Everyone uses the word ‘indie’ to describe a style of music. And Pulp and Wet Leg are two bands that fit squarely into that rubric. But remember what the word originally meant. An abbreviation of independent, ‘indie’ was music recorded, manufactured and distributed outside the major label system. It began as an economic necessity: the only way the music that the majors were not interested in could reach a public. But it quickly became a belief system: DIY at all costs to avoid the corruption of filthy lucre. And eventually it came to mean a certain kind of music.
Pulp’s show was part of a weekend of events at the Southbank Centre celebrating the 50th anniversary of Rough Trade, the label that began as a record shop. It was among the earliest sellers of the self-pressed records that came out of punk, and soon became the independent label that was the artistic, if not business, model for everyone else: the label of the Raincoats and Scritti Politti and the Smiths, of the Strokes and the Libertines and Alabama Shakes. Its current roster has a string of critical and commercial successes: Amyl and the Sniffers, Sleaford Mods, Jockstrap, Lankum. And it’s still run by Geoff Travis and Jeannette Lee, who work with just a dozen or so people in an anonymous shopfront in west London.
Cocker introduced songs via a PowerPoint presentation
Pulp’s reunion album, More, came out on Rough Trade last year, their first for the label, so they played it in its entirety at this show. Cocker said it was the first time they’d ever done a full-album show, and for superfans (for whom this was an intimate gig), it must have been a treat not to get the same set they’ve been touring. For non-superfans – which includes me – it was a little frustrating. Even the few songs added at the end didn’t survey the greatest hits, bar ‘Something Changed’ (it seemed telling that the dark and morbid ‘This Is Hardcore’ brought the crowd to their feet, rather than more upbeat newer numbers).
Cocker still looks almost exactly as he did when ‘Common People’ was a hit, just slightly dunner in choice of fabric, and slightly crinkled, as if he’d been vacuum-packed and pulled out a few hairs while unwrapping himself. He still dances the same – Ian Curtis meets Marcel Marceau – and he’s still funny. To break up More, he introduced songs via a PowerPoint presentation: showing photos and playing demos. The best bits were joyful. ‘Got To Have Love’ was perfect midlife disco, ‘Wickerman’ mysterious and spiralling, and a pitch-perfect cover of Abba’s ‘The Day Before You Came’ was the kind of treat you really want at these showpiece gigs.
Wet Leg, as momentous now in indie as Pulp were two generations ago, are signed to Domino, one of the labels Rough Trade inspired and made possible. Like Rough Trade, it develops big acts (Arctic Monkeys), releases incredible records that find solid audiences (Hot Chip, Richard Dawson) and puts out acts only their mothers could love. Like Pulp, Wet Leg are fronted by an unusual character, Rhian Teasdale: another arch lyricist with a penchant for innuendo, and a sense of self-presentation far removed from indie’s norms.
Since I last saw them a few years ago, when they were still very much an indie band, Wet Leg have become a real rock band. And better yet, in Teasdale they have a strange, sexy alien pop star for a singer – the Ziggy Stardust model. The group understand restraint: there were no fripperies from the rhythm section, just four-to-the-floor from the drummer and root notes from the bass player.
The live iterations of the songs were far harder than on record. The opening, ‘Catch These Fists’, lived up to its title, moving from skinny-tied new wave to something brutal. At an outdoor show, the muscle of their live sets strengthened their more delicate songs – songs such as ‘Davina McCall’ – even if it made Teasdale’s voice, a wispy thing, hard to decipher.
On one of those blistering evenings, Alexandra Palace Park proved the perfect venue. True, one still had to walk up the hill. But instead of being trapped in the ghastly shed that is Ally Pally itself, we were on the slope below with the stage at the bottom. Everyone had a clear sightline and some space, and behind the band the London skyline glittered.
Comments