Neil's Children
The Answering Machine
Plastic Passion
Artrocker All Ages Club
@ Roundhouse, London
Saturday October 13 2007

Rock 'n' roll might usually be an after dark pastime, but today we've arrived at the designer art space of the Roundhouse at about the time most civilized people are sitting down to a spot of luncheon. It's time for the Saturday afternoon shindig known as the Artrocker All Ages Club - one of a series of daytime gigs put together by Artrocker mag with the intention of allowing the kids to get down with, er, the kids. The whole caboodle is sponsored by Doctor Martens all purpose action footwear, and takes place in the smaller auditorium at the Roundhouse known as the FREEDM studio (do you see what they did there?).

It's one of those 'everybody wins' situations, I suppose. Younger fans who can't attend normal gigs get to see their favourite bands; the bands get to play to a fresh crowd. The Roundhouse gets to do some good business at a time when the venue would otherwise be empty, while Artrocker gets to put on some cool gigs presumably at no cost - and Doctor Marten gets to re-establish himself with what was once his core market, until Converse, Vans, New Rock and a host of other footwear brands stole the yoof demographic out from under the good Doctor's petrol-resistant soles.

But we're here for the rock 'n' roll, so let's welcome on stage...

Plastic Passion, who have a nice line in seventies hairstyles and sound like a grungy version of Franz Ferdinand. That's not an uncommon concept in the indie scene of today, of course. The woods are full of bands that sound like grungy versions of Franz Ferdinand. Come to that, seventies hairstyles aren't exactly rare, either. I suppose this means that we can either hail Plastic Passion for their sure grip of the zeitgeist, or castigate them for their same-as-all-the-rest scenester style. Anyhow, they rock up a suitably stonking rhythmic brew, all punk-funk riffs and boldy struck basslines, and in other circumstances I dare say I would dig 'em. Somehow, today, they don't quite connect. Maybe it's because there's a bit too much of that grungy seventies sensibility about the band. Some of their songs sound encouragingly like distant cousins of 'At Home He's A Tourist', which is fine by me. And yet, when the guitar gets its chunky riff on, I can't help wondering if the band harbour a secret desire to head into a muso-jam on 'Sweet Home Alabama'. They never quite go there, but all the same, it's a thought I'd rather not have in my head.

The Answering Machine push things in a vaguely sixties-ish mod-pop direction, as filtered through a vintage eighties indie sensibility. I wouldn't be surprised if they revere Primal Scream's original indie-jangle incarnation, while deploring their descent into dadrock (let's face it, we all deplore that). Fortunately, they pack a bit more of a sonic punch than my use of the dreaded j-word might indicate. Every song is an amiable indie anthem, a guitar-driven evocation of the university disco circa 1989. Since the members of the band all appear a touch too young to have attended university in the allegedly golden eighties, I assume that their vintage vibe is by way of being a deliberate retro thing. And in fairness, they do it well. But, speaking as someone who is plenty old enough to remember those allegedly golden eighties, I'm not sure if I want to have the playlists of old Kid Jensen shows distilled down and flung at me by a band which probably never even heard that particular incarnation of Radio One's alternative output. But for the younger Artrocker kidz, who have no such excess baggage in their brains, it's all just fine. Here comes the new indie, heavily influenced by the old indie. You'll probably already know if you're going to like it or not.

Our headliners, Neil's Children, are metaphorically blinking in the daylight. A kind of don't-mention-The-Horrors excursion into the pointy boots and black threads zone, they come across like a bunch of weirdos whose idea of a good time is to spend all day sitting at the back table of the coffee bar, giving the customers unsettling stares. On stage, they're taciturn and purposeful (the bassist spends most of the set turned sideways, as if he can't be doing with that untidy crowd of people watching his every move) and they brew up a fractious late-night garage punk stew - no mean feat in the middle of the day. Pitching their noise somewhere between pre-hippy psychedelia and post-Pistols punk, they're the kind of band Joy Division might have turned into if they'd been locked up for six months with nothing to listen to apart from the more angsty albums of Neil Young's repertoire. (I wonder, incidentally, if the band name drops a hint in this very direction). Certainly, the singer's vocal, a freaked-out yelp, sounds at times like Old Sideburns himself, if he'd been put through the London punk rock mincer. Either that, or Robert Smith if you unexpectedly pinched his bum. The sound is taut and powerful, the songs terse and structured, and the guitar is never less than a headlong silde down a scree of fuzzed-out noise. A neat selection of ingredients, effectively delivered - but it's the final song, a gleeful kickabout of Syd Barrett's 'Lucifer Sam' that nails the band's sonic stance and provides them with the big closing anthem. In a way, it's a slight downer that the band's big finish is based around a cover version - it would be far better if they could take one of their own songs to such shuddering heights - but what the hell. There's no arguing with that racket, or indeed the band's enticing moodiness. Neil's Children bring their own brand of frazzled darkness to this Saturday afternoon in Camden.

On the way out, I take the liberty of clocking the footwear choices of the assembled kidz. Sure enough, the products of Mr Vans and Mr Converse are well represented, along with less readily recognisable trainers and leisure boots of one sort or another. But nobody is wearing Doctor Martens.

Looks like the good Doctor has a mountain to climb yet.

Essential links:

Neil's Children: Website | MySpace
The Answering Machine: Website | MySpace
Plastic Passion: MySpace

Artrocker: Website | MySpace

For more photos from this gig, find Neil's Children by name here.