Giggs/The Vaccines/Bo Ningen: ‘Noisey’ Launch Party presented by Vice Magazine – Old Blue Last, London – 12/05/11
Bo Ningen kick off the night with what sounds a little bit like Can being channeled through Kyuss. That’s as far as I can tell from watching them through the fire exit window anyway. So overly packed is tonight’s competition winner’s and guestlist only party that we barely make it inside to hear their frontman offer up an ‘arigato’ let alone hear a whole song. That aside though – they genuinely do seem like a compelling and novel prospect for fans of far-out noise- making and tightly controlled experimentalism.
The room is fit to burst by the time The Vaccines take the stage. As routinely dismissed now as they were heralded as guitar-rock saviours just a few short months ago they are, as a live entity, a world away from their overly polished recordings and ill-representing, toe-curling videos. A blank-staring, sideways glancing bolt of melody driven punk rock, The Vaccines’ set is a brief burst of adrenaline thrill cracked open with ‘Wrecking Bar’ and collapsed with the frenetic rush of ‘Norgaard’ taking in a Standells cover and a little bit of sweaty singer/crowd interaction along the way. They may not come across so well on record and you may not like how quickly they found success (I’m not quite sure what’s wrong with that though?) but they are a dominating, surging live force to be reckoned with. Personally I want a second record from them that sounds like it was hammered together in a shed and then for them to break up. Proper.
After the crowd is further plied with free shots and bottles of lager there is Giggs. Moving from the downstairs bar to the cramped upstairs live room we find the slyly grinning Peckham native flanked with his SN1 crew and ready to get the scenesters onside. He does so with charm, wit, and a set of absolutely massive tunes accompanied by whipsmart observational rhymes, the obligatory ‘fuck the police’ shout-out and a couple of brand new tracks that have choruses to take the roof off. The indie kids bounce, Giggs grins, knowing there’s another room converted and I get the hell out of the sweatbox and into the Shoreditch night. Like an ageing indie ninja.
