“This is a new one,” chirps lippy frontman of The Twang, Phil Etheridge. “Well, they’re all new.” The Birmingham combo don’t even have an album to be leaked, let alone released, yet the white heat of hype emanating from them is sufficient to draw a curious crowd for their debut on Irish soil.
The Twang are essentially a derivative mix of early Stone Roses, ecstatic Happy Mondays, and the laddish posturing of Mike Skinner. That’s not to say it’s not entertaining. Etheridge is a lively, boozy character, all leery shapes and cheeky-chappy braggadocio. His equally pickled vocal partner Martin Saunders is content to prop himself up with a mic stand and avail of every opportunity to swig from his myriad drinks.
This aping would be terribly contrived were it not for The Twang’s obvious sincerity. These guys wear their influences on their sleeves and, in an age of manufactured poise, are happily free of pretension. Guitarist Stu Hartland appears to have dusted off John Squire’s old effects pedal and gleefully employed it on every song. There’s an endearing infectiousness to the baggy-by-numbers anthems ‘Ice Cream Sunday’, ‘Fake ID’ and ‘Either Way’. Etheridge’s lyrics have the everyman appeal of The Streets, if perhaps not the poetry.
The banter is lively, too. Etheridge’s thick Brummie patter rarely relents, and even if it is little more than inane twittering, it easily wins the crowd over. At one point he simply bellows “Let’s all just get pissed and have a laugh!” to hoots of approval.
This is where The Twang’s appeal will ring truest. They are the Likely Lads cross-pollinated with some travelling Aston Villa supporters; geezers after a good time and making music that, while hardly original, is faithful to their anthemic predecessors. Their barnstorming debut single ‘Wide Awake’ was already getting the bellicose chorus treatment tonight from the beer boys, while the more upbeat, danceable tracks were usually subjected to the clarion call of “Goooo on!”
No doubt The Twang will take their place at the summer’s big festival blow-outs, and with their debut album imminent, they will soon have a much lager fanbase. If you hear their baggy basslines reverberating from a tent, and are willing embrace an atmosphere akin to a football terrace, you should venture in. Their blearly, beery charm is worth entry alone.