MILBURN, THE TWANG, BLAH BLAH BLAH
Koko, London

Nights like these follow a basic script; a simple formula acknowledged by gig-goers and band members alike. It runs that the first group should be good, but not too good; they should justify the promoter’s decision to let them play at the venue, but justify their position in the night’s festivities, too. The second band should be better than the first; a group on the cusp of brilliance, perhaps, but one still in need of noticeable improvement. The third band, the headliners, should take the roof off the venue, leaving the audience in no doubt as to why they have been chosen to bring the night to its triumphant crescendo. These are the rules. Everyone knows them.

Everyone, that is, except Blah Blah Blah. For what this inspired trio delivered at Koko on Tuesday night was far more than a musical aperitif for the following bands to improve one; it was a warning shot from one of the most original groups in London for everyone to sit up, stand up and listen (oh, and dance around, too). With a sound reminiscent of the offbeat quirkiness of Ian Dury and the Blockheads, Blah Blah Blah thrilled the Koko crowd with their charming songs of adolescent mishaps (Laugh or Cry) and cultural alienation (Death to the Indie Disco). With performances this good, it can surely only be a matter of time before Blah Blah Blah receive the attention that their magical music deserves. As for now, I just feel sorry for any band that has to follow them.

The group granted this dubious fortune were Birmingham rockers, The Twang. Taking to the stage like five extras out of Football Factory, the group’s devil-may-care attitude was sadly coupled with an I-couldn’t-care-less approach to song-writing. With their pounding bass and looped guitar lines, The Twang are just the Stone Roses who fell asleep for twenty years and woke up to find that someone had stolen all their tunes and replaced them with derivative, irrelevant nonsense.

Arctic Monkey’s comparisons are unavoidable when describing the night’s headlining act, Milburn. There’s the social commentary and the punky, jagged guitar; the cheeky, boyish demeanour and inextricable connection with The North. In reality, however, Milburn lack the subtlety and poeticism of the Arctic Monkeys. Their songs, though terrifically performed, are all breakneck, full-throttle affairs that soon become tiresome. Not that the crowd seemed to notice: the dance floor at Koko’s was a sea of excited bodies, moving relentlessly to Milburn’s manic beat.

As the crowd filtered out into the streets, I was left to ponder the night’s events. In many senses, Milburn tick all the boxes of what a headlining band should be – they’re confident, they perform well, they excite the crowd - and on a different night I may have liked them a lot more. It’s just unfortunate for them that they had to follow Blah Blah Blah because, quite frankly, they were never going to measure up.

RICK PEARSON