The Sugarmill, Stoke-on-Trent
The current issue of Q magazine contains a fascinating flowchart connecting the main players in what seems like rock's new ruling elite. Follow the arrows and you'll discover that various members of the ubiquitous English folk bands Mumford and Sons and Noah and the Whale, not to mention Laura Marling, have all played together and, on occasion, slept together. Nothing surprising in that, of course, but what seems, in these recessionary times, to wind some people up is that many of them went to private school.
The journalist Jon Savage recently called the prevailing sound of this apparently gilded set "Tory rock-lite". Factor in the Word magazine's survey last December, which complained that music was, like the rest of the country, now merely the playground of the posh, and it spells trouble for an up-and-coming band like the Vaccines who are a) nicely brought-up young men, b) connected to this new establishment by virtue of singer Justin Young having shared a flat with Marcus Mumford. So, who'd be a well-spoken pop star at a time when the mother of old Harrovian James Blunt is writing emails to Radio 4, as she did a couple of weeks ago, bemoaning the beastly treatment her son has received from the lower orders?
It hasn't helped that the Vaccines' guitarist Freddie Cowan's mum once gave an interview to the Daily Telegraph in order to flog her multi-million-pound property portfolio. It was four years ago, admittedly, but now, of course, sits online forever.
It's technology that's the real problem for the Vaccines and other new artists as the digital age rapidly evolves. Snobbery's an ugly thing, and that includes the inverse kind, but, at its best, pop is a space where class norms can be toyed with ? just ask miner's son Bryan Ferry ? but these things take time. And time has been permanently warped by social media: the rush to be first is now so accelerated that every aspect of an artist's work and background is carved up ? and sized up ? before they're even out of the traps (better to sneak up on people like Tinie Tempah or the xx). So when the Vaccines, formed in June 2010 and yet to release an album, finished third in both the Brits Critics' Choice and BBC's Sound of 2011 poll, then appeared on an NME cover, billed as this year's great big rock hope, the sound of critics' knives being sharpened grew ever louder.
But the truth is that the general public will care little about your alma mater just as long as everything's going well. And it might be a dull Tuesday night in the Midlands but there are several moments during the Vaccines' punchy 30-minute set when it's easy to imagine you're in a heaving tent at a summer festival rather than this sweaty shoebox in Stoke. First there's the small mosh pit that whirls into existence during the 84-second duration of "Wreckin' Bar (Ra Ra Ra)", the band's surf punk calling-card, which they courageously, and correctly, get out of the way first. Then there are the spontaneous outbreaks of overhead handclaps that occur half way through the more epic "All in White", their best song, and, like half of the evening's tunes, not actually available until March's debut album, the defensively titled What Did You Expect from the Vaccines?.
By the time an incomprehensible football chant rings out just before "A Lack of Understanding" it's clear that the feverish reception is no class conspiracy, more a case of supply and demand. It will never be fashionable but there's always a market for good-time rock that hits the spot at the indie disco ? and there's not a lot of it around at the moment, what with the charts full of homegrown pop and R&B.
And the Vaccines are at least more inclusive than the laddish perpetrators of the landfill indie era of a few years back. At times they seem downright soppy, especially when singer Young shakes his fringe from side-to-side like a children's TV presenter. And occasionally that indie disco may as well have been beamed in from the late 80s, the post-Smiths, pre-dance-music period when loud guitars and a gentle mateyness was king. When Young, during the bouncy "Noorgard", talks of a girl who "don't wanna go steady/she's only 17, so she's probably not ready" he's more concerned older brother than predatory potential lover.
Indeed, for a band rooted in the vigorously short and sharp, and who sing the praises of classic rock'n'roll, there's a curious absence of electricity, or grit. Only a smooth escapism, which, for better or worse, seems in tune with the times.
Paula Garcés Genelle Frenoy Shania Twain Gwen Stefani Sunny Mabrey
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