white denim

For all their numerous ideas, too many songs resolve to bit-hiphop, bit-electronica soundscapes. One all-synth number breaks from the norm and makes me think of Jean Michelle Jarre (sorry guys, that’s not meant as an insult), but in general the pattern doesn’t quite hold my attention. The room starts to fill up as WHITE DENIM set up. Then it fills up some more… and some more… till we can barely move. It all makes for a high level of anticipation: is this going to be Strokes at Heaven? The White Stripes at Dingwalls? For the first two songs I honestly think it is; buoyed up by the crowd, they play with a high level of fire and energy. Their music is simultaneously familiar and hard to nail down, recalling the titans of southern rock (‘70s ZZ Top, the mighty Allman Brothers Band’s rockier moments, or if you’re of a more youthful persuasion, the Kings of Leon first album), though it’s the hard riffy, garage punk edge that makes their sound. Set up as a classic power trio (guitar / vocals, bass / vocals and drums) the three of them make a fierce, hard sound out of strange time signatures, intricate drum patterns, blistering bass playing and guitarist James Petralli’s unusual pick-less guitar style. The drummer Joshua Block takes centre stage and deservedly so, coming over like Levon Helm’s little brother, jacked-up on Minor Threat rather than Chuck Berry. Hell, he even looks like Levon Helm. But for all the attack at the beginning of the set, eventually a certain sameness creeps over the songs. There’s a lot to celebrate in White Denim – howled vocals, southern swagger, hard garage punk edge – but by the end the impact has faded and I can’t help thinking that a certain something’s missing. Almost, but not quite.