The Camden Crawl – Review

The Camden Crawl – Review

Another year, another horde of overdressed, overwhelming devotees descends upon the streets of Camden. Even the sun has turned up, which helps make the expected crawl seem more like a stroll, the food seem that much more edible and the music that much better.

Friday night is a race from the reality of employment to the far more palatable prospect of a naked man walking across the roundabout opposite the Hawley Arms. Ah, it’s festival time again. A clever little queuing system means that people have a fair old chance of gaining entry to the Roundhouse to see The Yeah Yeah Yeahs, so that’s where we plod.

Onstage beforehand, The Virgins are an instant coffee support band – they fill a hole but don’t quite sate. Sporting a bow tie, a leather jacket and a bare chest, Donald Cumming does not have a good look for a frontman, or any kind of man, but it fits with their jaunty, unapologetic indie.Karen O and co are a different proposition – the singer dazzles in a sizzlingly silly outfit, delivering shrieking excitement early on with Gold Lion, while oldie Art Star pleases the purists with Nick Zinner effortlessly artful on guitar. It’s a bit early for the lighters aloft moment on Maps, but Zero and Date With The Night provide a shuddering finale as the festival gets an almighty kick-start.

Wandering along the high street as a band busks on the road feels fittingly festive, while chancing upon Madness playing a triumphant set aboard an open-top bus keeps things suitably surreal. It Must Be Love is sung by elated fans and perturbed passers-by alike as Suggs oversees the mayhem.

It is more subdued in Electric Ballroom - well everything seems more subdued after seeing Our House turn Camden Market into a strange and joyful street party. Nevertheless, The Big Pink fill the venue with their gloomy yet dancey sound, the highlight a brooding rendition of Velvet.Wire then arrive to recapture past glories – they inspire some outrageously jubilant dancing, but don’t quite connect, so it’s off to see some Queens of Noize-curated noise at The Black Cap after a detour to a too-packed Jazz Café. Drums of Death are theatrical and engaging, but it’s time to head down the Northern Line and prepare for tomorrow.

Watching the crowd move from wide-eyed anticipation to bleary-eyed satisfaction and back again within the space of a day is always part of the attraction at city festivals – the aid of an actual bed means those who overindulged on Friday are back fresh-faced on Saturday.

There is a whole host of musical treats to keep them entertained, as well as more obscure delights such as queuing next to the trampy-looking guy from Soccer AM. In the Hawley Arms, an unannounced set featuring The La’s legend Lee Mavers draws a crowd, while Kasabian turn up inside a tiny bus to strum an acoustic number. The atmosphere is bustling and just the right side of lairy as the high street becomes more of a throng than a thoroughfare.The Maccabees are the early evening destination – well, after Little Boots delivers an unmentionably uneventful set – and the five-piece don’t disappoint. Love You Better divides opinion, but the darling nostalgia of Lego, charmingly dedicated to an over-zealous gig-goer, is electrifying, as singer Orlando’s quaint understatement melds engagingly with guitarist Felix’s enthusiasm. Tissue Shoulders is a highlight and new tracks such as Kiss and Resolve and opener No Kind Words mix romanticism and driven intensity.

With secret gigs popping up as regularly as amusing celebrity-spots (Kate Nash and The Cribs’ Ryan Jarman canoodling outside the toilets, somebody phone the tabloids) it’s frantic as the light fades and decisions are deliberated over where to wander. Other than a few expectedly busy venues, the notorious Camden queue doesn’t materialise and it isn’t too difficult to gain entry anywhere, so The Joy Formidable’s capable but uninspired set is taken in at Electric Ballroom.Some people may not have slept for 48 hours, but The Fall’s archduke of curmudgeonly longevity Mark E Smith looks a whole lot worse than anybody else does. Still, a smiling Smith would not look right and he is suitably decrepit with a support belt around his gut while the fanboys and politely morbidly interested mingle below. Nevertheless, the current line-up sounds superb, ferociously loud and unabashed.

The vocals are often obscured but a dark energy keeps the likes of Cowboy George and The Latch Key Kid fresh and alive, which is a valid description of the festival, new music colliding with established names but all digging into Camden Crawl’s philosophy of new ideas and old-fashioned fun. It has enough one-offs to not feel formulated and a passable level of organisation. Before the festival season gets into full-swing, this is a loud, messy, sunny way to ease into it all.

The Maccabees - Live

The Maccabees
Barfly, London
Thursday, 5th March 2009

"Dear friend of mine is/testing his body/tempting disaster, testing water." The Maccabees are back in London to put their cards on the table. It's been a long time since they captured affection with their tales of childhood camaraderie and local anthems. Well, it's clear from the moment they walk onstage, it's all on the line; a new album in the offing, songs to try out, minds to readjust, friends to reacquaint. Things have changed.

Orlando Weeks, the lead singer, would look faintly ridiculous with his new heavily gelled hair if he didn't appear so piercingly driven. His glazed focus blazes below the mic in his steely grip, claiming ownership of the song as No Kind Words begins. It sounds so utterly his, a change of direction to a darker climate, cold and unforgiving and more than a mere splash in a swimming pool.

The Maccabees were already a good group, but this is a statement of intent to leave that behind, to become a great band. The other members simply look delighted to be back on stage, guitarist Felix White guffawing and leaping with glee as the sparse lyricism surrounds him.

It's an atypical setup as they progress though a couple of new tracks, Orlando donning a guitar more than usual to make a three-pronged attack and the five-piece adding some frivolity to the intensity. The release is evident after their lengthy break and the crowd is happy to share it.

What they are really waiting for is something to scream back at the band and it arrives with X-Ray. Weeks sings it with disdain but the audience are oblivious, moving the creaky upstairs floorboards of Barfly in a prolonged surge of energy.

As they continue the oldies with Precious Time and Lego, the atmosphere is charged and looks of happy abandon abound, a marked divergence from the mix of scorn and smiles on stage, Orlando dismissing the pay off line of Lego with a grin.

Young Lions is another broodier newbie, though there is room for harmonies and whoops in other songs from upcoming album Wall of Arms. The altered course they have taken is an intelligent one, not dismissing their old material but breaking through it with refreshed outlooks and loftier intentions.

As First Love is followed by a similar new closer that usurps it momentarily, full of heroically minor, sharp romanticism, The Maccabees depart. It has only been half hour, but 30 breathless, intriguing minutes have confirmed them as, with an album and five years already behind them, the best new band in the country right now.

The Maccabees and Good Shoes Live

The Maccabees and Good Shoes
Concorde 2, Brighton
Saturday 3rd May

A summery, seaside stroll down to the secluded setting of this secretive gig is strikingly fitting for this showcase of two sun-kissed bands that really should be a lot bigger.

While Scouting For Hoosiers Only continue to brainwash a nation with saccharine tripe, The Maccabees and Good Shoes have released two of the most accessible yet credible pop records of recent years, yet can still amble into their hometown Harry Ramsden’s unnoticed.

This isn’t necessarily a bad thing. The bands have been left alone to write the follow-up albums, tonight giving a glimpse of their efforts to an adoring audience. Good Shoes begin with a well-received newbie, mainly due to explaining it’s about Brighton. The unheard material is greeted with toe-tapping and hand-clapping, often adopting a cleaner, less stop-start style than in the past.

In playful mood, the band whet appetites with the opening riff to The Maccabees track ‘Tissue Shoulders’ before racing through the spiky blitz of ‘Ice Age.’ The last new song repeats the pointed refrain of “The more I want/The less I need,” all splintering immediacy, continuing the jerky realism that typifies their sound. Then they’re gone in a whirr of ‘All In My Head’ paranoia and the faux-epic urban despair of ‘Morden.’














If Good Shoes are likeable, The Maccabees are loveable; a heady mix of nervousness and assurance, watching them is comforting but never comfortable. Long-time closer ‘Lego’ is unleashed early, raising the already sweltering temperature in a clash of competing guitars and storybook lyrics.

There is a harder edge to the new material, singer Orlando playing guitar regularly to create a thicker sound. However, the melodious purity of ‘Toothpaste Kisses’ and giddy gaiety of ‘Happy Faces’ is still present. Whenever they dip into their back catalogue the venue is a riot of smiles, but the new songs stand up well, a freshness and intensity attached.

The exception to this is the peculiar choice to stick guitarist Felix on lead vocals and give Orlando an accordion. The sound of the instrument, if not the novelty, is lost amongst the clanging of guitars and unnatural singing.


It’s only a blip, but a revealing one. Orlando’s wonderful resistance to theatrics, an anti-frontman who holds attention through original delivery and understated presence, contrasts strikingly with Felix’s grinning desire for centre-stage. The chemistry between the two is captivating, but most effective with Felix playing second fiddle (not literally) however reluctantly.

It’s back to business with a hectic ‘Latchmere’, then a strident encore of a Strokes-referencing new song and the rapturous sing-along of ‘Precious Time.’ It’s furiously played, the gig showing an impatience to release the tension and music of a busy break. Still sounding slick, but adorably flawed, expect them to return with songs the radio will play to death, as well as you.

XFM Big Night Out - Maximo Park & The Maccabees Live

Maximo Park’s second album was rubbish. The Maccabees have been plodding out the same set for the last two years. The chances of this night out being as big as its name suggests are slim. The possibility of everyone staying in the pub to watch the rugby is high. So how was this gig so bloody good?

Regretfully, Pete and the Pirates are sacrificed in favour of Jonny Wilkinson and “Swing Low Sweet Chariot”, meaning Gigwise is left with a mad dash to catch The Maccabees. They are already onstage as throngs of patriotic gig-goers bustle into the Academy. With the excitement of greetings and jubilation of English victories, the band struggle to press their authority over the hubbub. ‘Toothpaste Kisses’ is lost beneath its own daintiness and the boisterous crowd’s inattentiveness.

Their set needs something to trigger a turnaround. This duly arrives with ‘Latchmere.’ The childish purity of its refrain echoes around with gleeful contagiousness. There’s a gripping nonchalance to Orlando Weeks’ vocals that compliments the jarring riffs and anomalous stage presence. ‘Precious Time’ combines insecure build-up with a tumultuous climax, ‘First Love’ buzzes with a zealous energy that spreads to the crowd and the recovery is complete.

As Maximo Park burst onstage with archetypal enthusiasm, Paul Smith leaping and leering, it’s soon clear their show won’t be typical. Opener ‘The Coast Is Always Changing’ is tight and focused, Smith looks positively manic and the most dismissive of observers can’t help but be hooked. They almost ruin it by playing ‘A Fortnight’s Time’ next, a painfully feeble song including the chorus, “five times five equals twenty-five, don’t you know your times-tables by now?” However, solid playing and Smith’s undeniable passion carry it off.

He orchestrates the tone of the set. When he races around the band is frenetic, when he screws up his face in pantomime anguish they are subtle, giving his showmanship a platform. The bass player still looks like he’s wandered onstage and nobody dares ask him to leave, but with Smith’s histrionics and a hyperactive keyboardist the visual spectacle matches the musical performance.

The explosive catchiness of ‘Apply Some Pressure’ and ‘Our Velocity’ are dispatched amid expected bedlam. ‘Books From Boxes’ adds a winning earnestness to proceedings, while other past singles ‘Going Missing’ and ‘Girls Who Play Guitars’ appease the masses. But the surprise is the triumph of Maximo Park’s less-lauded tracks. ‘Limassol’ is a paranoid riot, while ‘Russian Literature’ manages to be more captivating than pretentious.

‘Graffiti’ closes powerfully, before the night continues with a DJ set from everyone’s second-favourite curly-haired ex-Popworld host. Alex Zane has an easy job; after sporting success, impressive bands and cheap Carling, the mood is elated and the dancefloor full.