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Rating: This I Am Kloot gig at the Rainbow could rightfully inaugurate the forum on the worst place one has seen a concert: upon entering, the venue looks almost empty and the impact is truly disheartening.
As if that weren't enough, as the specter of street cleaning looms over the cold Milanese evening, I discover that there are a full two support groups separating me from them. The first are the Kech, Italian, even if they pronounce their name like cash (hmm...), offering pretty standard college rock, with a prominent female voice.
They are followed by the Indigo Jones, also from Manchester like I Am Kloot, who literally lose themselves in a glass... of whiskey, judging by the singer's state. Indeed, I wasn't wrong, shortly after whiskey becomes the main theme of one of their songs. Essentially a voice emulating Cat Stevens a bit too much, a few decent songs without overdoing it, and otherwise rather colorless country-leaning ballads that even verge on plagiarizing 4 Non Blondes' What's Up.
Finally, I Am Kloot start: the frontman Johnny Bramwell, as already in Urbino, proves perfectly at ease as he jokes with his audience from the stage, and he insists on being understood: can you understand me? yes?. And here it becomes clear that to fully enjoy the concert, special attention must be paid to the lyrics.
But what does Kloot mean? Bramwell explains to us that the essence of klootness is love, drink and disaster. Ah, there you go! Until that moment I thought it meant freezing... despite Time Out London repeatedly saying catch them before they conquer the world, here the audience that came to see them is sparse, and it is evident how much the venue relies on "human warmth"!
The trio appears in an essential way in the typical voice/guitar, bass, and drums formation and offers tracks from the two albums they have released, the debut Natural History and the recent self-titled one. They are excellent musicians, capable of dressing a simple pop song with an incredible variety of atmospheres, adding bluesy streaks like in 86 TV's or jazzy touches like in the splendid A Strange Arrangement Of Colour, without any pretense of being original at all costs. The typical Mancunian twang (catch the pronunciation of shower in Storm Warning) might remind one of the Oasis in some episodes, but the illusion is soon dispelled: one would be surprised at such intelligence coming from the Gallagher brothers.
If on record they fall victim to a certain dullness perhaps due to a production too careful to fit them into the New Acoustic Movement melting pot, the live set, powered by a phenomenal drummer, delivers a raw and sharp sound and highlights a voice equipped with exceptional depth and expressive range, well matched to the cynicism of their lyrics (above all Twist: there's blood on your legs... I love you).
Well past midnight, I am fleeing from the Rainbow, while Bramwell thanks the audience for preferring them to those bloody awful Muse. The car is, as always, in front of the entrance and... no ticket, phew! Apocalypse never seemed so far away...
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