At the end of this UK tour, The Darkness have a date booked in at Wembley Arena. Overly optimistic? Entirely, one might say, considering an earlier three-day streak on this run completed in all-seated halls, where frontman Justin Hawkinsā own admission says it allāāOh fuck, it was shit!ā Itās a rather strange tour that The Darkness have chosen to embark on here, with no apparent consistency in venue size, and coming a couple of weeks before their new album Dreams On Toast, thus cleaving a lot of promotional synergy. To a degree, you almost get the impression itās the sort of thing they have to do. In the public eye, theyāre very much past itāa million miles from their beloved debut Permission To Land, fully ditching the sorta-parody glam-metal in favour of independent hard rock thatās had all commercial viability bled from it. To the queue of mostly oldies snaking around Mountford Hall, though, that couldnāt matter less; a rock ānā roll Friday night out is its own reward.
Perhaps thatās also the logic behind having Ash in support, another band whoāve sunk into their own comfortable niche thatās been compartmentalised among an āolder rockā demographic. Donāt confuse that for being washed-up, mind, because itās certainly not the case. For a humbler rock outfit over 30 years deep, Ash still have a lot of willingness to put the work in. The rhythm section especially drills into their craft, as Mark Hamiltonās basswork proves way more dexterous and intricate than it needs to, and Rick McMurray has a real fondness for giving his drum kit a good battering, with some particular brawn on Orpheus.
In fact, the first leg of the set proves surprisingly progressive in sound overall, as Ash adventure into more detailed compositions with a lot of confidence. The only black mark is Tim Wheelerās tinnier squeal on the solo of Angel Interceptor; otherwise, itās all great. And after that, when they snap into power-pop and alt-rock thatās quicker to breeze byāyāknow, the area where Girl From Mars and Burn Baby Burn liveāit might be even better. Even a cover of Harry Belafonteās Jump In The Line (which is inexplicably being released as a single) is a lot of fun, and thankfully proves that Wheeler has the willpower to stave off some more egregious patois. That alone could serve as a microcosm for how unexpectedly, improbably good Ash are.
Better than tonightās headliners, in fact? Well, The Darkness do get off on some shakier footing with Rock And Roll Party Cowboy, a song from the upcoming album that shows off some of the post-heyday ennui that theyāre no strangers to. Considering the burned-in mental image of The Darkness is still Justin Hawkins with his jumpsuit and long, scraggly hair, the more straightforward, musically conservative incarnation thatās subsumed their earlier flash well and truly doesnāt scratch the same itch. It doesnāt take the most eagle-eyed of onlookers to notice an uptick of energy when the second and third songs are Growing On Me and Get Your Hands Off My Woman, from both crowd and band. Theyāre Permission To Land-era songs, not The Big One but still held airtight in the memory banks as youād expect from a 4x Platinum albumās cuts.
Maybe getting those done early on actually flips some kind of switch, because The Darkness seem more effective going forward. Their more theatrical tendencies havenāt gone away completely, not when youāve got a frontman as prone to borderline-comical heliumated high notes as Hawkins is. And to be fair to him, he does nail every one. Heās really the factor that continues to see this unit rise, blessed with buckets of charisma and humourāthe running gag of taking pops at Mumford And Sons lands every single timeāand a palpable, classic rockstar vibe. His swagger and vamping is cranked all the way on Mortal Dread when heās free from his guitar, and really does cross over for the majority of whatās to come. Songs like Motorheart and Barbarian reap the most tangible benefits of a live glow-up, fiery and barrel-chested with The Darkness clearly throwing themselves in. Even in the atmospheric shift from the classics to theā¦not, you canāt say that the band arenāt playing with as much conviction as they can muster.
Honestly, when you look at the arena dates pencilled in down the line, you begin to feel how much more at home The Darkness seem in a venue like this. When they arenāt about overtly grand flamboyances anymore, they can tap into a harder, more solid rock core that suits these intimate climes much better. If nothing else, thereās a vestige of larger-than-life personality maintained, when a song like Friday Night is the kind of party-rock frivolity that has more of a presence here, and that the older crowd that The Darkness draw could well view as the pinnacle of current rock music. The bones are definitely thrown to that audience; the band are obviously aware that thatās their primary demographic now, so playing snippets of Immigrant Song or Crazy Little Thing Called Love have that resonant potential. Even more so, when we do get to I Believe In A Thing Called Love, Hawkinsā decision to stop partway and tell the crowds to put their phones away to savour the moment is just asking for plaudits from the right people. And if thatās where The Darkness want to be, so be it. Itās not like itās bad for them; not at all. Even with a peak thatās miles behind them and mainstream potential thatās a shadow of what it once was, The Darknessā capacity for a good time is far from running dry.
Words by Luke Nuttall
Photos by Maryleen (Instagram / Website)
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