TV On The Radio – Shepherd’s Bush Empire, 19/11/08

25 November 2008, 10:56 | Written by Jim Brackpool

(Live)

“The age of miracles, The age of sound” goes the song. “There is a golden age, Coming round, Coming round, Coming round” But if TV On The Radio, with their masterful third album Dear Science are gonna ride the post-Obama wave of leftwing optimism and usher in an era of credit crunch defying utopianism, they’re gonna need to turn in some more convincing performances than this. It may be only their second London show since Dear Science got the hipsters and critics in a right old lather but the general vibe on stage seems to be “Yeah, whatever?” And at points the members of the band who criss-cross the stage to wave their instruments in each other’s faces look rather more like they’re playing for each other’s benefit than ours. Preferring as it appears, to mope behind banks of gear or loiter about amps and rows of FX than stoke the salivating crowd.

Natural performers they may not be but they play with enough conviction and have evidently come here tonight to blow-torch the pristine production sheen off their studio output to reveal a bona fide, living breathing ROCK band beneath the layers; And a raw and vicious one at that. Lead vocalist Tunde Adebimpe hollers his lines and shimmies and pogos about the stage, gesticulating and testifying as he goes, producer/guitarist Dave Sitek attacks his guitar with teeth grinding ferocity and drummer Jaleel Bunton fair batters his way through the likes of “Staring at the Sun” and “Dancing Choose”

The problem is, in the process they lose much of the character that gives their recorded output it’s exotic feel, and their otherworldly edge is lost beneath some rather tedious, sludgy grinding. Tunde even apologises at one point for the audible wear and tear to his voice saying we might just have to contend with a bit of “punk rock” which is a shame when it is so often his voice sounds as if it’s been beamed in from some gleaming art-rock R‘n‘B future. Occasionally the fearsome approach works on punishing readings of say “Wolf Like Me” or the wind tunnel gospel of “Halfway Home”. But in the main it sounds graceless and reductive and you can almost imagine the uninitiated mate you dragged along thinking “What on earth are we doing here? This is like Funk Rock!” More successful though is the tricksier, groovier material off the new album. “Shout Me Out” boasts some superb metronomic palm muting from Sitek and “Crying” bobs and weaves like a hyped up prize fighter and comes packing a chest bothering depth-charge bass line.

But the atmosphere never really seems to ignite. The house lights and venue mix tape are up whilst the band are still ambling off stage after what feels like a rather perfunctory encore and you’re thinking maybe it was unrealistic to hope that when the standards are so high the live show could match or even surpass the albums? Tonight was not without some incredible moments but largely under whelming and above all lacking that rare quality that seems to drip from every groove of their peerless records: soul.