Tuesday, July 10, 2007
Broken Family Band review for Artrocker
The Broken Family Band
Water Rats, London
6 January
The Broken Family Band were the last straw for me at the folky Green Man Festival last summer, where I saw some great music (from the likes of King Creosote, Joanna Newsom, Bonnie Prince Billy) but eventually came out in a rash from listening to men with beards complaining that their girlfriends are never as nice to them as their mum was, or something. They’ve been getting good word-of-mouth, though, so I thought they deserved a second chance last week, headlining in one of my favourite venues. Now I know better.
The Broken Family Band used to be an indie band called Hofman; for whatever reason they decided to jump on the folky wagon, and here they are. They play chugging, twangy, bland songs. I fear this may be alt country. The problem is that they don’t really mean what they say - they’re going through the motions. Whatever you want to call it - integrity, soul, honesty, bottle - they don’t have it.
There’s a lot of chat in between songs, lots of friendly heckling. Singer Steven Adams is wearing New Balance trainers, Carhartt jeans and a Penguin shirt; he’s an indie-folk android. His banter is self-deprecating, smug and not half as funny as he thinks it is. Is he like that in general, or just when he’s on stage? I don’t know what this band think or feel about anything, except I’m sure they’re chuffed to have got this far. Chris Martin means it more than they do. They sing a shouty, soulless song about loving Jesus Christ. Do they really? Who knows. Maybe it doesn’t matter. I idly imagine Jason Pierce, a man who knows how to write a song about Jesus, walking on to the stage and beating them up with a big crucifix.
Where the Hell is my Baby? is their best song. Which makes me think it’s a cover version. Also, these boys are from Cambridge; I’ve met lots of people from Cambridge and none of them says “where the hell” or “my baby”, even if they have had a couple of holidays in Texas. They might as well sing about Route 66 or Taco Bell.
In a way, none of this would matter if the songs were great. But it does matter, because the songs will never be great until these boys get some soul.
Water Rats, London
6 January
The Broken Family Band were the last straw for me at the folky Green Man Festival last summer, where I saw some great music (from the likes of King Creosote, Joanna Newsom, Bonnie Prince Billy) but eventually came out in a rash from listening to men with beards complaining that their girlfriends are never as nice to them as their mum was, or something. They’ve been getting good word-of-mouth, though, so I thought they deserved a second chance last week, headlining in one of my favourite venues. Now I know better.
The Broken Family Band used to be an indie band called Hofman; for whatever reason they decided to jump on the folky wagon, and here they are. They play chugging, twangy, bland songs. I fear this may be alt country. The problem is that they don’t really mean what they say - they’re going through the motions. Whatever you want to call it - integrity, soul, honesty, bottle - they don’t have it.
There’s a lot of chat in between songs, lots of friendly heckling. Singer Steven Adams is wearing New Balance trainers, Carhartt jeans and a Penguin shirt; he’s an indie-folk android. His banter is self-deprecating, smug and not half as funny as he thinks it is. Is he like that in general, or just when he’s on stage? I don’t know what this band think or feel about anything, except I’m sure they’re chuffed to have got this far. Chris Martin means it more than they do. They sing a shouty, soulless song about loving Jesus Christ. Do they really? Who knows. Maybe it doesn’t matter. I idly imagine Jason Pierce, a man who knows how to write a song about Jesus, walking on to the stage and beating them up with a big crucifix.
Where the Hell is my Baby? is their best song. Which makes me think it’s a cover version. Also, these boys are from Cambridge; I’ve met lots of people from Cambridge and none of them says “where the hell” or “my baby”, even if they have had a couple of holidays in Texas. They might as well sing about Route 66 or Taco Bell.
In a way, none of this would matter if the songs were great. But it does matter, because the songs will never be great until these boys get some soul.
