In the nicest possible way, it's all so very predictable. Vaguely popular, yet highly renowned band arrives on a poorly lit stage to a warm reception, then spends around seventy minutes playing as if the crowd weren't there. You sometimes wonder why bands tour at all; Broadcast, in particular, may as well be in a rehearsal room.
Which doesn't have to be a bad thing, you just wonder what might happen if Broadcast took their own advice. One of the more obvious lyrics chanted by singer Trish Keenan tonight advises, "don't be so afraid, you're bound to make mistakes". Fine advice, but flawed in two ways.
Firstly, it's quite hypocritical, considering Broadcast spent well over three years perfecting their debut album. Secondly, this show is faultless, abandoning any obvious improvisation or experimentation, and ushering in scripted perfection. Who's bound to make mistakes then? Certainly not this lot.
'Long Was The Year' is an ideal opener, its menacing tones a suitable accompaniment to a band literally shrouded in darkness. There's a film running in a background, a kaleidoscope of indistinct images presumably designed to distract our attention. As a result, stage lighting is at an absolute minimum, the various musicians cast only in various shades of brown and purple.
It's a suitably retro effect, for Broadcast's heart clearly lies in an outmoded area. For all their associations with Warp Records, you can't ignore the fact that Broadcast sound like the Velvet Underground; that is, the incredibly emotive, yet unsettling Nico-led moments that Spiritualized largely ignore.
Keenan is certainly a chanteuse, her childishly fragile chanting a bewitching accompaniment to a series of wonderfully complex, yet immediately accessible classics. 'Come On Let's Go' conjures up an utterly sinister warmth, an enticing sensation of illicit excitement pouring over the crowd.
For most of this performance, there's a carefully crafted balance that Broadcast seem reluctant to jeopardise, the various musicians seemingly reluctant to outshine one another, every instrument in perfect harmony.
Not until a warmly received encore do they loosen up, with the guitar and bass talents of Tim Felton and James Cargill finally manifested into some form of experimentation. Tambourine in hand, the singer starts to twitch during 'Illumination', everyone, audience included, seemingly freed from the shackles of the more obviously shaped material.
Having turned a predictably impressive show into an unexpectedly remarkable event, Broadcast file excitedly offstage. Perhaps, in future, they'll follow their own advice more freely.
