THE TINDERSTICKS

THE TINDERSTICKS (Nancy Spain’s, Cork)

JUST AS we thought we’d left the winter’s most torrential rain behind us, there’s a seriously potent storm brewing in the nether regions of a dingy club in the badlands of Cork.

At first glance, the force behind the thunder seems unlikely. After all, they look normal enough, these six Tindersticks guys from Nottingham who’ve just sauntered onstage at Nancy Spain’s: a venue, which, in this smoke’n’sweat sensurround resembles Satan’s fave drinker on a Friday night.

Sartorially splendid in suits and waistcoats, Tindersticks present an upmarket snooker hall elegance with a slight whiff of decadence . . . and soon live up to their cinematic image. Slow and swoonsome, the first (unannounced) number is from their soon-come second album and immediately reminds you why their ’93 debut is perhaps the dark marvel of the decade to date.

More wonders follow: ‘Patchwork’ with its chiming guitars and Terry Edwards’ muted trumpet and the terrific flamenco rush of ‘Her’ wherein singer Stuart staples becomes visibly animated, staring out the crowd as he emotes the line “Scared of my shadow”. Very much the focal point, Staples exudes both drop dead charisma and a suave, Lee Hazelwood croon I’d kill for.

The Tindersticks excel in slow, brooding mystery and, though their songs are never morose, they tease and frustrate a section of the audience who are clearly confused by their gorgeous velvet soundscapes and funereal tempos.

For the rest of us? Well, Mick Jagger said, “It’s only rock ’n’ roll . . .” But this is so much more and we’re enthralled throughout. Sometimes, Staples – clutching the microphone – turns to face his associates and we feel like we’re almost back in their rehearsal room with them; an intimacy compounded by the ritual lighting of fags between numbers.

By the end, even the doubters are sucked in and the band return to rapturous applause, knocking us cold with ‘Mistakes’ and ‘Drunktank’ – the tension of this last song even knocking its recorded counterpart into a cocked hat.

The Tindersticks: mean, moody and magnificent with the emphasis very much on the latter.

• Tim Fleury