18 April 2007 (gig)
02 May 2007
Tucked into the corner of an almost empty bar, four-piece Clacket Lane look like the kind of band you’d expect to see playing a pub mid-week. However, touting themselves as "Coldplay in the 1970s" incites great expectations suggesting there’s more here than meets the eye.
Taking responsibility for the whole entertainment bill – two of the three bands scheduled were a no show – allows the advantage of a much better second half after a fairly uninspiring start. Frontman Ben exited the stage first time round with a blasé 'Oh by the way we’re Clacket Lane' sign-off but their sneaky, albeit gratefully-received, part two was infused with more personality. Ben suddenly had a lot more to say, namely responding to requests hollered by the scattering of an audience. And their previously defunct projector screen now moved with specially commissioned montages ranging from political to light pornographic images.
As a fairly unknown outfit this 'Moon Man tour' is aiming to launch the band and their efforts are noted. The idea of film footage certainly does complement their progressive style and accentuates the diverse rock repertoire they offer: 'Out Of The Dark' is led by acute piano notes and tentative chimes leaning towards a Pink Floyd influence while bassist Lenny’s forceful vocals in 'Sunswallower' whip up the pace to Zeppelin level. And the epic 'Moon Man' essentially sounds like something The Who would have used in 'Tommy'. But it’s not all nostalgic Dad-rock as fresh and tender lead vocals, at times reminiscent of Thom Yorke, add a real contemporary value.
Significantly it’s the penultimate number, complete with a duration warning that proves the potential worth of the film footage - the distraction of pictures sped up the prolonged track, without depriving it of its slow-burning emotion. However with the screen positioned away from the stage it's more of a diversion here. It's not pointless but seems a little thoughtless. Although when the drawn out clip of a semi-clad woman energetically jiggling her breasts in perfect time with the drum solo meets with the approval of a wolf-whistler, it perhaps smacks of perversely thoughtful .
By default the night belonged to them but this wasn't the place for a Clacket Lane gig. Being shelved as underrated rock isn't going to help them eventually reach those stratospheric platforms where they could really milk their film and proposed special effects ideas, and, of course, give their vast sound more room to breathe.
