King King
Sam get the Blues at Epic
If you read anything about King King it will probably mention, in some way or another, that they’re pretty much the hottest act on the blues-rock circuit right now, leading the line on the scene. I get that, and at no point during the Glasgow-based quartet’s shenanigans do I see anything that would put that assessment in danger. What hits me though is an uneasy concern about precisely where that scene is at the moment. Perhaps I’m being naive when the sight of an auditorium full of seats is a shock to the system, a mundane, cushioned stake to the heart. That might seem like a strange thing to fixate on but from this starting point I’m tumbling into nothing short of complete confusion about what’s going on and where this is all aimed.
I have to state categorically that King King are very, very good at what they do. Musically they’re first-rate and they write great, classic stuff, especially when it veers towards the higher tempos and punchier riffs. It has guts and verve. I can eat up everything when the kilted Alan Nimmo and co. push the pedal to the floor – the fiery More Than I Can Take comes to mind – but whilst mellower songs like A Long History of Love are undoubtedly lovely they do little for my personal appetite. There’s something that niggles, a sense that there are things stopping this becoming the all-out celebration of sound that it could be and it’s not just the atmosphere-draining effect of chairs, chairs, everywhere. There are big screens on each side that take the dynamism on stage and make it seem static. I can’t escape the feeling that someone somewhere should be turning a volume dial up. People dancing seem strange only because they stand out, towering above a sea of motionless heads. These are small things but they’re striking in their opposition to the ballsy energy that emanates from King King. Or I might just be an intolerant pedant. That’s always an option.
This doesn’t mean that I don’t like what’s going down. King King are all charisma and talent and finely tuned craft. They love their genre, their audience loves them, and the appreciation when it all comes to a close is rapturous. I hesitate to call what I feel a generational distance, especially as rising young gun Lawrence Jones has provided tonight’s support, but that might be what it comes down to. In my head I see King King in a tighter venue with a more raucous room and a PA system that bludgeons eardrums. As it stands, I feel held back at arm’s length from an outstanding band tonight, and it’s a weird sensation.
