The Peaks
Live
Reeling from La Scala’s drink prices (£2.50 for a Diet Coke!), I was in need of something to steady my nerves. Warm up band of the evening Sub Pop Sunday started off shakily, struggling a little to keep in time and not looking entirely at home on the vast stage. But by track three, they were experimenting with carnival-inspired maraca beats over the standard guitar fare.
Track four saw more variety, with a lilting, bluesy vibe that got your toe-tapping. The unlikely-named lead singer, Rich Judge, blossoms in the crowd’s warm reception and the vocals grow in gusto. The riffs are repetitive but catchy, an acoustic guitar adding a swinging authenticity.
The last few tracks regressed somewhat to standard, repetitive, slower numbers, relying heavily on simple chord structures and heavy strumming. Not enough variety to keep the audience really interested.
Despite having four members, Sub Pop Sunday is really all about the charismatic lead singer and shyly good-looking lead guitarist. This isn’t enough to distinguish them over any other solid guitar band, and more exploitation of the funky elements is needed to make them shine.
After Sub Pop Sunday, the crowed swelled in eager expectation of the main course; The Peaks. Strutting with supreme confidence onto the stage, this is a band certain of their skill and revelling in their adoring audience.
The set starts off well with Doors-esque grimy, pulsing guitars, and Jeremie Benjamin swaggering with the testosterone-fuelled good looks of Jim Morrison. Working his microphone like a fat man in a Porsche, Benjamin’s strong, gravely voice carries well over the relentless drums and dramatic keys of ‘Turn You On’. He stares fearlessly into every corner of the crowd – this self-styled rock god – and the girls lap it up.
Multi-talented pianist Mathew Street takes over the lyrics on many songs, leaving Benjamin looking slightly bereft and a little miffed at sharing the limelight. In fairness, Street’s voice is not as strong, but he scores questionable points for sheer grit and heartfelt emotion.
Unfortunately, after the funky, grungy opening, the set strays into Pop Idol style cheesy sentiment, with clichéd lyrics, predictable harmonies and overblown endings. ‘Out of the Box’ would be at home on a Spiderman soundtrack. It’s polished but over-sincere and I don’t quite buy it.
My suspicions of ego are confirmed as track five is dedicated “to the ladies”. More one-dimensional lyrics follow in Mathew Street’s slightly affected, mid-Atlantic twang. These two tracks are the definite low point of the set, as the epic songs of Meatloaf length and ambition lose their focus. So does bored-looking Benjamin who resorts to pouting, posturing and ‘working’ the crowd.
“Do you like rock and roll? Do you wanna rock and roll with me?”, Street asks the crowd: the icing on the (cheese) cake.
The set picks up towards the end, with Jeremie Benjamin’s self-proclaimed ‘favourite’ song. No surprise, really, when the defiant, drum-charged riffs kick in, all but drowning out the keys. The Peaks delve briefly into syncopated beats – with a tantalising nod to Interpol – before reigning in the funky section in favour of the regular, keys-led march, hovering firmly around the same chord structure.
The 60s vibe to song, ‘Friend’, dabbles with a heavier Beach Boys sound, and elicits clapping from the crowd. But it again hovers round a safe chord structure, and is catchy in the guilty way you find your toe tapping to McFly.
The soft rock sincerity reaches an excruciating climax in the last few songs of the night. Repeatedly we’re assured it’s the last track; but without fail, there’s another one. Grimacing and gurning their way through the bland and insipid lines, the riff repeats ad infinitum.
The drama is encapsulated in a blatant bang-bang-crash rip off of Queen’s We Will Rock You, and – presumably overcome with emotion – a final abandonment of any pretence at lyrics in favour of lots of nur nur na nurr-ing.
By the time The Peaks finally exit the stage, I feel drained. After such a show of passion and pomp, I can only imagine how exhausted they must feel. However, I’ve a sneaky feeling their collective ego will keep them buoyant.
Written by Bennett on
