Public Service Broadcast: Live Review

 

When a small 1950s style television is placed on the stage before a gig, you know you’re in for something different.

The setting could not be more perfect for Public Service Broadcasting. Soup Kitchen’s basement, which already looks similar to a wartime bunker is the stage for this event. Advertisements for this year’s Movember hang like propaganda from the walls. Modern moustachioed chaps echo Kitchenerand entreat you to do your duty.

Support Cyril Sneer (the Raccoons reference sparked a little nostalgic joy in me) were dreamy and heavy by turns, featuring impressive machine gun drums, a couple of samples and interesting vocals. Without any memorable hooks, however, all but the percussion was easily forgotten and the weaving guitar lines often got trodden under the punchy drums, which hoisted along inconspicuous baselines.

As the final members of the night’s audience entered the bunker, Public Service Broadcasting took to the stage. Dressed lovechildren of every high school geography teacher and the Shadows, PSB certainly have a taste for theatricality – one of their main strengths. As the audience quieten and smoke floats across the stage, the television flickers into life along with the identical projection on the wall behind. Black and white, wartime and peacetime images play across the screen. Prior to the opening number, the duo nod to each other and don their pièce de résistance – a pair of thick hornrimmed glasses. Are you sitting comfortably? Then we’ll begin.

As the name suggests, PSB let carefully selected samples of public service broadcasts do the talking. Even between songs the band utter nothing, his masters voice telling us it’s delightful to be in Manchester and that we look ‘good’.

The Lovingly arranged samples weave in and out of the highly percussive instrumentals. Initial impressions suggest influences from the Avalances and Pilote, however PSB almost instantly veer off in a much more cathartic direction. Wrigglesworth’s drum skills slide rhythmically into the background and allow the floor to J. Willgoose Esq.’s smattering of synths, guitars and banjo, which frame the vintage insights. Willgoose’s melodies are intuitive and effortless, making complex arrangements feel natural and timeless. All the elements of this show complement the well-chosen samples brilliantly.

With a suitable distance between our generation and the historic events of the early to mid 19th century for vintage style to have returned to kitsch, it’s often the case that we look back with a sense of irony and condescension. Not so with Public Service Broadcasting, however. Although the songs are not without humour, they are never mocking. Instead, each piece is a celebration of the collective knowledge deemed important enough for public broadcast. From the wistful heights of the banjo laden Everest, to the set highlight PSB theme, the band never let us forget that we are standing on the shoulders of giants. Sermons range from the conquering of Everest to an exploration of classroom acronym ROYGBIV, safety while driving to sartorial fashion, each imbued with newfound vitality and life.

 

 

Taken from previous EP The War Room, fan favourite ‘London Can Take It’ adds a darker element to the show, with the sinister tones of wartime broadcasts explored by circular, pounding rhythms, air raid sirens and pensive, menacing synths. Through the oppressive atmosphere, shines a beacon of positive, stoic patriotism in the form of the title refrain “London can take it”.

The only drawback of PSB’s performance is that with such showmanship, everyone’s attention is drawn to the screen and dancing is inhibited, which is a shame, because the pieces themselves practically beg for energetic movement.

After rapturous applause and shouts for an encore, the guys finish on a newer track, Everest. The set finishes with the the question ‘why does man climb Everest?’ Because he can. This final moment shows exactly what their music is about, driving instrumentals combined with the catharsis of human achievement.