If The Strokes are the 21st Century's The Velvet Underground then National Prayer Breakfast (or more manageably NPB) are the Stooges.
Which is, of course, not to say they're much like the Stooges apart from their energy and their tendency to hit a riff and loop it. Other comparisons could be the Buzzcocks, in that, like the Mancunian punks, NPB write songs as well as power chords, or the Undertones, in that they're Irish, write songs and play power chords.
In fact Patrick Freyne, the band's George Best look-a-like lead singer, is into country music (hence an occasional rock-a-billy presence in their material), while bassist Daragh Keogh is fond of Crass, Paul Clancy, the drummer, is, according to Patrick, into weird shit, while the part-time fourth member seems to be off somewhere else entirely.
On stage Patrick dominates the centre, his bear of a beard dwarfing the microphone and looking like he's just staggered up from the bar to gatecrash the show.
In fact the whole band behave like they're members of the audience who have somehow managed to blag their way past the security guards.
In their new found lofty positions they banter freely with the audience, dropping the odd observation about the sound quality, whether they need to tune up ("No, I think I'll leave it 'til afterwards," decides Patrick) as if they're talking football results over a packet of crisps and a pint.
Their songs are short one minute bursts of rock 'n' roll that occasionally delve deeper into the roots, taking on a hill billy aspect.
'Sadderday' could be an Elvis, or at least Carl Perkins, standard, were it given a severe scrubbing and good polish. Other tracks, such as 'Saxophone', shove soft shoe shuffling swing through the NPB mangle, while 'Karl Marx Experience' takes ska beats to the slaughter and 'Feeding Frenzy' is an Iggy Pop New York punk loop.
Mid set Patrick's guitar string snaps, which he says is a bit of a bummer before playing on for another song and then deciding to pause to restring.
From behind the drums Paul says he's the one who's supposed to be falling over, given he's only had two hours sleep in the last 48 hours. "Oh well. There's still time," retorts Patrick.
I now have a dream that one day NPB will line up opposite the Strokes on a football pitch. It can be any type of football, but preferably Australian rules.
The dream goes like this. NPB have the Strokes for breakfast.
They may even say a prayer for them as they pick wood chip and guitar string from their teeth.
