We Start Fires

Normally when faced with a choice between a dark, blackened room and an inviting restaurant I would choose the latter. I think most people would, especially one which offers both bar and grill facilities. But tonight is different. Tonight we are promised a replacement for warmth and light in the form of Darlington four-piece We Start Fires.

The band has earned an uncompromising reputation of being able to warm the cockles like no other, blurring the (already hazy) lines of the pop-bitch guitar genre. In the past few years they have topped download charts, become_ NME _darlings and have even had a mention in the late John Peel’s Autobiography. High praise indeed for fire starters.

Tonight, facing a billowing arrangement of media and fuzzy-headed fans, WSF come out guns-a-blazing using the classic combination of bleach-blonde hair and eye shadow to good effect. So good, in fact, that lead singer Becky forces most men around me into a trance-like state of appreciation and awe. The Fires have something to prove to the London massive and they’re not afraid to use make-up to aid their efforts.

Opening the evening is 'Play You', which gradually builds and crashes around a snarling bassline and an undulating drumbeat. Former single 'Hot Metal' swiftly follows and kicks like a dollop of wasabi on a ham and cheese sandwich. Lone male representative, Ash Fire, provides ample and solid back-up with tantric drumming, broadcasting an air of cocky confidence usually reserved for the doormen of establishments such as tonight's venue.

'Strut' does exactly what it promises and gets everybody within a hundred-mile radius harking back to their favorite '80s memories. Remember Transformers? More of the same is discharged out into the audience with their upcoming single 'Blackout' and the climactic 'Cheating Hearts' smashing up the indie rule-book and dumping it into their home-crafted inferno. “Jump, let loose London” are our immediate pre-song instructions and we duly oblige before 'Wired' although 'jumping' probably wouldn’t be the best way to describe what we, the audience, are doing. More of a pathetic but enthusiastic shuffle from side-to-side, but at least the thought is there.

The noir ambience capitulates from the beginning but strangely enough also stirs up another side of WSF. We are witnesses to a darker and more confident side which reaches out and grabs listeners by the scruff of the neck, threatening to steal their dinner money if we don’t listen intently.

An amazing gig? No. A great gig? Yes, but let’s just hope, for everyone’s sake, that they start drinking decaf soon…