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Fortunately, he’s also spent long enough at the bar and the company of his fellow Yards to not let the malice that he may once have felt to cloud tonight’s performance. Instead, his intention is to let his band’s music and his voice, one of the finest of his generation, to do the talking.
 | | The Yards (photo: Andy Stubbs) |
He’s not the only one in the band who’s made use of the rider before they took the stage, but the general spirit of rowdiness makes for a barnstorming set. Chris Farrell’s guitar beside Helme let rip mighty rock lick after massive roll riff, Jon Hargreaves’ keyboard bounced along with a smile on its face, and behind that trio, Stuart Fletcher and John Miller kept the rhythm section as tight as their band mates were loose. Acid and awe mixed through his opening vocals, Helme belted into Get Off My Back and the stormingly anthemic On The Inside, before a quick scuffle with his microphone and a broken string brought him down to smiling earth. On landing, the acid turned to sweet aggression and, between drifting banter and the occasional rude gesture, punishingly vibrant versions of The Devil Is Alive And Well And In DC and California shook the Roadhouse.
The closing Fireflies started quietly and built into a smashing, grabbing, sweating, rock and roll wig-out that saw Farrell’s lead guitar soar from his back and be held, strap dangling, tight against himself to drag out feedback, Helme play Hargreaves’ keyboard with his head, and Jeff Buckley’s reworking of Nina Simone’s Be My Wife tumble and fall into its finale. As parting shots go, it was about as powerful as they come. If Helme came to bury a ghost, he succeeded. Here’s to his, and the Yards’, future. |
