It’s always the quiet ones you have to watch. Birmingham’s Editors might not be an especially glamorous proposition – what with that studious band name, those sensible haircuts and the fact that they hail from a pop-cultural desert – and what attention they’ve received so far might have focused mainly on a supposed Joy Division influence (which extends only to baritone vocals and vague raincoat-rock tendencies).
But there can be no doubt that, while Britain fixates on the wot-a-palaver neo-Britpop of Kaiser Chiefs and Bloc Party’s paper-thin whine-rock, a backlash is brewing. On tonight’s evidence, Editors are well-placed to profit by it.
Having filled the Garage on the strength of rousing debut single "Bullets" and its radio-supported follow-up "Munich" – and in spite of Moving Units’ failure to show-up for what was supposed to be a co-headlining tour – Editors are suddenly a-flush with confidence. Lit by strobes and fetchingly got out in matching white shirts, lead guitarist Chris Urbanowicz and singer-guitarist Tom Smith lead the surge into frantic, paranoid opener "Someone Says", while in the shadows Russell Leetch (bass) and Ed Lay (drums) form a rhythm section tighter than Liverpool’s defence.
Although it’s Smith who, y’know, writes the songs, Urbanowicz commands the bulk of our attention. High in the mix, his clear, taut melody lines provide the songs’ narrative energy, while his continual lunges at Smith add a homoerotic frisson to proceedings. Equipped with doe-eyed good looks, a somewhat preening stage presence and a haircut far superior to his bandmates’, Urbanowicz is Editors’ star, and a guitar hero for people who don’t like solos.
The singles having been dispensed with in the first half, the set relies on unfamiliar songs for its climax. They do not disappoint: the tumultuous "Fingers In The Factories" and show-stopping "Open Your Arms In Welcome" are breathtaking, widescreen epics with enough of a swagger to belie comparisons to Echo & The Bunnymen and (spit) U2.
If anything, Editors seem closer in spirit to PIL or The Only Ones, but ultimately Urbanowicz’s guitar sound is distinctive enough to render games of spot-the-influence irrelevant. During the verses of "Bullets", for example, he sounds like he’s operating an air-raid siren, despite low volume levels arising from the anti-raincoat-rock conspiracy that prevails among London’s soundmen (see the Interpol review elsewhere on this site).
So, it seems, there are some excitingly original new indie-rock contenders in our midst. Open your arms in welcome.
