Freshers Week. Two words guaranteed to strike terror into the hearts of the god-fearing (and a fair few heaths as well). So it was with some trepidation that I set off for Koko on a balmy October Friday. Storms are headlining Club NME, and I’m expecting scenes of alcohol-and youth-fuelled carnage. We wander through the tunnel into the auditorium and discover… nothing of the sort. The place is practically empty. Either the kids start much later these days or they’re busy pre-loading elsewhere. Not to worry though, we get ourselves a drink and before long the dancefloor is full of smug-looking girls waving their arms expansively to Bastille. So far, so Club NME.
First up on stage is Hares who, according to the website, ‘combine the lovelorn themes of Roy Orbison with the soaring/searing guitars of The Jesus and Mary Chain and the uplifting epic soulfulness of Exile-era Stones’. Sadly, this seems to have been somewhat lost in translation. We do get the definite impression that the 21st century has passed these guys by, but more in a ‘we can’t accept Britpop is over and are doomed to relive its dying throes for all eternity’ kinda way. Their guitarist is throwing shapes with a polka-dot patterned Strat, the lead singer is wearing a cowboy hat that brings to mind Finley Quaye, and I’m pretty sure their bass player could make a fairly decent living as a Brett Butler lookalike. The crowd is enthusiastic, if slightly bemused; I guess all this was a bit before their time.
Next up it’s Storms, and the crowd have got over their initial caginess – before the band have even played a song we’ve got drunk boys bellowing along (I don’t think they know the words, but they make up for it with enthusiasm), and drunk girls giggling and running in the opposite direction whenever one of the boys gets too close. Up on stage there are yet more ‘90s references going on, but they’ve gone even further back, and somehow it works. Sure, there’s a touch of Suede and Blur, a bit of James, even a smidgen of Cast, but mixed in with it is a taste of shoegaze, and at times they even veer towards Surfer Rosa-era Pixies. (Plus a couple of them look like extras from Point Break, which is always a good thing.)
The crowd swells forward in eagerness, and it’s clear that these boys have the potential to go far – if they can harness and sustain this kind of enthusiasm. They’ve got the sort of sound that, with the right producer, you could imagine being described as ‘epic’. Their closing song brings a sea of sambuca-stained hands into the air, clapping along til the very last chord. A pretty exciting sound to walk off stage to, right? Not if their bass player’s to be believed – we bump into him upstairs shortly after their set and ask him how he thinks it all went. ‘It was alright’, he says modestly, before stumbling off into the darkness at the back of the balcony. Nothing wrong with a bit of modesty, I guess. Here’s hoping they can hold onto it.
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