PALAYE ROYALE

WHAT A FEEL­ING, IT’S A PALAYE ON THE CEIL­ING

Kerrang! (UK) - - Welcome - SAM LAW

Alot has been made of Palaye Royale’s fond­ness for the flash­bulb glare. How­ever, lit up like a crime scene by 300 phones raised to­wards King Tut’s low ceil­ing in one rau­cous mo­ment this evening, cap­tur­ing front­man Rem­ing­ton Leith as he hangs up­side down, they bear scant re­sem­blance to the preened spooks we’re used to see­ing. Sweat-soaked and deliri­ous at this sold-out first Scot­tish show, th­ese are mu­si­cians for whom glam­our is but a tool within their es­capist arse­nal – not a prison within which their wild flam­boy­ance should be con­tained. Many of tonight’s at­ten­dees have pa­tiently spent hours on their make-up. It takes min­utes to melt it off.

That is, if tonight’s open­ers The Haunt haven’t al­ready made light work of it. Built around teenage sib­lings Anas­ta­sia and Max­amil­lion, The Haunt share much of the head­lin­ers’ DNA. There’s a gothic edge that runs through both their aes­thetic and songs (par­tic­u­larly the know­ingly-ti­tled All Went Black), but it’s their flashes of punk vi­brancy and riot gr­rrl at­ti­tude that get the al­ready-packed space rock­ing and sweat­ing.

With Palaye’s ar­rival, things get crazy. As they drop a white-hot open­ing salvo of Don’t Feel Quite Right, My Youth Gen­er­a­tion and You’ll Be Fine the crowd surge stage­ward. Rem­ing­ton re­cip­ro­cates as if un­able to stand even a mil­lime­tre of sep­a­ra­tion from them, press­ing him­self over the bar­rier and into the au­di­ence. Get Higher (“About smok­ing a lot of weed,”) has the bass knock­ing the breath from our lungs, while Masochist sends a tor­nado of vol­ume swirling around the con­fined space, and Death Dance – ded­i­cated to the boys’ Scot­tish grand­fa­ther – erupts into an almighty stomp.

Ma Chérie, a mo­ment of airy relief, bridges the mid­dle of the set with the broth­ers alone on­stage, lead­ing a spine-tin­glingly heart­felt sing-along. “It’s time to get all sorts of emo­tional,” cheer­leads Rem­ing­ton, be­fore a cod-scot­tish ac­cented “beau­ti­ful” from the wrong side of the Ir­ish Sea un­does his good work. No­body cares, of course. A cover of My Chem­i­cal Ro­mance’s Teenagers sees the en­tire crowd div­ing into the pit, be­fore Mr. Doc­tor Man some­how cranks the chaos even fur­ther into the red.

“Even though it’s our first time here, we’d like to be one of the names on those steps very shortly,” grins Rem­ing­ton, hun­grily ges­tur­ing to the hall of fame run­ning along Tut’s’ leg­endary stair­case, fea­tur­ing Placebo, AFI, MCR and Muse. And as off-the-hook closer Warhol drops cur­tain with Se­bas­tian Danzig jab­bing his gui­tar out amongst the fans, Rem­ing­ton hang­ing bat-like from the ceil­ing and drum­mer Emer­son Bar­rett trash­ing his kit, it’s clear that wher­ever this road is tak­ing Palaye Royale, they’re al­ready well on their way.

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