We Are Scientists - Coach Party
Neither current nor heritage, We Are Scientists remain part of a noughties phenomenon of acts that burned bright with their debut album but never quite matched it, producing literate songs heavily disguised with pop camouflage, just in case anyone noticed how clever they were.
Can it really be fourteen years ago since I last saw We Are Scientists? It was in 2008, and they were second down from top billing on Glastonbury's second biggest stage. They were riding a crest of a wave with everything to play for. Just what happened in those intervening years? With no disrespect intended towards the arts centre, what were they doing there on a Monday night, having failed to fill the venue’s modest capacity? I guess fickle people like me happened, moving on to something else because I didn't like the sound of their new drummer. They've had several since, so it turns out they didn't much like the noise he was making either. But Keith Carne has now been with core members Keith Murray and Chris Cain for nearly ten years, so I was keen to see how things had turned out for them.
Before that, however, I got to see the much anticipated Coach Party, a band that were the main draw for some at the gig. Heralding from the Isle of Wight, comparisons with Wet Leg are inevitable, but I heard little in common with a band I consider overhyped. It seemed to me that Coach Party had considerably more substance, not least in their self-deprecating lead singer and bassist Jess Eastwood. Strumming along Lemmy style, albeit largely on one string, she did just enough to hold your attention, while secretly the band's guitarists, Joe Perry and Steph Norris did most of the heavy lifting. They were met with great enthusiasm throughout their brief half hour set, growing their initially tiny audience as folk from the bar popped their heads around, only to find themselves irresistibly drawn to the pleasing racket being made. I thought the band fine, but no more than fine, though I should say I was resolutely in the minority, not least amongst the people I came with and whose opinion I greatly respect.
We Are Scientists started as they meant to go on, galloping through a handful of numbers before pausing for breath and a bit of banter. They've toned down the comedy shtick since last time I saw them, and were all the better for it, agreeably getting the balance right between music and audience interaction. The unusually rowdy audience gave as good as they got on that score, but it was all good natured fun, with much emphasis placed on the improbability of a successful gig on a Monday.
Having parted company with them some time ago, I was surprised how many of the tunes I knew. Nobody Move, Nobody Get Hurt and The Great Escape were always going to make the final cut, but I was pleasantly surprised to hear Inaction and It’s a Hit get an airing too. It quickly became clear that the band are well aware of that extraordinary burst of creativity that informed their first album, with half the concert made up of songs from either With Love and Squalor or last year’s Huffy. Just so we’re clear, that’s ten tunes out of twenty they powered through in the hour spent with us, and I’m pleased to report the new stuff stacks up remarkably well compared to the old.
Keith Murray’s vocals were as strong as recall, and despite a sporting a striking shock of grey hair now, he’s as nimble as ever as he skitters around the stage, deftly avoiding falling over his guitar lead in a way that defies probability. Chris Cain looks weirdly the same as he ever did – lord knows what that portrait must look like in the antic – while Keith Carne looked alarmingly like Arsenal goalkeeper David Seaman. They are, in short, a motley crew, and oddly anachronistic in the body conscious pop world of today. Neither current nor heritage, they remain part of a noughties phenomenon to which I would add bands like The Hoosiers and Scouting for Girls. These were acts that burned bright with their debut album but never quite matched it, producing literate songs heavily disguised with pop camouflage, just in case anyone noticed how clever they were. I guess it must be odd to play smaller venues having had, and perhaps hoped for, something on a grander scale, That said, to paraphrase the evening’s encore, this scene is far from dead.
