grooming parlour, moustache neatly oiled into shape
and smelling of tonic.
But while the band might have an embarrassment
of riches in the tailoring department, a nagging doubt
remains. For every Keep On Swinging or Electric Man,
songs where Holiday’s live-wire riffs are matched to
a truly memorable chorus, there’s a whole bunch of
songs where they’re not. Buchanan inadvertently
draws attention to this, talking rather movingly about
the reception afforded to Jordan every night during the
band’s epic spin around the globe with Black Sabbath
(“I wouldn’t trade that shit for the world”, he says).
When one song stands out that much, you have to
wonder about the others.
So after a year and more spent playing to audiences
they had to fight for, Rival Sons are back in front of
audiences ready and willing to be knocked out. It’s the
band’s first London headline
show in nearly four years (they
played this same venue in April
2015), and after an atmospheric
introduction where a skeletal
version of the dog from the
cover of new album Feral Roots is
projected onto the backdrop as
the sound of a heartbeat echoes
through the room, the band
burst on to the stage with Back In
The Woods. And it does not
sound good. It’s as if a thick layer
of treacle has been forced into
the PA, resulting in a bass-heavy
murk through which both
Buchanan’s voice and Holiday’s
guitar struggle to surface. Sugar
On The Bone and Pressure And Time follow, and things
don’t improve much. It’s only during Electric Man that
the audience truly starts to engage, and even the
lovely Jordan suffers, as a half-hearted attempt by the
audience to keep the song going after it’s finished
falters and fails.
Then the tide turns. And it turns with the title track
of the new album. Suddenly the sound is clear, and
suddenly Buchanan’s voice soars. The long acoustic
intro to Feral Roots sounds like it could have been
written in a dilapidated cottage in the Welsh
countryside but – most importantly – it has a chorus.
A chorus that sails. A chorus that lodges itself in the
psyche and doesn’t depart until well after you’ve left
the venue. As the song ascends and Mike Miley
thunders around his kit like John Bonham, and as thesong fades and the audience do carry on singing, you
know that the gig will not be lost.
And so it proves. The audience roars. Girls dance.
The singalongs remain sung-along. Torture jerks along
in a funky sweat, Holiday carving out all his Page-isms.
There’s a rhythmic glide through Stood By Me, one of
the new songs that best demonstrate the creative
tension at the heart of Rival Sons, with Holiday’s
devilish guitar battling Buchanan’s obvious desire to
take it to the church.
The singer trades a sweat-drenched jacket for
a freshly laundered replacement, and one song bowls
into the next. The momentum builds further with the
Beatles-go-gospel exultation of Imperial Joy and
a thunderous Open My Eyes. End Of Forever stutters in
with an intro that tips its hat to AC/DC’s Whole Lotta
Rosie and a chorus that swirls and swoops and
clambers towards the heavens, before Do Your Worst
ends the set with another singalong.
Just when you think the only way Rival Sons could
improve the night further would be by lifting the
curtain to reveal a surprise gospel choir, it actually
happens. The Roundhouse Choir amble on stage to
provide a suitably celestial backing for Shooting Stars.
Like Jordan, it’s a song that allows Buchanan’s voice the
room the breathe, and he looks delighted to find
himself in such rapturous company.
It all climaxes with a riotous Keep On Swinging,
throats worn, triumph consolidated. And Feral Roots
provided 10 of the evening’s 16 tracks, surefire proof
that, six albums in, Rival Sons are finally getting
started. Greta Van Who?Words: Fraser Lewry Photos: Ross HalfinRivals’ Mike Miley:
‘Thunders around his
kit like John Bonham.’CLASSICROCKMAGAZINE.COM 111