Confident and competent this unfeasibly young band prowled the stage like old pros and played with exuberance, energy and dynamism, as they hurtled towards us like an out of control 42 bus down Oxford Road. Not for them the same old easy gig routine as the Alps peppered their set with new tracks, between which the great tunes that led to them being swiftly snapped up by their record label were greatly appreciated by the audience of young-boy wannabes, hippy chicks and cynical old trendies, all of whom were left with something very special. As an added bonus vocalist, Sam Forrest had the hair, the head banging and the crowd - minimal in communication but maximal in dripping sweat, he was adored. So what sets Nine Black Alps apart from other new goodies we have in the indie-boy-band chocolate box? Well, they have way more depth and breadth than the Subways, and, yes, maybe they’re less political than the Brakes, with the added pressure of the Arctic Monkeys snapping at their heels, but hey, they’re unpretentious and deliver the goods. So spit on your cynicism of new young upstarts and catch them when you can, and smile and sing along to a Manchester band with Everest in their sights. |
