their new material prompts people to pogo like Jane’s Addiction have just stuck a boot up their arse, and how many times have you seen anybody do that to ‘Turn! Turn! Turn!’? At times delightfully anthemic and at others like a rampant mini-Coopers, Delays have made a mark on everybody’s consciousness and, if the performance is anything to go by, perhaps they won’t always sound like the Byrds after all.