Live in Southend, April 8th, 2016

Expectations have reached almost fever pitch and a palpable tension holds you at knife-point. It is so close you can almost touch it and so far away that you stricken with grief. Fans of the lids are like rabid alligators biting their tails off to get their claws on their second album. Teasers of each song leaked online have been just that, giving the briefest of euphoric snippets before it is all stolen away again. Just eleven words are all that is required to feed the frenzy.

Van McCann is the master of song title economy. Why say in ten words what you can say in one. Homesick, Kathleen, Cocoon, Fallout, Pacifier, Hourglass, Business, 26, Rango, Sidewinder and Tyrants of first album, The Balcony, have morphed into 7, Twice, Soundcheck, Postpone, Anything, Glasgow, Oxygen, Emily, Red, Heathrow and Outside of new album The Ride. But more of that later…It’s tough, people, but it won’t be fully here until May 27^th. Eleven songs on each. Perfect symmetry. What on earth will happen on the third album if there are not eleven songs and if a song title has more than one word in it? In the meantime, while speculating about the new songs and looking even further ahead to the third album, let’s play a game. Writing prompts: who can include all eleven titles in an eleven word story?

A few days ago I stood on the balcony (appropriate place!) of Cliffs Pavilion, Southend and surveyed the seething mass of moshing humanity before me. Not a single Catfish hater in sight but a humungous, ragtaggle collection of passionate lovers. It was good to take a step back to see it, as I am normally sandwiched in the middle of that musical scrum and don’t see it from above. A different take on things as it were. There was a half-hearted attempt to establish a spin-off moshpit on the balcony, however, this satellite happening failed to live up to the one in the den of propinquity below.

Catfish have been accused time and time again of over-touring on the back of The Balcony. Well, why not? When that album is so good and doesn’t have a single duff song; when everywhere you go people say that they can listen to it on repeat, over and over and over again; when it stands its own alongside other play-on-repeat debuts such as Is This It by The Strokes, Inside In, Inside Out by the Kooks, Whatever People Say I Am, That’s What I’m Not by the Arctic Monkeys. I was talking about this to two fans the other week and they said, “We were just saying the same thing earlier today.” Fans never tire of these songs, so let the songs play on!

To be honest it was like being at a giant karaoke for fifteen hundred people where nobody needs the words on a screen. Van McCann is redundant at times as the excited masses sing his lyrics back to him, accentuating with wild, gesticulating glee every “fuck” and “fucking.” The girls stood next to me were word perfect, intonation perfect, like they have been practising for such a night as this. Why wouldn’t they be perfect? They have been singing along incessantly for months.

I spoke to some of the young fans outside at about one thirty, a good five and a half hours before the doors were due to open. They talked excitedly about their favourite songs, told me they have been inspired to learn the guitar and one girl has been inspired to buy stripy tee shirts (Van often wears them) Asking them why they were here so early the response was a simple two words: “Get barrier!” And they did. They were first in, ran to the front and were as close as it is possible to get in a gig. Although that wasn’t entirely true because it was at one thirty that Van McCann appeared at the back of venue coming out from behind the unloading trucks to talk to them and have pictures taken. I asked him what he thought of the fans arriving so early and it was clear that it is still really important for him to have interaction and contact with them. He told one girl that he liked her jacket; another girl was unable to take a photo because her hand was shaking so much with the excitement. Van is down to earth, a man of the people, and he appreciates why they have reached their current heady heights. An impromptu walk along the beach by the band later that afternoon sugar coated a day that one group of fans will never forget.

In their set they powered through the whole of the Balcony album, and why not? From the opening guitar riff of Homesick to the blistering closing solos of Tyrants it was like being on a thundering rock n rollercoaster. They are now highly accomplished, seasoned musicians and performers. Interspersed with the old songs which have become classics they played four of the songs from the Ride: Soundcheck, 7, Anything and Red. The last two were new songs for most there but you wouldn’t know it because the violent moshing carried on unabated.

As I sat in the bar before the gig and looked out at the pastel pink, powdery blue sky with hint of rainbow, I couldn’t get over how civilised it all was. So British. Such decorum. There were fans in there but there was nothing but an excitable, low level chattering. The only hint of what was to come came as a group of girls started singing Kathleen. Just once. For about thirty seconds. And then the St John’s Ambulance crew passed through. Very telling. This was “mosh injury anticipation” at its best. I’m sure they don’t get called on very often for most shows here- Jimmy Osmond, Rick Astley, Michael Ball, Oliver, Tosca, The Drifters are coming up soon. Catfish stick out like a sore thumb here. A mosher’s thumb maybe? As the show ended the British decorum had gone and the noise level had changed to fever pitch as hundreds of fans talked about the best night of their lives. From start to finish the lids had been on blazing fire. Job’s a good ‘un.

 

For a review of Black Honey, the support band, see: http://www.cre8ivation.com/?p=5517

 

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