The Struts
London Shepherd’s Bush Empire
Britain’s band of the moment stake another claim to be rock’s Next Big Thing.
Bodies burst out over the balconies, and even more are packed downstairs. Plastic pint glasses of Tuborg snake out from the bars and through the ocean of tour T-shirts. Every last inch of this 2,000-capacity, Grade II-listed theatre is heaving with people, from teenagers and a few actual kids to 50-somethings. In truth, tonight’s headliners could probably have upgraded to a bigger venue, but a maxed-out gig is certainly one way to reflect how in-demand you are, and The Struts know this.
Last year The Struts released their second album, Young & Dangerous to widespread acclaim and the delight of their increasing fan base (which includes Tom Morello, Steven Tyler, Dave Grohl, Tommy Lee…). As frontman Luke Spiller will point out later, their native UK has been “slower” to catch on than the US, Japan and, most recently, Australia. To anyone already swept up by their whirlwind of weapons-grade fun, that might seem outrageous. And for those of us who wept at our TVs as George Ezra, The 1975 and Ed Sheeran cleaned up at The Brits, it’s easy to look at The Struts (and their cache of absolute bangers) and think it should have been them getting gongs.
Still, tonight is about celebrating, not griping. With Spiller resplendent in his ludicrous fringed black-andwhite cowboy suit, with his piercing, kohl-lined eyes and jazz-handed strut, they open with Primadonna Like Me’s cocksure statement of intent: ‘Hey you, don’t you know who I think I am?!!’ Spiller looks like a playing card in Alice In Wonderland, restyled by Dolly Parton. And then there’s the song itself, a glittery, spectacularly glam floor-filler with a canyon-sized chorus that’s easily one of the best things the band have written. Everyone in the audience goes nuts. It’s the kind of reaction normally reserved for beloved encore hits, yet the band are literally just getting started. “They’ll never sustain that momentum,” you might think. Just watch them.
By now The Struts have toured and played a lot, winning over audiences as support artists and preaching to the converted at headline shows. Summoning all their experience, drive and lessons learned from years spent living mostly out of suitcases, they know exactly how to play this for optimum effect. That may sound rather calculated, but it really doesn’t come across that way, and all four
guys, not just their superlative mouthpiece, seem to legitimately be having the time of their lives. Pop-star-pretty bassist Jed Elliott flashes a Colgate-white smile in leather trousers, while drummer Gethin Davies arm-wheels away, all bird’s-nest hair and stripy attire like a younger, suaver Beetlejuice. Guitarist Adam Slack, essentially the band’s co-mastermind and songwriter with Spiller, nails licks, chops and harmonies that channel Brian May and prime-era Britpop influences to zingy effect.
The charged mood and energy never lets up. Punchy new anthems Body Talks and In Love With A Camera bring cheerleader-on-Haribo levels of audience rapture – not to mention knowing but upbeat odes to millennial culture (a breath of fresh air in an age that can seem hellbent on chastising that particular generation). Dirty Sexy Money exudes the kind of sequined cuban-heeled stomp you’d expect from a song featuring the line ‘sex-crazed tiger full of dynamite’, while Somebody New brings some Oasisnodding balladry to proceedings. And during a cover of Springsteen’s Dancing In The Dark, a tiny, delightedlooking girl from the audience is brought on stage for a sing and dance with Spiller, who carries it all off in a way that’s endearingly sweet, not creepy.
There is, it must be said, a lot of banter. Some of it we’ve heard at previous gigs, like the bit about “spunking all the budget” on Spiller’s outfit and creating “human fireworks” with the audience (fair play to them, though, these lines do work a treat). This in itself isn’t a bad thing; Spiller’s charm and toothy-grinned chutzpah is infectious, and if they needed to fill the time due to an absence of tunes it wouldn’t matter at all. But a lack of tunes is one thing The Struts don’t have. Indeed with two hitstuffed albums in their holster there are plenty of stone-cold winners that don’t make it into the set (The Ol’ Switcheroo, Tatler Magazine,
Roll Up, People, Black Swan…) but would have gone down a storm. We love the chat Luke, but maybe swap one bit of audience participation for another song, eh?
But that’s a minor point – the final dusting of sprinkles on top of an already very big, beautifully iced cake – and it certainly doesn’t detract from everyone’s enjoyment of the show. The lovable Put Your Money On Me and a big, sweaty, arms-round-your-mates singalong of Where Did She Go close the pre-encore set, after which they come galloping back for Ashes (Part 2) and Could Have Been Me. It’s here that we’re reminded that The Struts’ rise has not all been smooth sailing and open doors.
“The UK has been a little slow to catch on,” Spiller says, sitting at a white piano (seemingly deciding to fully embrace those Freddie Mercury comparisons), “but I think after this tour that’s gonna change!” On the strength of tonight, and the sheer poptastic accessibility of The
Struts’ music, it would seem as though it should. As things stand, their latest album chart positions (No.77 in the UK, No.102 in the US) and lack of airplay tell one story, while their success playing live, quality material and famous supporters tell another. Something, somewhere, isn’t clicking yet.
The personal taste of certain key powers? Conservatism of mainstream radio? Plain bad luck?
It would, however, be curmudgeonly to focus solely on this. If The Struts ‘only’ make it this far, as a brilliant band playing great music on big tours in front of happy punters and celebrity fans, they can look back with their heads held high. We just can’t help thinking if anyone deserves to make the next leap, it’s them.