An energetic and riotous show put on by a band who seem to take themselves far less seriously than their audience.
By the time Squid arrive on stage the venue has the atmosphere of a festival tent at around 4pm. Closer to the stage is a solid knot of the faithful; fans for whom this band in this cavernous space is totally appropriate. It is not, however, a venue that seems to suit their full sound and talent.
Any punter who isn’t well-versed in Squid’s music prior to the show is unlikely to feel any better informed upon completion of tonight’s set. The Roundhouse is a colossal space and, despite the group’s undeniably maximalist sound (a little like if Echo and the Bunnymen were popping Smarties rather than, say, taking heroin) a smaller venue would have been more suitable as various motifs become lost in the swirling, echoing acoustics of the venue.
This should in no way be seen as a criticism of Squid as a musical force. As the night progresses, their multi-instrumentalist talents become clear. Their percussionist plays, at various points, a triangle, bongos and a bodhrán. Synth player Arthur Leadbetter also turns out to be a cello virtuoso. It is all very impressive.
This self-conscious artiness is reflected by the crowd who dress almost exactly like the band and seem to be overwhelmingly male and static. I jostle my way past this seven-foot Count Orlok of a fan dressed in a black leather duster. He’s not happy, but the verbal abuse directed my way is drowned out as the band turns the urgency up a notch.
This is also a feature of the night. Squid clearly know how to ramp up the excitement, the set is tight, the transitions flawless and the stagecraft generally is excellent. The issue is it would just be that much more excellent in a small room above a pub. I suppose you can’t blame them for being successful.
The encore makes for an undeniable highlight. Firstly the drummer/vocalist (always a very impressive combination) comes out from behind the kit and gives it the full ‘rock-dude-frontman’ treatment. He is, it turns out, a natural. Maybe one of the other hundred-and-three band members could play drums and they could make this switch on a permanent basis.
The coup-de-grace however, is the arrival on stage of Martha Skye Murphy, to aid in a rendition of their collaboration ‘Narrator’. This crowning triumph, a hurricane of sound and fury, at last sparks the crowd into life. Finally, finally, the audience lets on that they are, in fact, enjoying themselves.
featured image: Harrison Fishman
