The Dig get around. They have toured with many respectable bands including The Editors, The Joy Formidable, The Walkmen and now, Scottish indie band, Glasvegas. A lot of positive buzz brought this band to my attention, plus a comment from a good friend who compared their likeness with The Walkmen, so I arrived early and snagged a bar stool to check them out. The place was not packed, but at 9pm on a Tuesday evening, this was not a shocker.
Seeing the The Dig live, one might close their eyes to imagine a suited up gaggle of Paul Banks oogling back at them, but The Dig are more than just an Interpol impression. Their songs are textured with layered distortion at times and climax with rhythmic satisfaction. Singer David Balwin lends a bit of Jonathan Fire Eater charm to some of their catchier songs, but they never reach the arty angst that The Walkmen dutifully master. These boys are young, and at times there is an awkwardness to the performance that suggests this might be their second performance ever. Until the last song they played, it was in such direct contrast to their entire set. It stuck out like a sore thumb, a blues-rock college bar tune with lots of fun clapping that seemed odd in contrast to their previous songs.
Pocketed behind the arresting emotional climax of each song is a sincerity that every girl wants in first date. That’s the thing, The Dig play out like a pretty good first date; they charm you, they flirt with you, they tease you emotionally and then beg to see you again, on June 11th at the Red Palace, where you can meet their friends, The Postelles.
James Allan is not Bono, so why is he suddenly just as pompous? Taking to the stage minus the dramatic lights and fog that complimented the self-titled Glasvegas album so well, the band now seem like they are a caricature of themselves. When I saw them in 2007 (I think it was), the dense fog and dramatic stage presence complimented the dramatic allure of Allan’s vocals. Oh sweet salvation, his voice is like a bathtub full of Nutella, sultry velvet cream that I want to lather my entire body in. Sadly, it’s evident that the UK success of their first album (deservingly so) has gone to his head. He struts around stage like A Clockwork Orange’s Alex parading songs off of Euphoric///Heartbreak\\\ around like a beating stick.
The encore changed my impression of the show, playing more songs from their first album. I wonder if I am just not a fan of the new. I don’t really think that’s the case. This time around, the band just seem packaged and ready for market. There are some earth shatteringly brilliant tracks on the new album. For instance, “You” could make a viking soldier weep uncontrollably into his mead.
Luckily, I was in good company that night, and epic Glasvegas adventures awaited me. First of all, I am on crutches with a broken toe, which provides the perfect conversation starter for complete strangers. Thankfully, I embrace that sort of thing. So, I’m gimping by a couple members of The Dig, when lead singer David offers up the delightful anecdote, “I broke my foot once,” and I say, “Oh yeah?” and he says, “Yeah, jumping off a van.” I smile and tell my lame story of a table falling on it in an empty chapel, THANKS GOD. His story is much more cool/stupid.
A bit more chit chat with the nice boys, and I make my way out to find my dear friend Holly, who made it her mission to ask James why Glasvegas changed so much live since their last tour. As I make my way up to her, there is a sloppy-ass bitch standing next to her. Holly gives me holy-shit eyes and I whisper to her, “Is that the bitch that spilled three bills on you and tried to fight you during the show?” She nods, wide eyed, bewildered. Dunk-slut senses conflict (or perhaps I talk too loud) and starts to antagonize Holly again. I immediately jump in to defend her and bitch totally tried to kick my crutches out from under me. As I lift my crutch to finally jab someone in the face with one, her jock super-hero boyfriend jumps in, and drags her away, mouthing “Sorry” as she kicks and screams in his clutches.
After this crisis subsides, I hone in on a super-fan cooing over James. “Oh James, you guys were just wonderful” and other drivel, as she continues to dote on him. Actually, Holly’s account of the conversation is worth inserting into this review:
It was pretty amusing. I don’t remember every bit of the conversation, but the key components were that I pulled him away from adoring fans to be like “Dude, what happened? Why did you change?” He said things like that he never wanted to play guitar and sing, but he always wanted to be just a front man. I told him the last time I saw them was a life changing experience but that last night was just “meh.” [My thoughts exactly.]
Some chick walked up and was asking about who had played that night and asked how the show went, and he said something along the lines of “I thought it went well, but I think she’d [pointing at me] have something different to say about it” or something like that. We also talked about the time he was having breakfast with Morrissey [Jenn got an amazing quote from this story], and they saw Dolph Lundgren! Jenn is probably a better resource because she was taking notes the whole time! It was pretty hilarious. There were a lot of stupid people involved in the conversation, mostly asking if he was into Snow Patrol, and what it was like to tour with U2… and generally just kissing his ass.”
Um, I laughed so hard when that guy asked him “what was it like to tour with U2” because for a moment, I thought he was taking the piss because he looked like Bono on stage. I really didn’t get much of the whole Morrissey conversation because there was so much going on at once, but I did write down that James referred to him as a “jaded, cynical sausage eater.”
A later email from Holly revealed this gem, of which my notes record a similar comment:
I just remembered more ridiculousness. When we were talking about them changing and the ass kissers were chiming in saying that artists have to change and develop, James kept looking at my boobs and saying “like how her breasts are developing?” He said it no less than 3 times.
Oh dear James, “I know I need hardly say, how much I love your casual way, oh, but please put your tongue away.”
