A wild Brixton mosh-out with Idles, the kings of British ‘recitation rock’
If you are a fan of contemporary British guitar-based rock music, you will surely have noticed a trend towards what I can only, rather apologetically, describe as “recitation rock”. (The phrase is terrible, I know, but would you really prefer me to describe it as “punk poetics”? How about “grime grunge”? “Verse metal”?)
I’m alluding to the jettisoning of singing in favour of a dry recitational style, with the frontperson declaiming spoken-word slogans and phrases over tough backing tracks driven by lean bass and sharp drums, frequently overlayed with fuzzy guitars playing angular riffs. It would be misleading to describe this as a form of rap rock, because the style owes little to the intricate flow, internal rhyming and sing-song cadences of hip hop. It is more akin to the kind of declamatory experimental punk of The Fall, latterly extrapolated to potent effect by the scruffy electro surrealists, Sleaford Mods.
But the true kings of this scene, the band whose compelling live shows and grandstanding records have galvanised a thousand other groups, are the Bristolian quintet Idles. They first surfaced in 2016, and have spent the past five years honing their direct, passionate style on four fierce and gripping albums, three of which have been substantial hits in the UK. They are a perfectly formed band, like The Ramones or Status Quo, with a cartoonish look – shaven heads, beards, tattoos and spasmodic movements – and a sound that seems to drill to the very core of their beings.
On Sunday, opening the first of four sold-out nights at the 5,000-capacity Brixton Academy, they raged about the stage in a blaze of unceasing action and stroboscopic lights, with frontman Joe Talbot bent double and kicking his legs like Norman Wisdom attempting a keep-fit routine. Drummer Jon Beavis struck his drums so hard that you felt there might be some personal animosity involved, the impact of each snare smacking through the venue.
Two guitars buzzed and distorted like a kind of ambient metal noise over the pummelling rhythm, while Talbot roared what was on his mind in short, direct phrases. “Let’s seize the day / All hold hands / Chase the pricks away!” he commanded on a song titled Mr Motivator. (“How d’you like them clichés?!” he added, almost as a defence against his own sincerity.)
His lyrics are straightforward, and fuelled with lacerating political anger. “The best way to scare a Tory is to read and get rich,” he declaimed on Mother, an anthem about the vicissitudes of his own mother’s working-class life. I don’t suppose they’ll be on the playlist at the next party at Number 10, although the current Prime Minister has claimed The Clash are his favourite band, and David Cameron always had a soft spot for The Jam’s Eton Rifles. You don’t have to agree with a band’s politics to be a fan of their music.
Idles are not nearly as arch or self-consciously clever as most of the bands who have arrived in their wake, including Sunday’s support act Wet Leg, a bravura female duo who were second in the BBC’s recent Sound of 2022 poll. The latter were exquisite, creating thrilling Velvet Underground-style drone rock topped with so much wit and attitude that the mostly male and aggressively moshing Brixton audience seemed to be in awe of them. If I were a young person seeking a band to pin my dreams on, Wet Leg would be top of the tree.
But Idles had no fear of being upstaged. They took a grip on proceedings and ripped through a set of raging, roaring, heartfelt, post-punk polemics (or maybe, at this point, that should be post-post-post-post-punk). It wasn’t subtle, it wasn’t even that clever, but it was pure and perfect and impossible to resist: a mighty noise from a band who know exactly how to make each song, each sound, each beat and each declamation count. Other bands may be taking their lead, but Idles have already effectively perfected their own genre of one.
In London until Weds 19, then touring the UK and abroad. Tickets: idlesband.com