The Chapman Family – XOYO, London 23/03/11

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All photos by Paul Bridgewater

“Northern, sweaty, intense, debut album, hype in 2009, took their time, noisy, recession, anti-war, deafness, passable”: Kingsley Chapman’s own somewhat sarcastic words to review The Chapman Family. Job done, cheers. But come on, put those words in a random sentence generator and it could be any band.

So what makes The Chapman Family stand out? What makes them the band to grab your soul and transport you to Valhalla? What makes you want to pick up their album, only to realise it’s probably the best debut of the year? More importantly, what makes these angsty boys-with-guitars-four-piece different from any other angsty boys-with-guitars-four-piece?

Well, to help us find out, I shall be an indie Brian Cox, and reveal some of the hidden mysteries in alt-rock. I’ll appear at various locations – mainly Islington bars – with my book of rock truths, while our friends at Artrocker provide the HD widescreen of a co-headline tour with O Children: a tour which climaxes tonight at a heaving XOYO after two weeks of scaring people across the country.

Walking on stage and announcing themselves as “dirty horrible stinking fucking northerners” is a good move for The Chapman Family. It sets the scene. It butters up some sympathy from the hip southerners drinking lager from small bottles and talking about TFL. It means people will give the provincial scamps a chance. Here we have our first pop truth: If you’re from the regions then shout about it. It means someone has taken enough interest to wrap up warm and leave Kings Cross to come and see you.

Getting a deal in modern music is easy: in London, just stand on Rivington Street long enough. But to get one in Teesside means you must be good. Normally nothing comes from there except bad football results and 18year olds with A-Levels in search of culture and fresh air.

As The Chapman Family’s set explodes open, you realise a trip north wasn’t needed: you’d be able to hear them from anywhere. It’s demolition-loud with disturbing bass and piercing feedback. Riot police could use tonight to push back and disperse hippies. When ‘All Fall’ charges through we really start to see Kingsley’s frontman destiny, his vocals ranging from the mellow doom of The Mission’s Wayne Hussey on one side, catalysing into a sustained screamo-howl. Indeed, the vocals on ‘She Didn’t Know’ could be blended with Hussy’s Tower of Strength, floating over stadium-filling, pounding drums.

Latest single ‘Anxiety’ is played early in the set and is a wonderfully melodic and riff-laden counterpoint to the concentrated pressure experienced so far. It flows like amber around a prehistoric flea, filling what little space is left in the venue and encases you in its own pop perfection. It’s the perfect length, right tempo, and has a classic structure, one which releases the right amount of serotonin.

With ‘Anxiety’, the band deliver our second big rock truth: clichés are true. I asked early what makes this band different and it’s that they seem aware of the clichés and accept them. If you’re going to be an angsty four piece they do it properly. Wear black and rock the fuck out. Graft together discordant angst, bitter melody and dislike pretty much everything. Write pop songs, but make them kick ass, believe you’re good enough for arenas but know you’re not ready yet.

They are an intelligent band with a goal and tonight’s crowd pleaser and next single ‘Sound of the Radio’ delivers a radio plugger’s wet dream. Any song mentioning the radio is guaranteed airplay no matter how awful, so when it’s actually any good, then A-list here we come (don’t believe me? Why else would Razorlight’s ‘America’ or Michaela Strachen’s ‘Radio’ ever get airplay…?).

They are a proper rock band: they have volume, ego and the rock star moves. ‘A Million Dollars’ sees Kingsley putting years of practicing his writhing, slippery rock moves in to full effect. As drums reverberate around him, he’s strangled by the microphone as he squirms like an asp being drained of every drop of milk by Cleopatra’s eunuchs. They are living up to what we want our rock bands to be, cocky, angry, and bigger than us. There’s no hiding behind synthesisers, no styling and no trying to please everyone.

The best bands follow the rules of rock, but the rules suit them and those rock truths come naturally. Whereas The Vaccines will happily wear casual slacks and cherry pick their style or the Mystery Jets sack their dad only to get even worse, Chapman Family do it properly, with blood and angst, and become a phenomenal and, dare I say it, intense live band doing so.