When Oasis took their vast, humourless show out to the masses, during the lazy hazy months of summer, two magical moments made the ordeal worthwhile.
Noel's acoustic homage to Neil Young, and the post 'Cigarettes and Alcohol' snippet of 'Whole Lotta Love' were, bizarrely, two of the highlights of the performances, the sheer thrill of the unexpected getting through to at least part of the audience.
Take the spirit of those two moments, stretch it right out, and add Mark Coyle, producer of 'Definitely Maybe'. Tailgunner, then. In a nutshell, sort of.
Pub rock has always been the proverbial black sheep of the pop music family. Ocean Colour Scene, Reef and their ilk have spent the last five years peddling their wares in the face of hostility and condemnation from the critics, and unfathomable devotion from the fans. Tailgunner may be a band capable of straddling that divide.
It's seemingly 'a handful of chords, a pint of bitter and something resembling the truth' in message, but there's something else. If Mogwai had spent their formative years listening to Paul Weller rather than Black Sabbath and Low, they might have arrived just about here.
As such, 'Undercover' is an absolute triumph, Coyle's undecipherable holler proving the perfect compliment to some glam guitar, coupled with a clinically rhythmical drum track. It's kind of predictable, but dynamically so. Everything's turned right up to ten and a half, resetting the acceptable standards of noise and distortion.
One might even suggest that Tailgunner are this country's answer to the American alt-rock explosion. They get At The Drive-In and Queens of the Stone Age, we get Mark Coyle with Noel Gallagher on drums (only on the record mind, he doesn't like touring).
You may scoff, and while tracks like 'Crazy Horse' and 'Coming Back Home' are essentially a derivation of glam rock and early grunge, it's far from compromising.
You see, tonight Tailgunner suffered the indignity of following the city's very own Parklane, an apparently indigenous five piece who've pretty much filled the venue with friends, relatives, and anyone else who crawled quickly from the woodwork at the mention of a cheap night out.
Mark Coyle is far from fazed by this, barely acknowledges the crowd, and credibly, doesn't exactly try to appeal to them. Following the searing closure of 'Acetone', he treats those of us still watching by setting a guitar alight, leaving the stage as the flame takes hold.
It's an old image, but it's much more affecting than you might expect. Tailgunner, then. In a nutshell.
