Another week and another US rock export jets into the UK to preach to the converted. Effortlessly cool and instantly idolised, Puddle Of Mudd excel on tonight's pokey stage suggesting that global domination is as much within their reach as the thrashing feet of the many crowdsurfers.
POM's nu grunge merits are rapidly becoming rock gospel but watching them it's impossible to escape the Nirvana comparisons. Aside from Bush's pitiful attempts, no band has dared ape the Seattle trio to such an extent and quite so obviously. Start with frontman Wes Scantlin's rugged vocals that flip from low and gritty to high-pitched and growling as famously patented by Kurt Cobain - guilty your honour! Then move on to his shoulder length bleached locks and quiet/loud slacker songwriting style that mimics his obvious idol - no contest m'lord!
But hold on, Scantlin can't stop smiling and joking. That wasn't in the script. Imagine Kurt with Dave Grohl's wicked sense of humour or Cobain on happy pills that worked. The only thing Scantlin seems tortured by is the fact the tonight's show must end at some point. Which considering the uniform angst emanating from American bands recently is light relief.
Granted, the crowd anticipate every guitar tempo ebb and flow but whatever they might have 'borrowed', POM have honed a winning formula. 'Drift & Die', 'Nobody Told Me' and 'Out Of My Head' are faithful to the album versions which means they kick ass! Wes relishes the crowd's boundless energy and they sing along during the regular quiet sections - i.e. during every song. The atmosphere akin to a triumphant homecoming rather than their first few dates in this country.
The comic 'She Hates Me' is the humourous ditty Nirvana never got round to writing, 'Blurry' is relentless and 'Piss It All Away' provides a subtle change of pace. The 'Mudd could have played their finale 'Control' until the sun rose and not one person would have left the building tonight.
At one point Wes reminds the crowd that it's Friday and that we have nothing to do tomorrow, encouraging us to simply enjoy ourselves and this just about sums up POM. They don't pretend to be anything they clearly aren't but if they keep on turning in performances like this the next time they return it'll be Wembley that beckons.
From an ultra-critical perspective, POM are little more than dumb-ass rock but in this context it seems a petty observation and and one that you jump to at your own loss. Not everyone can relate to broken homes and inner torment but with lyrics like "she was queen for about an hour/after that shit turned sour' ringing around the venue during 'She Hates Me' everyone knows exactly where he's coming from.
Puddle Of Mudd are the first essential rock band of the 21st century.
