Midlake: Live at Vicar Street

There are five beards, two flutes and a lot of furrowed brows on stage. It can only be another critically adored American band, rolling into Dublin to partake of the hushed Vicar St. ambiance.
On the heels of Fleet Foxes and Beach House, Midlake are the latest ragged-mopped Statesiders to transcend cult-stardom and plant a foot in the mainstream. But this has been a slow-drip arrival. Three years ago the Texas quintet (bumped up to a seven-piece tonight) quietly released The Trials Of Van Occupanther, a seventies-inflected record that seemed to anticipate the return to credibility of Fleetwood Mac and contained at least one stone-cold masterpiece, the dusky, mysterious ‘Roscoe’.
Alas, their latest album, Courage Of Others, is nowhere near as interesting. Referencing the late ‘60s English folk revival, it’s an album that flirts with self-parody, with its layers of flutes, bucolic atmospherics and hey nonny nonny lyrics. Indeed, for stretches tonight, one has the sense of being trapped inside a Jethro Tull live record circa 1977. Florid melodies drift past, frontman Tim Smith croons something indecipherable, a trio of guitar players noodle po-facedly. Only when Midlake dust down Van Occupanther does a sense of occasion seize the room. Transformed tonight into a 15 minute wig-out, ‘Roscoe’ is an undeniably thrilling piece of old-school rock. Alas, it’s one of only a few moments when the pace rises above a stoic meander. If only Midlake hadn’t blinked when the big-time beckoned.