Oh what a surprise – Tindersticks in great show shocker. Whatever about the patchiness of the last couple of LPs, this is a live band that has never not sent me stumbling out into the street speechless. Barely a handful of bands have had their ability to amble, unshaven and scratching, onto a stage that looks like a badly lit rehearsal space and, with an ease that bespeaks genius as well as ten years of touring, summon a sound that fucking spellbinds.
And boy, do the highlights come thick and fast. ‘Until The Morning Comes’, was sparse and startling here. Stuart Staples played rickety acoustic guitar and the sickeningly gifted Dickon Hinchcliffe sang his own psychopath’s apologia —“How did you make me go this far?”. ‘Raindrops’ had me banging my head off the wall with pleasure. A softly spoken ‘My Sister’ was when the crowd ceased its unbecoming politeness and started yelling. (What, the band is going to stomp off in a strop if you shout for a song?) After the roars that greet a capella interlude have eventually subsided the band resume, hits their stride and move up a gear for the first time, and though from over the stage you can see the nuts and bolts on the guitars and the beads of sweat on the foreheads, there’s nothing mechanical or earthy about this music. When six regular guys tune into each other like this, it’s alchemy.
And on it went from there. Predictably brilliant.