Not Many Experts

Wu Lyf have spent the past year convincing a constantly swelling group of fans that they’re to be worshipped with the same intensity that they create in their live shows. It turned out, though, that they’re as disinterested in religion as their name (LYF = Lucifer Youth Foundation) suggests; their stage is crowned by a large black cross which, as my devout Christian friend informs me, is not entirely traditional. And this is after being branded with their logo upon entrance, which can only be described as a thoroughly bastardised cross, presumably designed to make you feel like you’re being inducted into a pagan cult. Pope Benedict would not be pleased.

But it’s unclear whether Wu Lyf are actually interested in having anyone join the cult of personality that they have created with their studied silence (which was broken in The Stool Pigeon’s current issue), anti-A&R antics and grandiose ideological statements. It almost feels like they’re more concerned with the group of friends who stud the audience tonight, who howl and chant along while exchanging amused looks with the band, as if those who have handed over cash are the unfortunate victims of an enormously successful in-joke.

It would be tough to describe any member of Wu Lyf’s audience as unfortunate, though. You can line the front row with as many self-consciously smirking faces as you like, but you can’t change the noise that comes out of Wu Lyf’s speakers. Apart from if you throw a plastic cup at them. Then they will tell you to fuck off, on tonight’s evidence.

But when they’re not threatening the crowd (and to be threatened by Wu Lyf is actually fairly menacing as they would surely fare well in a Most Likely To Murder Own Audience poll), those four lads from Manchester do make the most intense, cathartic noise, and given that they’ve literally just released their debut album, they’re clearly very gifted musicians, whatever the media circus around them has to say about their allegedly unconvincing philosophies. From dramatic opener “L Y F” inwards, they sound emphatically not like the still-embryonic project that they are, pounding out emotion-laced proclamations that you’d normally only expect after the obligatory first two albums of average indie dirge.

The difference in Wu Lyf lies in the lungs of lead singer Ellery Roberts, who has the unenviable gift of a voice that hoarsely writhes like it has experienced every wrong that the world has to offer. He’s also immensely gifted in the lyrics department, and although they’re almost indecipherable in his throaty howls, he projects them with a fixating seriousness. There’s also the useful lo-fi-pagan-karaoke of the recent video for “Dirt” if you’re still unconvinced.

You would think that that is enough individual brilliance for one band, but drummer Joe Manning also octopusses his way around the drum kit with intimidating dexterity, his fixation both with the floor tom and hitting round objects very hard lending Wu Lyf’s sound much of its muscle. Coupled with Ellery’s spine-curling voice, it’s not hard to see why the Kazimier is surprisingly packed given that Liverpool club-night Evol has herded most of Liverpool’s music obsessives into St George’s Hall with Outfit and Ladytron. Understandably.

But the Kazimier is heaving with tidily-Topmanned young men* because Wu Lyf have managed, through isolation, paranoia, expressive imagery and scarily powerful songs to connect with young people in a significant way that only Odd Future can argue to have equalled recently. And though their live show may not be the (un)religious experience some have billed it as, they deliver their chest-pounding anthems with a fervour that is completely compelling. They may not be interested in anybody joining their non-existent cult, but pretty soon they’re going to have people queuing up. Just not the Pope. Or Dr Rowan Williams. But pretty much everybody else.

Wu Lyf – Dirt by Not Many Experts

*and some women. We’re not fans of sexism, but it was a fairly testosteroney affair to be honest.

Tall Ships provided the heartbreaking moment of the festival and even were single-handedly responsible for making my festivaling comrade cry (he claims it was simply the man menopause again) as their front-man miserably closed his case of unsold vinyl after just 10 fruitless minutes. The lack of people wading into their wallets was actually hugely surprising, as the band had just ripped through a spellbinding set of intricate and yet hugely appealing math-rock. Take the precision, passion and intelligence of Foals, remove their huge popular appeal, and replace it with the confusion and avant-garde of Battles and there you have Tall Ships. I sound enthusiastic and sympathetic, but to be fair, I didn’t buy one of their vinyl either (please don’t judge me). Give them some time to find their audience and they’ve got the sort of rare experimental appeal to actually sell quite a lot of records to quite a lot of quite infatuated fans. And we might even crack the wallet out ourselves.

Hit The Floor by Tall Ships

Tall Ships – Chemistry by Tall Ships

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To be completely honest, despite there being enough hype-laced writings about Chad Valley to make the amount of data seized from Bin Laden’s compound look like the rushed homework of a 12 year old, we weren’t expecting much. We definitely weren’t expecting his smooth balearic charm and his powerful and propulsive beats to hit with such poignancy. We weren’t expecting him to sound like what Friendly Fires would have sounded like if they’d turned towards their tropical tendencies rather than their popularist ones on their second album. And we really weren’t expecting for the Kazimier to be filled by such a striking and inescapably enormous voice every time he opened his mouth. Whether it be twiddly electronic trickery or not, it sounded undeniably perfect, leaving us with the conclusion that we really really didn’t expect; ironically, despite all of the hype, Chad Valley was the unexpected highlight of our first day at Sound City.

Chad Valley – Now That I’m Real by CASCINE

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