Razorlight

Overblown, deluded, attention-seeking idiot. Charming, talented, heroic musical messiah. These are the two extreme sides of the Johnny Borrell public opinion coin, but coming from either it’s hard to doubt their mainstream success thus far. With a leg-up from the Libertines, Razorlight and their shaggy-haired ringleader thrashed for recognition, via loudmouth statements in the press, a couple of really great singles and a few more not-so-great ones, until the high festival billings and massive headline shows at venues like Alexandra Palace became as normal an occurrence for them as it is for teenagers to wake up with a stiffy.

But, in this age of bite-size media, where fifteen minutes of fame is considered long-term, second-albums are crucial. With the hype of the first long dissipated, the kids who were only moments ago waving their knickers in the air for you to play one more encore have since moved on to the latest fad (read: Arctic Monkeys). So whilst the likes of The Datsuns and The Darkness have fallen casualty to society’s newfound fickleness (although, to be fair this is partly down to them turning out dog-shit second albums), other recent acts on the brink of returning for Round Two are putting in extra effort. 2006 shall see the return of Kasabian, Bloc Party and indeed Razorlight, and it shall be interesting to see if they sink or swim. Borrell’s taking no chances, which is where this secret mini-tour fits in. This is their opportunity to test out what they hope will be the makings of a smash-hit comeback album, and after the succulent taster tonight’s show affords, it looks like they might well succeed.

Opening with a new song that celebrates itself with the same fist-pumping immediacy as Franz Ferdinand’s recent ‘Do You Want To?’ makes for an instant hit. Johnny knows it, careering back and forth across the stage like a ricocheting bullet, safe in the knowledge that the music he’s performing will soon put everyone on high alert for Razorlight’s imminent full-scale return. Harmonised vocals with drummer Andy Burrows is the first indication that indie’s own Stig Of The Dump has been raiding the attic for inspiration, as this new song wails in the same way that any mulleted rocker worth his salt did back in the 80s.

So far so good. A second song satisfies with an unlikely reggae influence, which gradually builds up with the same kind of infectious rhythm that pulsated through some of the biggest hits off their debut. The air-bound “Uhhh-oh” vocal hook that punctuates the latter half of the song is so instantly communicable that half the crowd are singing along with it before the song is over, as if it’d had already been a chart smash. It’s indicative of the band’s talent for great pop music.

The main difference between the Razorlight of then and now lies behind Borrell’s distant eyes. He’s not looking down at the couple of hundred fans gathered at this hush-hush show for direct approval, like the spoilt brat of yore, he’s looking way out through the back wall of the venue, to a crowd even bigger than one to fill the whole of Wembly Stadium. Whereas before his sensationalist claims of being the next Bob Dylan et al gave him the initial limelight he so craved, it’s with steadfast confidence (and trademark arrogance) that he unleashes the next stage of his plan to ensure people’s ears stay pricked and the limelight never fades.

Treating the crowd to a thundering rendition of ‘Stumble & Fall’ that’s far too big to be contained within the Rescue Rooms’ modest frame, Razorlight make a slight trip following it with a new love song that’s so formulaically cloned from the DNA of ‘Golden Touch’ that the crowd roar out in excitement, as they mistake it for actually being ‘Golden Touch’.

Interloper single ‘Kirby’s House’ is as much of a bad Meatloaf tribute now as it ever was. Thankfully they’ve reconfigured their borrowed template of 80’s stadium rock since releasing the song, as a couple more new songs, which still reek of sentimental reverb and overweight romanticism, manage to overcome sounding like tokens of cheap nostalgia and actually end up exhuming a certain charm – quite possibly the same charm that gave Scorpions and their ilk a massive following two decades ago, which the majority of hipsters these days (quite rightly) laugh at for being so bloated and corny. But if it works in the moment, then that’s OK. Let’s just hope Johnny can resist the perm.

A quick song tapped out on the ivory keys could be seen as his way of letting us know he’s got into Elton John too, yet it’s a pleasant little ditty nonetheless. With all the new stuff tested before the audience the band finish up with a quick greatest hits set to say ‘thanks for listening to us’, in the same way a cat leaves disembowelled mice on the doorstep to say ‘thank you for looking after me’, as ‘Somewhere Else’ rears itself as the chewed up mess of misguided nonsense that it’s somehow tricked people into thinking it’s not.

Still, by the end of their direct sixty minute set it’s clear the band are on fighting form. The performance is tight and self-assured, the crowd love it – it seems everyone is happy. No doubt Borrell’s bullish confidence grows with each passing show, but as long as he doesn’t let it get out of hand, it should be ok. If not, then I suppose with the new Wembley Stadium being so damn large, we can make room for one more Bon Jovi.

FUTURE GIGS