The Invisible/Wild Palms
Hoxton Square Bar & Kitchen, London
10/12/2009

Name another singer as regularly cloned as Ian Curtis. Thirty years on from Joy Division we’ve moved well down the musical generations and nothing much has changed: Interpol are the messed-up American kids, Editors and White Lies the grandchildren spouting diluted dross. At times Lou Hill couldn’t be more Curtis – stood aloof at his post with severe haircut; charity shop jumper; and that familiar baritone vocal. Happily that’s just a thin slice of Wild Palms, and there’s plenty more gears than a simple aping tribute.

With lyrics flitting between escapist tropical and surreal transience, Wild Palms are musically all-over-the-shop embracing Spector wall of sound buzzing guitars (First track ‘Carnation’), jerky post-rock (‘Deep Dive’), indie-pop-punk (‘Overtime’), and even warped Friendly Fires-esque batucada (as Hill pounds drum machines alongside drummer James Parrish). It’s tough to think of many better unsigned bands right now.

While heads nod for Wild Palms, bodies bang to The Invisible’s Rage Against The Machine style end-of-the-world guitars. The 2009 Mercury Music Prize nominees (for their eponymous debut) are super tight, flitting between paranoid rock and soulful dirty funk that justifies the TV On The Radio comparisons. Certain tracks don’t match up to this gripping judgement day soundtrack, and maybe it’s that penchant to stray in to softer funk rock that has halted their rise, keeping them a secret underground treat. 

In a rare encore Dave Okumu reveals guitar tricks like Jimi Hendrix; the big, friendly front man is a virtuoso on guitar, fingers darting to send out monstrous lines more fitting to this hugely impressive trio. Breaking down this ultra trendy crowd is no problem and for a brief time The Invisible are Hoxton’s heroes. But in the long run it’s more likely that Wild Palms’ catchy charms will triumph.

Ben Rimmer