The phrase 'meat and potatoes' is usually used disparagingly, to refer to the simple, workaday and drab. But it needn't be that way. Sometimes, you're just hungry...
So it is with the few (and we mean few) people who have chosen to spend their Saturday evening with the raw powerpop of Supergrass rather than the meandering melancholy of Travis on the V stage. After a day of Bloodhound Gangs, Ocean Colour Scenes, Macy Grays and Mansuns, a discerning minority are after something a little more solid 'n' satisfying.
Which is where the hairy boys from Oxford excel. Their manner may be no nonsense and heads down, with barely a word to the crowd bar the occasional song title and "thanks!", but that's no problem. Every song is a 24 carat work of wonder, distilled to its three minute essence, and their live set simply sees them belt out a classic, discard it, and then knock out another. Over and over again. The quality never lapses, the pace never slows, and the crowd sing till they're hoarse.
'Sun Hits The Sky'? That'll do nicely. 'Caught By The Fuzz'? Oh, if you must. 'Man-Size Rooster', 'Going Out', 'Richard III', 'Moving', 'Pumping On Your Stereo' and almost every other hit, near miss and storming album track? Well, if you insist... The boys even find time to air a new track, 'Sick', which continues the last album's trend toward a darker, less comfortable vibe.
And that's that. We don't learn anything new about life and love tonight. We don't hear sad tales of marital abuse, or self-obsessed songs of driftwood and rainfall. Mind you, Supergrass's simplicity is, in many ways a curse; Richard Ashcroft, for instance, will be given a lot more slack than they ever will because he's perceived as attempting something infinitely more sophisticated. The 'Grass are only ever as good as their last song.
Luckily, their last song's always a stormer...
