It’s been a long time since cock and roll – Rival Sons Live Islington

Rival sons*****

Heaven’s Basement*****

O2 Academy Islington - London - Thu 10 Nov 2011

Smashing venue the academy. Like a big school hall surrounded by neon-lit bars. Shiny polished wood floor and a proper stage and fat rig. And tonight it was rammed to the rafters.

The crowd...Rock and ham rolls

The assembled throng was, how should I put this, er, in the main, well, er, old. Yup, I felt like a comparative teenager. Lots of old heads and rockers mingling with a pretty standard rock and roll crowd. Not  a whiff of too many hipsters or digital designers. It felt comfortable.

Heaven’s Basement*****

First up are Heaven’s Basement. Standard rock fare. And not a lot more to be honest. Having spent most of my youth kicking around the tail end of 70’s heavy rock and the arrivistes of the NWOBHM vibe, I felt a tremendous surge of déjà-vu. But not necessarily in a good way.

Heaven's Basement. Woof.

I could have been transported back 20 years. Muddy sound, poodly hair, guitars tuned to E (actually a quite refreshing antidote to the de rigeur dropped D of most of the scene rock), screamy, testosterone-fuelled vocals, wailing guitars and lots of blues scale. Well, at least that’s what I thought it was. The sound was so poor, the vocals were so low in the mix they sounded like they were coming through the wall of the flat three doors away.

A real shame, but, to be honest, I’m not sure if even pristine sound would have rescued the spectacle. It was like a mélange of early Def Leppard (without the harmonies), Saxon, Budgie, The Scorpions and the legion of dear departed support bands who would optimistically traipse onto the Hammersmith Odeon stage with names like Quartz, Fist, White Spirit, Angel Witch and other raggedy baggedy cod piece wearing hairy bastards.

In short, it was dull, derivative muddy and backward facing. But a lot of the balding crowd seemed to like it.

Rival Sons*****

By now, I was a little nervous about the dreadful sound. I’d stumbled across Rival Sons at Knebworth earlier this year and loved them to bits. They were only playing the Jagermeister stage, but their sound and energy had been brilliant, so I was worried they may have been subjected to the grey sludge that Heaven’s Basement blundered through.

I needn’t have worried. They opened with the barnstorming anthem Torture and the place went bloody nuts. The sound was as clear as a bell, Jay Buchanan’s amazing vocals soaring majestically above the gutsiest ballsiest rock and roll you could hope for.

Call it retro, call it classic rock, call it old school, call it cock rock, call it whatever you want, but it’s just rock and roll. And rock and roll out of the very toppest of top drawers.

The set continues with Burn Down Los Angeles, which gets the sweating, baying pack gloriously singing along while pointing, gyrating, moshing and even old-school head banging. However, the overwhelming atmosphere was that of joy. Almost everyone was smiling like loons. This is feel-good rock and roll without a whiff of nihilism, self pity, cod satanic or Lord of The Rings pomp.

The set moved through moods and tempo. There were moments of big testicled boogie, slow blues, funky vibes and soul. All underpinned with brilliant playing.

The rhythm section rivaled Paul-Jones and Bonham, Butler and Ward or Moon and Entwhistle for tightness and gut-churning power. Scott Holiday’s guitar work, thrilling, smooth, edgy and powerful throughout. They are a real band. While Buchanan’s vox are clearly the icing on the sweetest of cakes, this is a genuine team effort. Yes, he’s a front man out of the classic mould and his presence and craft is so well oiled and seductive, it’s like a 19^th Century French roué: all silks, satins, laudanum and posturing erectile tissue, but this feels like a single unit who love playing with each other and interact almost telepathically.

Of course there are inevitable parallels and comparisons to Led Zeppelin and Bad Company, but there’s a heap of other delicious influences on show. Dashes of The Small Faces, The Doors, Deep Purple, John Mayall and early Fleetwood Mac or Chickenshack (they even segue the iconic Mac classic Oh Well within their last jammed-out bluesy final number I want More), but despite all the retro references, they sound totally alive, fresh, relevant and, well, just bloody brilliant.

Ok, they’re not pushing the boundaries or re-inventing a genre; they’re no NIN, Dillinger, Rolo Tomassi or Enter Shikari, but fuck, they rock. And judging by the mass delerium of the 800 or so assembled rock worshippers tonight, they’re here to stay. 


The fantastic Arcane Roots next.


More tunes soon, Bwoooar.