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Rating: They enter silently. The black background. Clean and elegant. On the far right in the second row is the drums. Next to it, the bassist. A little ahead, the left-handed guitarist points towards the center, towards Stuart Staples who also plays a guitar. To the left, the violinist and behind him the keyboards.
But only by the fifth song do I shake off the torpor. And the true chills of “City Sickness” are there, from the first and unmatched beautiful eponymous album. The rest of the concert doesn't take off; the very next song, C.F.G.F, from Simple Pleasure, reminds me too much of “People Ain’t No Good,” by the ink king. And I remember that they started from there, from Cave's slower pieces, from that “The Ship Song” upon whose slow epic progression they had built their whole first and beautiful record, yet they were original, due to Staples’ beautiful baritone voice, the violin and piano insertions, and the beautiful songs. True ones.
They are prisoners of their own mannerism; their original sin, all the songs are predictably the same, drained of poetry, all fade away tiredly, due to their structure they could go around another chorus, another verse, but they don’t. One wonders why they didn't make an additional move.
We are in the presence of good craftsmanship, arts and crafts, but the chills are missing. Staples' beautiful voice entering is too predictable, as is the ever-present violin melody line. In every song.
They seem aware of it, so much so that to break it, they have the violinist sing two songs, with a weak voice that disappears, annulled in front of Staples’ warm baritone. The audience applauds him, probably for trying. When in an episode or two they raise the rhythm, here comes marvel again, but it lasts little. The Tindersticks, a band created on Cave-like styles, was already a prisoner of itself after the first album. And mannerism for its own sake is never a good thing. And tonight was proof of that.
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