NME Awards Tour 2013

Love it or loathe it, the New Music Express most definitely has its place in the British music world. Since its incarnation in 1952 with its weekly fix of what’s what, who’s who and when is where in music, it has survived all rivals. Despite being criticized by some for being the gobby, opinionated teenager of the music journalism world, the NME boasts being the first in the world to present **The Smiths**, **The Strokes** and **Oasis** to the music-loving public. Whatever their gripes, critics will be at least a little stymied by the knowledge that the NME sure can pick ‘em.

Getting things off to a flying start, Birmingham breakthroughs **Peace** took to the stage with new songs from their forthcoming debut _In Love_. Though these openers were practically unknown to us humble gig-goers, **Peace** performed them with a scuzzy soar, kicking off the night with some energetic guitar rundowns. This was not the first time I’d seen the band live, but they sounded (and looked!) cleaner, clearer, and tighter than before. Relaxing into fan favourites such as the dynamic ‘Bloodshake’ and recent single ‘Wraith’, a highlight came in the form of a fierce performance of laidback work-shy anthem ‘California Daze’. Much-hyped by the music press (who all presumably thought they’d found the next **Two Door Cinema Club**), **Peace**’s set came across with an air of defiance, and was met with a helluvalot of cheering, moshing, and a faint whiff of hometown pride.

Next up, ‘70s sweet (no, not glam rockers ‘**The Sweet**’) wannabies: **Palma Violets**. Reminiscent of punk heroes **The Clash** and disco killers **The Knack**, the Violets brought their own sense of that same DIY punk ethos, with perhaps a tad more finesse. Clearly delighting in their hard-earned reputation of delivering legendary live shows, they set the eager crowd aflame, hammering home high-gain riffs and sending forth rhythmic waves of danceable distortion. These guys took the roof off. Really. If the chance ever arises to see them perform, take it. Despite having only three songs released in anticipation of as-of-yet unheard debut ‘180’, the audience were manically receptive to an earnest, bombastic set, and rightly so. Recognisable singles ‘Best Of Friends’ and ‘Last Of The Summer Wine’ were saved for the climax, before **Palma Violets** strode offstage with a grin. With live shows like these, it almost doesn’t matter what they’ve decided to set to record.

Third on the roster: modern mod and McCartney look-alike **Miles Kane**. While you can’t help but twist and shout to singles such as ‘Come Closer’, ‘Rearrange’ and ‘Inhaler’, the rest of Kane’s set somehow failed to connect. Maybe it was that fact that even though he was the most established artist in the line-up, his was the material I was least familiar with. Or perhaps that I harboured the inescapable feeling that Kane was making up for musical pit-falls with hollow rock-star posturing. Nevertheless, the man can work a crowd. By bantering and taking full advantage of “Ooh-ooh-ooh / Aah-aah-aah” sing-alongs, the set went down a storm, albeit without the flecks of insanity that garnished **Palma Violets**’. Making me feel that I and few others were just the ghosts at the feast, Kane’s popularity with the crowd was undeniable. Maybe Brit-rock’s not dead just yet, eh?

And finally, headliners **Django Django** arrived. Garbed in their trademark hand-painted t-shirts, they most definitely added a splash of colour and theatrics to the night’s entertainment. Lean, keen, and eye-wateringly exuberant, they kicked things off with ‘Introduction’ (didn’t see that one coming) and slinky, dance-centric single ‘Hail Bop’. Being biased (**Django Django** are one of my major band-crushes), I enjoyed the entire set from start-to-finish, but, being brutally honest, the synth seemed to get a little lost throughout the first half, with the melodies drowned out by a truly on form rhythm section. This admittedly hampered the impact of the likes of ‘Firewater’, but that really didn’t stop these **Beta Band** disciples from delivering a refreshing set.

The group’s blend of **Beach Boys** harmonies and ever-shifting electronic rhythms were moulded to a stage performance to impressive effect, to a backdrop of snippets of old spaghetti western footage. The tangy bark of frontman Vincent Neff’s telecaster drove the closing three songs –‘Default’ ‘Life’s A Beach’ and ‘WOR’ – as the man himself bounced around the stage amidst bursts of shade and strobe lights. Special mention goes out to bespectacled synth operator Tommy Grace, for perennially looking like he hadn’t had such a good time in years, whether sporting synth stacks, bongos, or the biggest tambourine in the free world.

So, while some may not appreciate its evolution into a guitar-group-besotted weekly publication, the NME makes its own argument for acknowledging public tastes by selecting appealing bands such as these for their tours. I’m happy to call the 2013 line-up a success; one which delivered plenty of sunny-scuzzy fuzz and neo-psychedelia. Whether I’ll be just as happy to catch next year’s tour remains in question, but such is that nature of the NME’s trigger-happy hype-and-gripe outlook. It may occasionally be the unlikeable, can’t-put-a-sock-in-it manchild of journalism, but hey, it sure throws a great house party.