A curmudgeonly live review of Cajun Dance Party from Summer 2007:
Cajun Dance Party take the prize in this egg and spoon race. One of many bands heading up the Way Out West charge of tremendously exciting bands born in the nineties, CDP are feted as heroes tonight, the penultimate date of their first headline tour. Taking to the stage through the crowd to the strains of World, four-fifths of CDP plug in and play, stating on the one. There’s no time to wait. It’s straight into the opening, future anthem chords of Time Falls. After giving it a couple of minutes, Singer Danny wanders through the scrum, resplendent in blood clot inducing trousers and hand-me-down jacket, looking like nothing so much as Tiny Tim sketched by Jim Henson. Right on cue, he launches into song, a nasal whine tangled round the mic stand.
Though Danny strutted his way happily through the set, yelping into the crowd, and getting every person under 18 into a tiz, guitarist Max was the standout, the thing that lifted the band out of the “cool band” stupor into something that could, perhaps, be magnificent. Subconsciously paying homage to that age old indie set-up of slightly irritating singer / great guitarist (hmm, Suede, Blur, Stone Roses, The Verve) his winding yet acerbic, exuberant yet tighter than sewn-in jeans jam was incredible. His shout out of “this guitar’s new. The man who gave it to me is called [hammy pause for suspense]… Bernard Butler” was a sweet and unreconstructed homage. The tracks are good, clean, and fun, brilliantly arranged and professionally preformed. Very professionally – Danny’s electro-shock boogie, his cuddling of Max, his fey mumble “Brighton, we love you,” Max’s sonic youth meets Spinal Tap strutting – CDP are damn close to the bedroom mirror. Not that this is a cynical appropriation of rock history. Far from it – they are literally the opposite of cynical. Rather that this gig felt somehow phoned in, rehearsed, appropriated.
But why is that such a big deal? How many gigs do you go to when the music not the stage show is identikit, lifted straight from the annals of Britpop (urgh) history? When the music is uninspiring, over-rehearsed and copy-cat? That’s not the case with this band – CDP are make great, fun songs that, though never jaw droppingly original, are never dull. Crowd wise, how many dancey gigs have you been to only to bemoan the lack of dancing? Why does it matter when a band so full of vim go through the motions? The factor that made the other night slightly wanting is, and I’ve been trying to avoid this, age. Not just of the band, but of the audience. They could have quite easily packed out an over eighteens show, but opening it up to over 14’s (this is such an everyday occurrence that it doesn’t even have to be mentioned at ticket retailers) it’s an just more energetic, more wild, it’s less knowing, more grinning, but sets anyone over the age of nineteen as an observer than a participant. Facing the crowd rather than a face in it. Take the moshing – it is guilty pleasure, and a bit of a daft-but-fun thing to do, but for the pit last night, it was their first time slam-dancing. It’s strange watching things that you did when you were younger done by people younger and it can’t help but seem like the band are going through the motions - enacting rock’n’roll’s rituals as much as enjoying them. Even the stage invasion felt practiced and safe – it was the air guitar of violence.
Why are journalists so fascinated by the phenomenon of under-18 nights? That’s obvious: standing in a crowd of under 18 year olds and you instantly feel, well, old. Somehow, strangely, out of the club. And that comes from the band – there is an edge (or, more accurately, a lack of an edge), an energy, a certain wide-eyedness that seems both exuberant and but a also little naïve. Listen to them on CD and you’re blown away – the Guardian recently called final song The Next Untouchable, their I Wanna Be Adored” with only fifteen stone of hyperbole. See them live (at an over 18 show) and they’re just brilliant – when they were 11 months younger, I saw them in Edinburgh, and they sounded more like the future of rock’n’roll than any cynical no r/wave. See them at an underage show and all the above will still be true. It’ll still be a great party, even though the party isn’t (y)ours. Halfway through the encore, the stage got rushed. First, a couple moshers climbed on the stage. They climbed fully behind the amps, gleeful, before the entire crowd ran forward to party with the band. The older people (all journalists, as far as I could tell) hung back and couldn’t tell musicians from fans. That, all things aside, is a beautiful thing.
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