The Dodos - Live

ULU, London
Tuesday 16th September 2008

The Dodos were last seen playing to a gathering of 27 people seeking refuge from the shiny crassness of V Festival in Chelmsford, looking apologetically bored and sounding understandingly uninspired.

Tonight, they find themselves in the convivial confines of ULU, so welcoming that there's a student swimming pool next to the dressing room and as much tea and raisins as growing boys could need. By the time they enter the low lit stage, the atmosphere is more mystical than hysterical, full of fans eager to see if Meric Long and co. can deliver, but genial enough to clap anyway if they don't.

Thankfully, this is an on night. From the opening strums of Meric's guitar, the mesmeric quality of the music is all-encompassing. Songs drift past in fuzzy hazes, the juddering percussion adding an element of drive to the singular, painstakingly accurate guitar subtleties. Soon a third member joins the fray, crashing about as he hits a dustbin, a xylophone and whatever else is handy.

There is an air of chaotic, organic creativity to many songs that sounds so ludicrously free-flowing that it can't possibly be unprepared. As it turns out, it isn't. Looping vocals are added with a tap of Meric's feet, while a tambourine backing track appears from nowhere at one point. However, the technical aptitude to play so unreservedly and yet plan so acutely is startling, making for truly thrilling tracks like Jodi. Beginning inauspiciously, it builds into a hypnotic curve, seeping tension, resolutely gripping but never quite allowing the audience to grasp it.

Contrasting styles and a reignited joy in playing – this is the last night of their UK tour and the promise of a return to the US is clearly a motivator for their performance – make for an engaging sight on stage. While Meric sits crookedly, playing the coy anti-frontman side-stage, the others either rock under the table or bang their sticks. Joe is a structure of solidity on drums, motivating rhythms onwards with skilful, penetrative kit work. It's a peculiar sensation they conjure, the audience helplessly twitching in nods of approval as the plundering catchiness of Fools begins. It is almost an anthem despite itself, provoking a chorused response.

The considered gracefulness of Ashley stands out, stripped of the stomping drive of other numbers but maintaining an irresistible aural coercion. An encore of Undeclared, a lullaby-like reflection of quaintness, plus the blues faux-mess of closer Paint the Rust, nails the challenges and attractions of this developing band. Brimful of talent, their ideas can sometimes run amok and leave the crowd behind, still waiting for a beat straight enough to tap to. But there is ability ever present, converting cynics to sympathisers in split seconds and convincing that the Dodos aren't just another silly name.