‘Fucking look at me!’ Idles singer Joe Talbot has been on stage at the sold-out Afas Live for less than ten minutes and has just split the sea of jumping fans in two with one hand gesture after a blood-curdling version of ‘Colossus’. It’s me, he bellows with satisfaction: “Mister Mozes.” And if he does imagine himself in the Holy Land, he still has a message: “Viva Palestine!”
Hey, guitarist Lee Kiernan is flying through the air and over the heads of the bouncing audience again to complete the hundred meter backstroke in record time and solo at the same time. And there is colleague Mark Bowen fluttering over the crowd, in his best blue ball dress (with black sports socks and white Adidas).
No, Idles, the five-piece post-punk tornado from Bristol, has not yet been tamed, thank God, like the fifth album released last month Tangk gave me some fear.
Okay, Talbot sometimes croons more than you would like. And the question is how much the carried away piano, immense synthesizers and extra hired horn player Colin Webster (with a saxophone the size of a rocket launcher) actually add.
But the biggest problem (are you reading, Duncan Laurence?): the concert lasts too long. There are too many unnecessary, slow and meaningless fillers, the only purpose of which is for the band and fans to catch their breath. But a steamy (post-)punk show really doesn’t have to go on for two hours. After all, the sacred principle ‘less = more’ also means: don’t waste time. And Idles is really at its best when the band barks and bites.
Just look at how ferociously Talbot struts during ‘Divide & Conquer’, which consists of little more than one simple, swelling riff and repetitive rhythm that starts to drone more and more menacingly. He circles around like a self-inflating weightlifter, throwing his wide arms down as if he’s going to bust his knuckles at any moment. But when he says in the chorus “Ai! Ai Ai!” roars (with vocal cords like rusty chains), he suddenly raises his hands to the sky like a sensitive tango dancer and swings his ass back and forth with one raised knee.
That apparent schizophrenia of angry versus fragile fits Idles like a glove. With minimal resources, the band manages to build an extremely grim sound and yet at the same time proclaim a message of freedom, equality and brotherhood (m/f/x). One moment the singer curses xenophobia, homophobia, right-wing populists and Brexit, immediately afterwards he emotionally thanks all band members, soulmates in the room and his dear mother. “I am proud that I crawled out of her womb. If she were still alive, she would like to say one thing: “Free Palestine!”
But as soon as the swirling popular festival of gratitude, motherly love and world peace threatens to become too cozy, Talbot calls everyone back to order: “We are not here to improve the world, but ourselves.” Or more simply bellowed: “Are there any assholes in the room?”