WHITE DENIM / BOY AZOOGA | LIVE REVIEW
Tramshed, Cardiff, Tue 30 July
It’s fair to say that Texan rockers White Denim [above] are best enjoyed live. With their spirit of spontaneity and insatiable appetite for guitar riffs, even their recorded music sounds like a performance (which conveniently provided the title for their 2018 album). Fresh from the release of their latest LP Side Effects, this Tramshed gig finds the band midway through their UK tour.
Cardiff’s own psychedelic adventurers Boy Azooga [below] are down as support act, attracting a crowd that even a headliner would be pleased with. And as you’d expect, they receive the warmest of welcomes in their home city. After 2018 debut album 1, 2, Kung Fu!, the four-piece appear surprisingly modest considering their rapid success. The crowd are bouncing for Face Behind Her Cigarette, an indie earworm that commands a broad sonic palette of twitchy synths and swaggering percussion with the sleek sophistication of a very expensive car advert.
As for White Denim, there’s an astonishing telepathy between them that is rare to see, switching tempo and genre with the ease of an iPod on shuffle. Disparate musical influences, from classic rock to freeform jazz, make them difficult to pin down. Punk and funk are melded seamlessly together in unconventional song structures, with pulsing motorik beats sliding smoothly into groovy intervals of free-flowing jams. But these sudden changes in rhythm and style are never confusing: rather, they just make you want to listen more closely.
James Petralli’s voice is at its most soulful and ecstatic (particularly for Backseat Driver), complimented by his wildly orgasmic facial expressions. Meanwhile, his deadpan co-founder Steve Terebecki displays formidable skill on bass. Shades of The Who spring to mind too, mainly when you watch Greg Clifford attack his drum kit à la Keith Moon. At other points, they’re like a 70s prog band in disguise, especially when Michael Hunter mashes away at his keyboard like a latter-day Rick Wakeman. But those slightly overindulgent interludes of riffs and solos are forgivable, given the band’s authentic and unpretentious performance style.
White Denim’s airtight musical dexterity and effortless synergy would impress even the most experienced gig-goers. “Fuckin’ fantastic, mun,” slurs the man standing next to me — and I’m inclined to agree.
words SAM PRYCE photos SIMON AYRE