Following a fairly brief closure for renovation, the new Manchester Ritz is back in business. At a glance, the place doesn’t look radically different, but the drinks prices have certainly risen to match the grandeur of the name. Top tip: get pissed beforehand, if you’re that way inclined.
Thrift can take a back seat on this occasion, because the line-up is tantalising enough to placate Scrooge himself, were he a fan of indie guitar music. San Franciscan upstarts Girls arrive looking like the headliners they are (the promoters have merged the once separate two shows tonight, to form a joint headline bill). When three gospel singers decked in white band t-shirts enter stage left, it becomes apparent that this is no ordinary rock production. Lead singer and songwriter Christopher Owens is clad in a polka dot blouse and some crotch-crushingly tight, high-waisted jeans, his face obscured by a bleach blonde mop of curls. Owens’ gaunt figure defies expectation but, when he opens his mouth, it all makes sense.
From the Undertones-esque pop-punk of latest single 'Honey Bunny', to the delicate balladry of 'Love Like a River', Girls sound even better live than on record. The gospel singers add depth to the harmonies and, far from looking like impassive session musicians, they seem to be enjoying the show as much, if not more, than the band themselves – none more so than during 'Die', which turns into a Spiritualized-style blowout. Throw in a big suit and a standard lamp and you’re not far from Talking Heads’ Stop Making Sense show. To end their feature length set, Girls toss flowers into the audience who by now are eating out of their palms.
As Stephen Malkmus & the Jicks hit the stage, an idiot to my left shouts “play 'Gold Soundz'! [from Pavement’s ‘Crooked Rain, Crooked Rain’]” It’s time to move further to the right. “Yo yo yohhhh! How you doin’?” says Malkmus, looking in good shape for a 45-year-old father of two. He yells the opening lyric: “I know what the senator wants / what the senator wants is a blow job!” There’s not too much evidence that fatherhood has dragged him into maturity. Most of the night’s set is taken from their excellent new album Mirror Traffic, including the fantastic nonsense of 'Stick Figures in Love', which encapsulates Malkmus’ trademark meandering melodies, surreal lyrics and dissonant guitar hooks.
Throughout the night, Malkmus performs like an animatronic doll, his voice and movement activated by his guitar; one minute he's strumming listlessly, the next bouncing around the stage in lanky, spaceman leaps. A band communicating with the audience in any kind of engaging way seems to be a thing of the past, but Malkmus’ various commentaries bring a welcome sense of fun to the evening. After one of several false starts, Malkmus philosophises in a stoned drawl: “It’s all just music, man. We could be playing different songs and it would still sound good”.
The highlight of the show is preceded by a long rant about onstage nudity: “We’ve played two shows so far, and both audiences have asked us to get our tits out! Maybe it’s true, the '90s are coming back!” and also some disturbing (and hopefully false!) revelations: “This song is about my Catholic upbringing and all the priests and the shit they did to me. This is for you, Father Terrence. Fuck you!” It takes a few seconds for Malkmus to realise that he is playing the wrong song. “I thought this was a different song. This song is actually for the Hull City Tigers. May they rise to the top again”. So, next time you’re watching The Football League Show, think of Stephen and listen out for choruses of “we are The Tigers/we need separate rooms!” reverberating around Hull’s KC Stadium. Or just go to bed after Match of the Day.