Leeds Cockpit
Strewth,
it's quiet in here, quiet enough to hear a fag butt drop, in fact. Because there's a kind
of hush around the Cockpit; the sort of deafeningly intense silence that causes
embarrassed punters to shut themselves up. Tomorrow night the Symposium and A powerpop
whirlwind hits town. Right now, however, the vibe is more gently swaying tumbleweed than
tumbilng stagedivers.
See, you can say many, many things about Unbelievable Truth but very few of them would
ever be along the lines of 'A flippin' frenetic bloodied nose'n'blasted ears kinda night
out. With added kebabs'. No sirree. After just over a year of discreet Oxford-based
mutterings vis-à-vis doomy pop glories and whispered family ties, the Truth have reached
first base with the release of their 'Almost Here' album, and they're already collecting
their very own hecklers. "How's Thom?" yells one such tyke. Pause. A sudden
stillness. Oh shit. What happens now? "That's funny," retorts Andy Yorke, with
the wriest of smiles. Cue massed laughter and applause. Phew! for a minute there...
The odd thing is that while Andy sings, plays guitar and indulges in the sort of
monosyllabic deep-throated banter that marks his card as a future snooker commentator,
there are most certainly other significant forces at work in the Unbelievable Truth's
machine. Step forward Nigel Powell, drummer of this very parish: not only does Nigel keep
rhythm, he also adds backing vocals, switches to maudlin piano whenever necessary, is
responsible for production duties on 'Almost Here' and looks like a Psychic TV roadie.
An odder thing is that Nigel looks, therefore, like precisely the sort of person who would
avoid an Unbelievable Truth live soiree like the proverbial bubonic plague. Already, the
Truth's sweat-free diet of big acoustic guitars, heavy vibes and angstlite lyrics is
attracting slack-jawed reverence from the 20-something generation who know their Crowded
House from their crowded arse, and much of this swelling set justifies the rubbernecking.
True, there are times when
the unfamiliarity of some of the material sees the foursome nudge the line separating the
intimate from the potentially aggravating -if nothing else the Unbelievable Truth are
masters of their own intricate destiny, and they're bloody well going to let us know about
it. And when an admirably deadpan Andy rumbles, "This is an acoustic bit,"
you're struck by a horrible vision of a parallel world wherein Dani from Cradle Of Filth
somewhat unnecessarily leers, "This one's a bit gothic".
Too much sodding perspective? Of course. But when focusing on Unbelievable Truth's faults
and flimsy spots, it's worth stepping back and considering that they released their first
single just over a year ago, and that the likes of 'Higher Than Reason', 'Stone' and the
exquisite 'Finest Little Space' are strident, resounding open salvos from a band who've
hardly even started yet.
Come to close, Nigel -true to bizarre, anything-but-aloof form- dishes out set lists to
the front row before scampering offstage. The slack jaws for once snap shut in
astonishment. Good. After all, isn't silence supposed to be golden?