Three albums in and Gomez are still here, thanks for asking. Third album 'In Our Gun' may have disappeared off the pop radar quickly enough, but the size of the crowd here shows the faithful are still committed.
Proceedings begin promisingly enough, with 'Shot Shot' demonstrating they still know the right side of 'rock'. Which makes much of the tepid fare that follows all the more disappointing. While Ben Ottewell has a set of lungs that an aged blues troubadour would sell their walking stick for, and there are visible signs of astonishment when he opens up his lungs for the first time, musically Gomez have a problem.
The problem is that they never know when to stop. Not in terms of song length, which is generally acceptable. No, their failing is their constant temptation to over-egg the musical pudding. Songs change tempo simply because that seems to be the accepted thing to do, rather than as a result of organic development. There's no doubting Gomez have some fine tracks at their disposal - 'Rhythm & Blues Alibi', 'Bring It On', 'Get Myself Arrested' - and they are duly trotted out to an ecstatic response. But these are outweighed by earnest but lumpen deadweights like 'The Ballad Of Nice & Easy' and 'In Our Gun'.
In fairness, the new material they debut sounds more promising, eschewing the free-jazz frippery for simple if unremarkable tunes that go from A to B without visiting H, M and X. However, one song which drones on about how pigeons might rule the world is a band in-joke that should be left on the shelf.
When it comes down to it, Gomez are a musician's band of brothers. They will always seek the road no-one absolutely no-one has travelled, no matter what the alternatives are. 'Whippin' Piccadilly' and 'Tijuana Lady' revisit a past where they were crafty rather than craftsmen, effective rather than FX-laden. Unless spotting intricate chords and marvelling at a percussion rack is your idea of a fun night out, the Gomez live experience should be given a wide berth.
