Temples @ The Leadmill // Live Review

Temples foremost psych rockers return with their sophomore album of 60s and 70s-inspired tunes.

A suavely-dressed bunch of 60s and 70s obsessives, they had both the tunes and the look to take them to the dizziest heights of fame. Tonight, however, many of the tunes trotted out from their second album ‘Volcano’ land like a damp squib.

By the time frontman James Bagshaw saunters on to the stage, on time and on point in a loose leather jacket, the crowd is three beers in and fairly subdued. Crowd interaction is kept to a minimum, a few obligatory thank you’s here and there – whether the toil of touring is on show or the foursome don’t want to tamper with the entrancement of their music is unclear, but aside from a few bouts of rapturous applause during hits like ‘Colours to Life’ and ‘Sun Structures’ the atmosphere is very polite and cordial as opposed to the rowdiness of previous gigs.

Opener ‘All Join In’, taken from their new album, opens up with industrial sounding drums and pivots into sitar-sounding chords, mimicking the best of Echo and the Bunnymen. Here Bagshaw’s aloofness works, as he murmurs ‘Televised people always look the same/ Realise, future is a dying game’ with the dead-eyed malaise of someone who’s been making the rounds on stages for decades.

‘Keep in the Dark’ is a T-Rex throwback, the glam rock stomp of the drums being a welcome respite from the 7 minute spacey wig outs throughout. It becomes clear in these moments that the band don’t have the technical nous to pull off all this psychedelic noodling and are much better at crafting hooks and melodies.

Very few artists, aside from Tame Impala’s Kevin Parker, are able to achieve both simultaneously and rather than gradually building swathes of sound many of the longer songs simply go off on a an endless spiralling tangent with no discernible end.

The thundering drums and crunchy bassline of ‘Certainty’ early on is a treat and ‘Shelter Song’ during the encore is by far the highlight of the gig, a kaleidoscopic dancefloor filler that will forever reek of cool.

By Erin Doyle for Avant Garbage