It's completely packed. Suburban girls with temporary punk spikes, rub shoulders with blokes whose idea of a good time is stripping to the waist and making a nuisance of themselves. One geezer spends most of the gig grabbing passing girls and hoisting them aloft, whether they like it or not.
The atmosphere is lairy, rightly so. Some people get annoyed if you go anywhere near their personal exclusion zone, others ram straight into you and then apologise with perfect manners. One veteran with a mohawk is particularly contrite, confirming the myth that true punks are always gentlemen.
Punk rock: not noticeably dead, then. This is the first of two nights at the Academy. Shame, then, that Rancid set themselves up for an inevitable failure. Before they come on, The Clash's 'London Calling' is played over the PA. A nice tribute to Joe Strummer, sure, and a nod to the fact that this is where the inspiration partly came from. But Rancid are never going to be able to match that, are they? The sound doesn't help. The first half of the set is buried in sludge, the melodies of singalong favourites like 'Ruby Soho' and 'Radio' lost to the rafters. Not that that stops the Academy from bawling along anyway. These kids know their Rancid back catalogue.
They'd have to: the band haven't played London for five years. Some of these fans were just starting school then. A set that avoids the new album, 'Indestructible', doesn't improve things either. Perhaps Rancid are worried about offending the fans who think that its defiant pop hooks and major label backing are a sell out. If so, they should listen to 'London Calling' a little more closely.
Once the sound is sorted out and they get around to 'Time Bomb' and 'Fall Back Down', Rancid start making more sense. You can tell they're fans first, songwriters second. Tim Armstrong is almost a postcard punk himself: he spends more time posing than playing, actually adjusting his hat halfway through a song. In any other arena, this would be the behaviour of a star.
Guitarist Lars Frederiksen is the life and soul, the punk rock cheerleader who'll never ever give up. He's the one goading the crowd, keeping the atmosphere frenzied. If he weren't in Rancid, he'd be a shoo in for a punk version of 'Stars In Their Eyes'. And he wouldn't see any shame in doing that. It would be an honour, a tribute.
There are strange moments (a bass solo and 'Dodgy' Dave Courtney being dragged onstage before a storming 'David Courtney'). There are inspiring moments (the singalong for 'Fall Back Down'). The crowd are clearly more punk rock than Rancid will ever be. And none of it can compare to the album that was played before and after. But if punk is going to exist in the year 2003, then it could be in a far worse shape than what's on show tonight.
Not quite the greatest punk band on the planet right now. But a good version of one.
