Manchester Scenewipe

FLATS // Ruby Lounge // 03.03.11

Tuesday, March 8th, 2011, 9:00 am

When I was asked to review FLATS, the only information I was given about them was that they were “getting a lot of NME hype lately”. Oh boy. Naturally I did a bit of research into this claim and found that they’re being toted as some sort of new punk heroes – four lads doing away with the bullshit and getting loud and abrasive, like the good old days!

Essentially, the current staff at the NME are the underlings of yesteryear – they wanted to see the likes of Mclusky being written about and they had to settle for Razorlight.. But now they’re in charge! By hyping bands like FLATS they’re desperately trying to atone for the sins of their predecessors. Sadly, this desperation has apparently made them lose sight of what qualifies as ‘good’.

I arrived at The Ruby Lounge just in time to catch support act ‘Syd Bozko’ – a band of Danny McNamara tribute acts trying to play Arctic Monkeys songs after hearing them once through a walkie talkie. The audience is full (I use the term quite liberally – it was not a busy night) of what I can only assume were the band’s mates from down the pub. The lead vocalist announces that the next song is called ‘Getting Wasted’. The only thing getting wasted that night was my time. (groan).

So after enduring that, and reading what I’ve read about FLATS being abrasive, loud and full of enough opinionated bile to make a life size statue of Enoch Powell – I’m expecting them to burst onto stage in a wall of ungodly energy and remain that way for thirty or so minutes. Instead I’m greeted with four pale young men, tip-toeing onto the stage, backs to the audience and shuffling from foot to foot for ten minutes pissing around with a line check.

‘Okay, maybe they’ll tear it up once they eventually get going..’ thought I. Alas, the only differences now are that they’re facing this way so the audience of thirty or so people can see their facial expressions of solid bloody indifference. Where’s the feeling?! Where’s the energy?! Where’s the fun?! Apparently the lyrics state some quite libelous things about Pete Townshend, but they’re delivered with such a childish incoherence that I honestly can’t tell. That’s ‘punk’ though, right? Being embarrassingly sloppy as a band – the press will say it’s urgent! Two songs in and singer Dan Devine accidentally unplugs his microphone and all he can do is look at the audience and shrug. Rabbit in the headlights. Punk ain’t dead. Down with Thatcher!

http://soundcloud.com/flatsofcourse/flats-forty-hours/

Twenty five sloppy, indifferent minutes later and the bassist makes the most movement anybody has made all night – he’s offstage and half way through the crowd! It’s punk rock madness! Hang on, he doesn’t have his bass with him – he’s left the stage one song too early. He’s either so fucking punk rock that he didn’t bother reading the set list, or he couldn’t wait to get the hell out of there.

I’ve got my theories.

WORDS by Luke Bather