The Rakes

Leaving the early 90s behind and moving a bit closer to the present day… The Rakes. I was first introduced to these skinny Brits at a gig in Boston, where they supported Stellastarr*. Now, I adore Stellastarr*’s first album, therefore it pains me somewhat to have to say: They truly, truly suck live (thanks America. If there’s one thing I’m grateful to you for, it’s the term “suck”. No other word quite conveys how something can be so actively bad). When a band relies heavily on vocal harmonies, they should at least be able to hold a note. I’m looking at you, hot female bass-player. At times it was genuinely painful. Oddly, this sorry headline performance came during one of my favourite gigs of last year, saved entirely by the two, as then unknown to me, support bands (the other being Interpol/Joy Division lovechild, Editors. More from them at a later date).

The Rakes, taking the tricky first spot in a three-band line-up, positively brimmed with energy and enthusiasm, a welcome change from the usual Indie-boy affected nonchalance. And frontman Alan Donahoe is not afraid to dance like an electrified stick-insect on cheap whizz. A trait I always admire. I salute you, sir!