Doves – Roundhouse, London, 22/10/09 [Electric Proms]

26 October 2009, 08:42 | Written by

(Live)

The BBC’s Electronic Proms‘ stated aim is to “create new moments in music” and witnessing mid-level indie veterans Doves accompanied by a 40-piece Bulgarian choir could definitely be said to fit the bill. The affable Mancunians have never been the most demonstrative of live bands, a bit of a handicap given their anthemic songwriting but tonight sees them deliver a performance that’s finally worthy of their promise.

When they perform alone, they’re very good without ever threatening to be spectacular. By no means do they phone in their performance, but their musical proficiency can’t quite make up for the fact they’re just not that interesting to watch. But when the forty men and women of the London Bulgarian Choir enter the equation, bedecked in vibrant traditional costume, the show was given the extra dash of colour (both visually and musically) to elevate it to greatness.

Their multi-part harmonies had a certain shrill dissonance that seemed to perplex the more straight-laced members of Doves’ fanbase but Avshalom Caspi’s arrangements were excellently judged, never radically deviating from the originals but nonetheless adding an exotic and striking twist to the band’s otherwise unadventurous live renditions. It’s a shame that the sound mix didn’t always do the choir justice but ‘Birds Flew Backwards’ (with Indian musician Baluji Shrivastav) was a genuinely breathtaking moment, and the spectral harmonies on a celebratory ‘There Goes The Fear’ was the perfect closer to a sometimes challenging but always worthwhile set.

Support came courtesy of post-punk pioneers Magazine, performing a specially selected set of A- and B-sides. It’s always heartening to see a band who refuse to grow old gracefully, but it’s also slightly embarrassing at the same time; musically they’ve still got it, Barry Adamson’s angular bass lines impressing almost as much as Noko’s fiendish goatee but if they were ever considered “cool”, that time has long gone.

It’s difficult not to compare them to contemporaries Gang of Four. Whilst Jon King’s goofy mad uncle dancing is tempered by a manic, disconcerting edge that suggests he’d be more than capable of killing a man, the genial Howard Devoto looks too much like Paul Daniels to provide the required levels of aloof aggression. Add to the mix an inexcusable spoken word segment so awful you could almost hear the collective groans of the audience and you’ve got a set whose moments of genuine quality were too often swamped by painful self-indulgence.