Nearly two hours after they came onstage, it becomes apparent The Posies have no idea how to get off it. They have played old songs. They have played new songs. They have amusingly attempted to play every song they've ever heard. Now Jon Auer is lost somewhere in a guitar solo that has encompassed two instruments and destroyed a frankly problematic number of strings, a solo he plainly cannot end.
The weird thing is, you don't want him to stop. For The Posies, latecomers should note, are God's own bar band, the kind of group who can be both flip and emotional, who invest their music with such a spirit it makes everyone at their shows feel like family. It is a tight little community, of course, which has inspired Seattle boys Auer and Ken Stringfellow to reform their marvellous band. In the early '90s, The Posies were the American equivalent (and, often, touring partners) of Teenage Fanclub: purveyors of rich, harmony-drenched music innocently prepared for FM radio. They'll be enormous, reckoned the critics, and Geffen Records agreed.
Unfortunately, the public were inexplicably more thrilled by Seattle lunks like Alice In Chains and the Stone Temple Pilots. 1993's superb 'Frosting On The Beater' album did not become an international phenomenon. Less surprisingly, neither did '96's equally fine 'Amazing Disgrace', one of the most eloquently bitter indictments of music business bullshit ever recorded.
In the intervening years, they've both pursued low-key solo careers (watch out for Stringfellow's terrific new solo LP), and Stringfellow's earned a crust as sideman with REM. This reunion, then, is a pressure-free, good-time gathering. Posies songs are still mini-celebrations even the scabrous 'Everybody Is A Fucking Liar' - and a clutch of new songs from the 'Nice Cheekbones And A Ph.D' EP (on Spanish label Houston Party) prove they can still knock out Big Star/Raspberries - flavoured crowd-pleasers at will.
But it's the shambolic rock'n'roll circus of Auer and Stringfellow that's most endearing. They invite the drummer's mother onstage, beg the audience for tequila, ponder a collaboration between Macca and Morrissey "Paul McCartney & Whinge", obviously and play possibly hundreds of covers. These range from the impeccable Chris Bell's 'I Am The Cosmos', Elvis Costello's '(I Don't Want To Go To) Chelsea' to silly fragments of Led Zep, The Pretenders, AC/DC, Eurythmics and God knows what else.
Eventually, it becomes farcical, with an abortive attempt to sing 'Here Comes The Sun' and 'There She Goes' simultaneously and a version of Yes' 'Owner Of A Lonely Heart' that involves Stringfellow bawling "Give us drugs" in lieu of lyrics. I guess you had to be there... No, really, you had to be there. A classic.
