The Vines

This dark, rainy evening in Leeds was as far away from sunny, suburban Sydney as you could imagine. Not even 12 months ago, when I departed those sandy shores, The Vines were but a twinkle in the eye of the Australian music scene – not even one public gig played – and now here they are on the final night of a triumphant, sold-out UK tour to celebrate their new found front-cover status.

It’s in the Australian nature to demand much of our heroes. So, with UK hype at fever pitch – the new Nirvana, anyone? – I stood arms folded, and waited to challenge the “next big thing” tag.

From the very first track (also the album opener), ‘Highly Evolved’, it was clear that front-man Craig Nicholls was in the mood to entertain. Shaking violently, and almost swallowing the mic, his screaming vocals demanded you pay attention NOW. This wasn’t singing, it was some type of exorcism, reminiscent of early Cobain and explaining the lazy comparisons.

So far, so good, the band crunching through five of the new album tracks at speed. A slow, lo-fi version of Outkast’s ‘Miss Jackson’ followed, Craig really impressing with his honeyed vocals and for the first time expressing new emotions as his voice opened up. This slow burn treatment extended to the wonderful ballad ‘Mary Jane’ and Patrick Matthews’ harmonies were given space to shine during the weeping ‘Homesick’.

The thought occurs that we may be witnessing the emergence of a new breed of act, educated with the usual Beach Boys and Beatles records but who consider Nirvana and Radiohead as their main ‘historical’ reference points – and who, in The Vines’ case, are creating some amazingly contemporary music as a result.

So to their one-song encore: ‘1969’ is an awesome, powerful rock moment. Craig, with his guitar around the back of his neck, hard beat-combo rhythms pushing him closer to the edge, launches into one of the most complete stage-destruction routines I’ve witnessed. Amps and stands kicked into the audience, a guitar right through the bass drum, the kit demolished, Craig screaming, on his back, descending into cathartic wailing and bleeding feedback. The end.

Not a perfect gig, with the band still gelling with their new drummer Hamish Rosser, but the playing is honest and raw. Emotional stuff. Very hip. But there is a nagging thought: The Vines are, in effect, a garage band, still figuring out who they are, and what they want to say. They need time to develop. The ‘cool’ crowd at the Cockpit didn’t give a shit though. They have fresh meat and a new badge for their school bags.