Finding the entrance to G2 is tricky. You can’t see it from the street, for one thing. Inside, however, is a brightly lit corridor that leads into a not-as-well-lit hall. It’s a good size and it’s not freezing cold like most other venues in the city tend to be. So far, things look positive.
Divides open the show and at first, the vocals aren’t heard at all. I can’t quite work out if they’re being drowned out or they’re just not turned up enough. It’s soon sorted out, but there’s definitely something going on with the sound. There’s plenty of posturing from the band; thankfully they also sound pretty decent. The lead vocalist is doing her very best to whip the crowd up but for some reason, the crowd just aren’t with it. It does bring a handful of nods but nothing else. She gets points for effort, though. They’re all dressed in black, too. It’s loud, it’s brash and it’s very brave. And, come to think of it, it’s actually somewhat fun. A few folk in the crowd below them are on their phones. Put the bloody things away and enjoy it!
Following Divides are City Of Ashes. Their logo is a bit Harry Potter crossed with Hunger Games so they win extra points for that. There’s no gentle start, no easing anyone into anything – just a launch straight into loud, ballsy rock, instructing the crowd to “make some noise!” The only noise, however, is made by the band themselves. They’re another band dressed in black, with two leather jackets. Compared to the plethora of “indie” checked shirts seen of late, the leather suggests danger and sex. Presumably… The lead vocalist looks remarkably like someone else, and I spend perhaps a bit too long working out that it’s Brett Anderson. After that, I can’t help but stare. The audience offer back polite applause between tracks – too polite. Even when the man with the cheekbones to rival even that of the aforementioned Brett Anderson stands on top of the barrier in front of a few girls, they don’t react much. In short, City Of Ashes are fantastic, it’s just a shame very few people are realising that.
It seems that the crowd only really wake up when Yashin take their spots on stage. In just one song – as they have with the whole of their newest and third album The Renegades, Yashin have created a melting pot of genres, and it’s brilliant! The vocals are drowned out still. I know of no venue anywhere that has yet to get the balance right. I suspect that once again there’s too much in the guitars and not enough in the vocals. Yashin do make up for it with charisma and showmanship, though. Part way through another singer Harry Radford tells the assembled to go crazy – some try but most don’t. What is with this lot, seriously? Scottish crowds are supposed to be the most enthusiastic, but based on the audience gathered here, I’d say that that is a massive lie. Much of the vocals and interaction between band and audience is inaudible, but it’s fun nonetheless.
The title track from the new album The Renegades appears to be a crowd favourite. Well, a few at the front are going suitably “crazy” but that lasts for all of about five seconds. That said, almost every pair of hands is in the air and voices are joining in. As I expected, Radford leaves the stage and joins the crowd, right in the middle of the room, and they swallow him up. Thank the Lord for microphones! During an older track, the audience is instructed to spin on the spot. Not as many as I would have hoped and expected actually do as they’re told… Yashin play a mixture of older and newer tracks, but whatever they play, the audience are enjoying it. The ones towards the front are, anyway. Everyone else at the back looks like they’re throwing a strop. The number of people watching the show through a mobile phone is unbelievable. What is the damn point?
As if to try and wake them up a bit more, Radford stands on top of the barrier and sings his little heart out while a member of security grabs hold of him like a terrified father clings to a daring toddler – by the back of his jeans. During the encore, a few flames from pocketed lighters go up. It’s impressive to see, but there are still too many bloody mobile phones. Perhaps I’m getting too old and grumpy, but I was under the impression a live show is a chance to enjoy the band entertain you in the flesh. Perhaps it’s just a sad sign of our times. Have we forgotten how to enjoy these things? I hope not. But even if that’s true, Yashin give it all they’ve got regardless.
Photo credit: Clare Ballott
