More on: The Rifles

Date: 28/03/08
Rating:

The Rifles... not quite sure how they've managed to win a place in this reviewer's heart, bearing in mind how morally abhorrent every single pub covers band in the world feels. They're not a guilty pleasure, because that turn of phrase involves something way too knowingly inconsistent. Aside from all of that, they display such reverie towards The Jam that an alien unfamiliar with either band would have difficulty differentiating 'Going Underground' from any of The Rifles' repertoire, not to mention passing similarities with the less proficient side of Britpop - Cast and Ocean Colour Scene, notably.

This is all subjective backdrop - now for the onslaught. A mostly beer-lobbing crowd sets the volatile situation off on the wrong footing. Jersey Budd - an awful, indistinguishably bland, bumbling support act – seem to entrench the dubious disposition irrecoverably. Then on come The Rifles, opening with their most recently released output 'Talking', which might as well be a cut from first album 'No Love Lost'. The Walthamstow four-piece know their influences and strengths, but after their second and arguably finest song 'She's Got Standards', the rest of the night feels directionless, repetitive and static. It's more evident live than on record, and the lack of varied repertoire is more of a creative criticism than one of performance, if such a fine line can be drawn. Regardless of that, the overriding feeling is one of routine.

The banter is inaudible amidst the muddy sound in the venue, but the hardcore following continue to love it anyway. New material is introduced inbetween familiar songs like 'Hometown Blues' and 'Spend Lifetime', so very similar to everything the band have produced before. Where The View wear the same jeans for x nights in a row, The Rifles mock them for doing it. Whether or not it's just as bad to give credence to the constructed 'Repeated Offender' than to be him is a matter of opinion, but such limiting themes running through the set wear thin and create a frontier on just how much impact The Rifles can possibly have, even if they do what they do as best as they can possibly do it.

The set ends and the encore predictably begins within a flash. Paul Weller is introduced onto the stage like a demi-God, and who can blame him for turning up with such levels of hero worship encircling him - it's a massive, self-perpetuating ego boost. He plays on three songs, aptly including The Jam's 'Eton Rifles', but it's a strange thing that the modfather's presence alone is what creates such levels of hysteria.

To sum it all up, it's not that The Rifles are a bad live band – far from it, in fact. It's not even that they're best captured on record, nor is it because of some stuck-up conceit (familiarity with the songs in the first place negates that notion of snootiness instantaneously). Life goes on: another mediocre, standard gig and another band tainted for predominantly conflicting reasons.

Natalie Shaw

The Rifles Official Site