79. Royal Blood
O2 Academy Brixton
13 March 2015
Brixton Academy, the grand old dame of London venues where atmosphere is abundant, acoustics are optional, and every gig is a game of sonic Russian roulette. One night, you’ll get thunderous brilliance. The next, it sounds like someone left a radio on in the next room. I’ve seen them smother Soundgarden into fuzzy irrelevance and reduce London Grammar to the audio equivalent of a scented candle.
But tonight, the Academy finally behaved. Maybe it’s because this band’s whole sound is so stripped-down and raw it’s essentially noise with manners. Maybe it’s because there’s so little complexity going on that even the sound engineer couldn’t get confused. Who knows? All I can say is, it worked. Miraculously.
The first time I saw these two, it was in the confines of Rough Trade, tucked into the corner like some particularly loud kitchen appliance demo. A free in-store gig, no bells, no whistles, just two lads battering their instruments and the audience’s inner ear. It was like being in on a secret. They took a promo slot on a glorified plank of wood and turned it into something genuinely seismic. Electric and electrifying. It felt illicit. Dangerous. Cool.
The big question tonight was this: could that lightning-in-a-bottle scale up to a five-thousand-capacity art deco chamber? Could two blokes and a minimal drum kit conquer the Brixton beast? The answer, it appears, is: resoundingly, emphatically, annoyingly, “yes”.
Despite looking slightly like two kids who’ve wandered onto the wrong stage during a school assembly, they absolutely owned it. Some smart, moody lighting did some of the heavy lifting, but the rest was pure presence. They filled the room, even from up in the circle the energy was palpable. The set hit hard and didn’t let up. There were teeth. There was sweat. There was a song that might’ve just been a single riff repeated for seven minutes. Didn’t matter.
But, and there is a but, here’s the thing: it is exciting, it is new, and that’s kind of the problem. This band is thrilling right now because the gimmick hasn’t worn off. But can it stretch? Can it evolve? Can it survive the dreaded second album without collapsing, or are we witnessing a very loud, very fun, very fleeting moment in the alt-rock timeline?
Honestly? I don’t know. I had a great time. I shouted. I clapped. But would I run to preorder their sophomore record? Maybe. Possibly. For now, though, I’ll savour this set. Two lads. One idea. Zero subtlety. Glorious.