The crotchety voice-over announced the opening to the evening’s proceedings, as Sydney rockers Strangers slunk out of the dim lighting. A quick Google as I waited for my overpriced beer attested to their swaggering ambition. Sadly, this intent to impress proved less than memorable. Singer Ben Britton leaned about his mic stand, flopping his fringe back and forth while bass player Tristen Griffith set us all back 1000 years in his black-single/flat cap outfit leaving the pained, indecipherable vocals to be lost on The Palace.
Rock poses aside, there’s little of note amid tin-coated distortion,before a bizarre take on PJ Harvey’s “Long Snake Moan” left whoever might have been paying attention to peer up from their cups for an explanation. Sadly but not surprisingly, the vocals fell away, denying the song its banshee lead as the swelling crowd marked some polite approval before receding to its collective shrug.
Apparent Green Day fans remaking power chord thrashing tunes to a flirtation with nu-metal, their pointlessness falls in a middling heap of complete and utter horse shit.
Tears would have been poured if they hadn’t fucked off. No one deserved to see that.
As the house PA pumped out Thin Lizzy’s monumental “The Boys Are Back In Town” to a roar from the now full theatre floor, the lights dimmed for a moment as the crowd battered each other in a giddy frenzy for the arrival of The Darkness in their reformed classic line-up glory.
Tattooed Musketeer Justin Hawkins led his band of leather chapped rockers, into lashing opener “Black Shuck” from debut album Permission To Land. Dan Hawkins, the junior brother, took lead duties as his elder ponced about in skin-tight denim before grabbing hold of his trusted white Les Paul. Hawkins Snr.’s vocals however, aren’t what they were but his intent and delivery weren’t found wanting. Racing through the greatest ever ode to sexually transmitted itches, “Growing On Me” the chant of “Gimme a D… Gimme an Arkness!” sounded out that Spinal Taps’ rightful airs were back.
With two tracks down, the sound levels only then began to settle, but nothing could take away from the sight of Frankie Poullain. The once exiled bass player, previously replaced unceremonially by the bands’ guitar tech for the sake of a few squabbles, charmed through his silence. His handle bar moustache was the least silly thing on show behind sporting a full leather suit tailored to his wide stance and ample cow-bell banging through “One Way Ticket To Hell And Back.”
Justin goaded the crowd through “Get Your Hands Off my Woman”, wailing just shy of the high notes that would win over the rock snobs; but unveiled his whole-hearted enthusiasm. Throwing shapes left and right, with all the brilliant idiocy of the overblown rockstar callisthenics on show. Shirtless, in his newly sourced Slash-like hat and holding an acoustic guitar, he offered the previously overlooked “Holding My Arm”. The tender (devil-salute-rock) ballad it always was, complete with occasional wails reminding all and sundry where they were before the band returned. “Love Is Only A Feeling” kicked off with a crashing drum intro from Ed Graham as the Hawkins brothers traded soaring solos. Massive. Fucking massive.
Taking to the stage edge, Justin lead the crowd in a repeat-after-me karaoke masterclass of the truly awesome “Friday Night” as his weakened voice cracked up, saved only by a shower of feather boas, a grey singlet, a few bras and a blonde wig. Ending up wearing most of what ended up on-stage, with a ridiculous delivery to match, brought a grin to every face in the room.
A stomping new track came and went, lending to a few full bore wig outs from brothers Hawkins before the second mystifying cover of the night in Radiohead’s “Street Spirit (Fade Out)”. Granted, they’ve played it before and while it’s not a notional fit, it kinda works even stripped of its gorgeous, gentle melody. Weird. Good weird. Like Radiohead really…
Moving right along, the band laced through Permission To Land’s “Givin’ Up” and “Stuck In A Rut” with unquestioned authority, before the breakthrough genius of “I Believe In A Thing Called Love.” As the brothers took turns to hop off the drum riser, the crowd really took over the lead vocals before it all rang out in a wail of (tastefully) shredded frets while the band toddled off without warning.
Wahey! Encore… wow, surprise. Seems even The Darkness know they’re naff and didn’t really bother to taunt the crowd, wandering back on-stage with no real fanfare. Laying into the irritatingly forced “Hazel Eyes” and its fa-la-la-la-la “English Country Garden” out-take, both plucked from a time of creative decline, made for an underwhelming encore.
Thankfully, all was not lost thanks to the apperance of “Love On The Rocks With No Ice”. Graham’s drums thundered around the stop-start riff, allowing Justin’s tired throat to ease through, hitting the odd note on cue before clambering down into the crowd aloft on the shoulders of a burly crowd controller. Weaving away from the stage, soloing as he went, his Spanish Inquisition beard carved out a brilliant silhouette atop his elephant. A little consensual friendly molestation was allowed as eager hands flapped about him, remote wired guitar up and behind the head in a proper moment of showmanship while marooned in the crowd. It kept going, not least because it took fucking ages for him to find a way back on stage. Brilliant.
Clearly knackered, ambling to a crash of cymbals and a dual-axe assault on all things boring, The Darkness took their bow.
– Ciarán Wilcox
