Concert Review by Kris Griffiths
Jesus Jones at the Electric Ballroom, London – May 2002
My musical memories of the early nineties are almost as hazy as Shaun Ryder’s but he’d agree with me that the music scene of the ‘baggy’ years wasn’t exactly a hotbed of talent. His Happy Mondays and The Stone Roses are the only indie bands of that time that still mean anything today, and then there was Jesus Jones – the indie-dance merchants that clung on to the crap clothes and hairdos of the previous decade.
From what I can remember, Jesus Jones enjoyed a brief but successful ministry before being crucified by the musical press and dying a slow death. Their resurrection, however, was postponed for ten years and they’ve recently emerged, blinking into the sunlight with a greatest hits album and a new one on the way. Will they ascend into music Elysium or descend back into oblivion?
Well on the meagre merits of tonight’s performance it appears they will be trapped in limbo for some time to come. For a start, London’s spacious Electric Ballroom is quite a strange venue choice for the unofficial comeback tour, but even stranger is the sight of so many punters who have crawled out of nowhere to salute JJ’s return, none of whom appear to be under the age of twenty-seven. When was the last time you met a Jesus Jones fan?
Anyway, the boys immediately let rip into a song that no one seems to know or like, before switching tactics and unleashing nostalgia hit number one – INTERNATIONAL BRIGHT YOUNG THING. Memories flood back like the beer from my plastic beaker. The general excitement is quickly quashed by another no-hoper but we are then sledgehammered with RIGHT HERE RIGHT NOW – their only international hit single. It feels good.
But then things go horribly wrong. Not only do the band lapse into a medley of mediocre material, it is considerably worsened by someone’s guitar going badly out of tune and all of them carrying on regardless. It sounds shit. The visibly drunk or otherwise high keyboardist bolting around the stage doing silly rock star poses doesn’t do them any favours either.
As soon as they discover the offending guitar string, things pick up again with nostalgia-hit number three – REAL, REAL, REAL – and finally another strange tune that is actually quite impressive. Too little too late, one feels. But then something amazing happens. For the encore, the band launch into WHO? WHERE? WHY? – a song deeply entrenched in my memory but one that I had completely forgotten existed until that moment. It sounds superb and after ten years since last hearing it I suddenly remember most of the lyrics and belt them out with the now ecstatic crowd.
It is a weird but wonderful way to close a concert that was consistently inconsistent from the first note played. Likewise, the second coming of Jesus Jones could be just as easily filled with glory as one doomed to failure, which is the more likely outcome. Nobody knows, but then again, apart from tonight’s die-hards, nobody really cares.
