Spies, Squarehead and Croupier

What happens when you’re a fledgling band and Morrissey turns up at your gig? From experience, I can assume one of three things. (a) You go on to become one of the most groundbreaking groups of your generation, à la The Strokes; (b) you suffer through the hype for a while, but eventually become celebrated in your own right, à la The Drums; or (c) you become that band that Morrissey likes but no-one else does, à la The Courteeners.
These are the three options facing teen rockers Spies and garage poplets Squarehead, their very capable support act on Thursday last in the Workman’s Club.
First to the stage is Croupier – a self-dubbed ‘glambience’ outfit (hilarious I know, but not too far off the mark, actually), whose melodic mastery betrays their fresh-faced image. Oisín Murphy’s vocals swerve from a grindcore growl to a delicate tremble and some seriously nifty guitar calls to mind fellow Dubliners The Redneck Manifesto. ‘It’s Not The TV, It’s The Remote’ boasts an infectious chant, while ‘Amphitheatre’ has a gorgeously nauseating flow (you bet your bottom dollar that’s a compliment... Thom Yorke’s made an entire career out of pukestep!).
Next up are Squarehead, the retro rockers behind ‘Fake Blood’, a lo-fi lullaby so anthemic two of their peers chose to cover it on the rather excellent Quarter Inch Quompilation back in January. Whetting appetites for their forthcoming debut LP, new track ‘Midnight Enchilada’ has the most bounce. It is breezy and cocksure with a healthy dose of surf rock sway. There’s a real grab to the Squarehead sound and for the most part, the hooks are so instantly enjoyable you’re at a loss to know how they haven’t been written before. Moz looks enchanted at the back of the room.