Okay, panic over. The kids are going to be alright. If you have been worried that all those sugar-coated pop confections they've been swallowing of late have ruined their musical taste buds then fret no more. King Adora are an eye-linered, hard-rocking bunch of former builders from Birmingham who, if the hype is to be believed, are the second coming for those who like their rawk served up by dirty white boys. Well, after nearly choking on the sweet fug of sweat, hormones, and sheer yearning generated by the bevies of teen lovelies, all waiting for what is basically punk rock's version of a boy band, the hype seems well justified.
Clinging onto the front stage amps like they're on the bonnets of cars careening out of control, the jacked-up honeys get ready for the ride of their young lives. While singer Matt Browne is not quite the stone cold fox he might like to be, his onstage allure makes even the most over-it in the crowd breathe in deeply and sigh 'phwoar'. All lips and hips he works the room with fervour, the band generating enough electricity to power the entire national grid.
Yes, King Adora have borrowed more than just androgyny, 4/4 riffs and tight trousers from the glam punks of old. And while they will never be able to fill the sparkly shoes of either T-Rex or the New York Dolls, they can certainly wear the same shade of lippy, their libido-driven sounds the stuff of rock-n-roll fantasy. The guys' live flair far exceeds their lacklustre recorded output so far. Launching right in, they deliver a knockout punch with 'Bionic' then go straight into 'Big Isn't Beautiful'. New single 'Smoulder' does just that with the eminently shaggable Adora magnetism in overdrive. They end a full throttle set with their ode to cunniligus 'Muff Diver'. But really, any guy who champions the art of visiting a women's secret garden is onto a surefire winner there.
There is a big difference between calling yourselves a rock band and being a rock band. The current roster of pretty boy songsters like Travis and Coldplay fall firmly in the first camp. Yes, they have craft and considerable song-writing talent on their side. But watching these bands live is like, well, listening to their albums really loudly with a huge group of total strangers. King Adora meanwhile, with their bacchanalian aspirations (evident all the way down to the lead singer's lower-back, talon-gouged love wounds), strike at the heart of the true excess of being a rock band. Watch them live and feel their attitude get under your skin and into your belly. Talent? Who needs it when you're a bonafide junior sex god? A triumph of style over substance.
Images: Olly Hewitt
