Though far from the grandeur of the vast, sloping floor and beer sponsorship of London's Brixton Academy, the 9:30 club provided an ample venue for the throngs of braces-faced teens to worship Brit up-and-comers Razorlight on Sunday, Jan. 16.
The four lanky rock stars are accustomed to the idolatry imposed on them by hormonal English girls. Recent sold-out consecutive nights in London with 4,300-plus audiences are a standard occurrence. Their goal of dominating the States-side music scene has proved a bit less fruitless - Sunday night's gig seemed only slightly above half-capacity. However, those packed toward the stage front were appreciatively enthusiastic toward the newcomers.
Lead singer Johnny Borrell is the most recognized and shameless group member. His scraggly hair, crooked teeth and amorphous frame fit the popular stereotype, and his amplifier-climbing antics exemplify his augmenting ego. Opening the show with "Don't Go Back to Dalston," a curious reference to a town closer to Glasgow than London, the rockers initiated their album-long plunge into periodically banal guitar riffs and repetitive lyrics.
Highlights from the set included the somewhat unique single "Golden Touch," which embraces harmony and verse like none of Razorlight's other efforts. The roaring "Up All Night" acted as the evening's apex and featured Borrell's upward climb toward the balcony and indigenous squatting at the top. The scattered low-key tracks like "In the City" might have been intended to showcase any standout talent of its members; however, they left the crowd confused and unable to dance, awkwardly stretching their sore calves and lighting fresh cigarettes.
The band's debut release, "Up All Night," contains only 13 tracks, and all managed to secure a position in the spotlight. Despite this limited material and an audience consisting mostly of juveniles, Razorlight managed to put forth an entertaining and vivacious performance completed by the sweat expected from such gritty rock stars. Johnny Borrell also managed to prove that no performance is complete without the obvious removal of his confining T-shirt.
