The Mexicolas / The Magic

There’s a good turn out for a Monday night in Islington. The support band, The Magic open with a summery jazz tune – maybe a good choice for a hot July evening, but this feels totally wrong for the venue. This isn’t Morcheeba or Amy Winehouse or anything vaguely relatable for the crowd, this is smooth, middle of the road, 45-year old’s suburban jazz. I look around, but I can’t see him. He’s here somewhere, that Louis Balfour, sitting in a corner in his red polo neck sweater, nodding along saying “Niice...”

The band change tack (thank the Lord) and get a good reception to some jaunty pop-rock songs. I get the feeling that they probably wanted to be The Pixies, but they just come off as a poor man’s Magic Numbers. If you closed your eyes, it was pretty enjoyable, but open them and you’re faced with a dull crowd of charisma-less artists. They’re simply not quirky enough characters to pull-off just standing there, motionless, like mannequins. Definitely not magic.

In contrast, The Mexicolas are a total assault on the senses. Having been lulled into a false sense of chilled-out boredom by The Magic, they are a short sharp shock to the system. They run onto the stage, throw on their guitars, and launch into 'Come Clean' with a soaring rock riff, barely giving the sound engineer to fade out the fill-music.

Jamie’s voice is pitch-perfect, singing with the passion of someone 20 years his senior, Del is your archetypal attitude-filled-sex-god rock bassist and Tim pounds those drums like his life depended on it. The three of them have been together a couple of years, are based in Birmingham and have honed their sound so tightly and so well that they seem out of place in this tiny bar.

Their repertoire ranges from hard driving riffs ('Come Clean', 'Easy Smile') to the cleverly-crafted ('Song 101'). 'Suffer' could easily have dropped off a Queens Of The Stone Age album; 'Big In Japan' is the only song in the set that ventures anywhere near pop; Shame, their new single is definitely a good commercial choice with just a smattering of Motorhead.

As is becoming their trademark, they end the set on a rock-out Jimi Hendrix-style march through some bluesy chords. Then, vroom, they’re disappear off stage as quick as a thief in the night.

There is always something weird about seeing great bands with a big sound in small venues. You get the feeling that their agent just booked them into the wrong place, and despite the mistake they decide to get on stage and rock-out anyway. You know, just from that short gig, that stepping onto a huge stage wouldn’t be a hard move for them to make next.

FUTURE GIGS

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