Someone Still Loves You, Boris Yeltsin
Hoxton Square Bar & Kitchen, London
11/10/2010

Namechecks for notable international statesmen in music are frequently a very good thing indeed: The Wedding Present‘s ‘Kennedy’, The Fatima Mansions‘ ‘Blues For Ceaucescu’. Kate Bush. And now we can add another name to that roll of honour – Someone Still Loves You, Boris Yeltsin, who, rather than hailing from anywhere even approaching the old iron curtain, are in fact proud denizens of Springfield, even with all five fingers and an absence of jaundice. That’s only geographically the case, mind you, since clearly there’s a hefty slice of their hearts somewhere rather closer to the West Coast of Scotland; specifically, imagine that Teenage Fanclub had embraced their melodic instincts as they did on ‘Bandwagonesque’ without jettisoning the youthful sonic (and, indeed, pseudo-Sonic Youth-y) assault of ‘A Catholic Education’, and that’d put you in just the sort of territory the Boris boys are encroaching on.

And, thrillingly, they do so with no shortage of brio; hurling themselves at the outset fully into the dazzling enormo-twinkle of ‘Some Constellation’ and remaining somewhere adjacent to its warmly fiery epicentre for the hour that follows. Frontman Philip is never less than casually compelling, his elliptical, cryptic croon rich with the modest pop suss of any number of old-style emo troubadours, while his announcement that this is the best night any of them have ever had in London is perhaps the most winningly winsome-yet-showbiz thing we’ve ever heard. The curiously chatty rhythm section of John’n'Jonathan, meanwhile, are gleefully spritely and prone to springing down the path less kilter even as they face up to the barrage of immaculate jangles and spangles emanating effortlessly from Will’s guitar, and the entire affair’s so joyous that even the likes of ‘Think I Wanna Die’ come replete with a metaphorical picnic basket. Frankly, Someone Still Loves You, Boris Yeltsin are wonderful tonight, and their ascension to the indie premiership can’t come quickly enough.

Iain Moffat