‘Love is a Time Machine’, apparently. This band really do know how to write lyrics. These enlightening words will unite the youth, the old, the music afficionados, Liam and Noel Gallagher. Ha ha, yeah right.
Brother haven’t exactly made their big-money-record-label insertion into the music industry easy for themselves, have they? Firstly they opted for a awful, ungoogleable name, infamously and ridiculously making bigheaded comments such as the fabulous: “If you don’t want to hear the future of music, leave now”. They then revealed their worthless, insipid lyrics (see above) and now on their first extensive UK tour they’ve picked two support bands who look and sound and exactly like them. Why should the latter matter, I hear you ask? Well, because the tonight the support play for longer than the headliners. Two hours and a half of crappy lad-rock to gear up for a bit more crappy lad-rock. Great, I can’t wait.
Locomotives play some songs whose lyrical splendour essentially revolves around the following: ‘yeah’, ‘yeah, yeah, yeah’, ‘maybe, baby’ and ‘no, no, no’. They’re not completely tuneless, however, occasionally verging on catchy.
Up next is a band who make The Metros sound as splendiferous as The Beatles. The lead singer looks like a cow, all their shirt buttons are done up (they are lads, evidently) and they make atrocious music, as you probably understood. Oh yeah, I forgot to say, their name is All The Young, but I’d advise you not to look them up.
One merit of this gig is the room. It is a nice space. And by the time Brother come on stage, only two thirds full (the crowd now comprises the two support bands and around sixty or so other people here to see (and laugh?) at the world’s gobbiest buzz band.
And so, Brother come on stage. The lead singer looks about twelve, the rest of the band, a bit older. The drummer seems like a genuine guy. Launching into ‘New Year’s Day’ with utterly faux swagger, the guys bore the room from the outset. Like Locomotives, the band have a structured formula: puerile lyricism, 20 second guitar solos, bit’a cocky banter in between and an underlying aim to sound like a celestial (*ahem*) amalgam of Shed Seven’s and Toploader’s extensive back catalogues.
It’s not very good really – It’s all well and good saying that you think you’re brilliant, but underneath all that it seems even the band themselves know how bad they are. They seem to give up. They play for 30 minutes. The image of Brother from all those press stunts fades. Brother dies.
You’ve got to commend their stage show though: six members (inc. a backing singer), frequent guitar changes, a cheeky backdrop depicting children smoking. They kind of put the effort in. Sonically, however, ‘Darling Buds Of May’ is the only song which really resonates, and that’s because I’ve heard it before.
From Huw Oliver.