March 25, 2006Is it 1976? It certainly feels that way whenever The Paddingtons take to the stage these days. Or it could be the 1950s – these are angry young men with a point to prove indeed.
A gig at Yo-Yo at the Welly prior to a world wide jaunt by the local heroes is far from a surprise, even if it is a ‘secret’ outing. Word certainly got around and there was no shortage of faithful followers down the front.
We were promised material from the fivesome’s next CD, and we did indeed get it. Three tracks, all of which follow that successful template – short, sharp power punk with decent pop hooks. Tunes to jump to, energetic angry anthems for a generation reared on the X-Factor but keen to spit in its face. Songs that fit in seamlessly to a punchy and short set list that alsso includes ‘old’ favourites Worse For Wear, Some Old Girl and Sorry.
Tom Atkin, the Padd’s waife-like front man, has come a long way in a short space of time. Always blessed with a mouth as big as the Humber, Atkin’s small frame used to leave doubts in the mind as to his ability to command the chaos around him. But his stage presence is now beyond question – he’s one of the most assured lead singers currently clambering on to any stage. And he appears to love every minute of it, even daring to smile during that paean to suicide, Panic Attack.
Not all eyes are on Tom, though. The rest of the band has evolved into an incredibly tight unit, driven by Grant Dobbs’ rifle-like skin beating on the drums. Brother Lloyd continues to work up a sweat pummelling the hell out of his bass and threatening to devour the microphone whole when he’s on vocal duties.
And then there’s Marv Hines, back to full working order after his hand gash last year, and Josh Hubbard, whose choppy, angular guitar work outs defines The Paddingtons’ sound more than anything else. The six-string duo appear capable of reading each other’s minds, weaving around each other’s fret-board antics to create what is a glorious cacophony, the likes of which could have been found on a Ramones album 30 years ago but just seem so right here, right now.
It’s not a gig without its flaws – there are times when the band lose their way and come off the rails. But, when they’re on their game The Paddingtons circa 2006 are a much-improved beast. A more cohesive unit than at any point in their short history, they are also a more coherent outfit. Gone is the mad babbling and in-jokey feel of Lloyd and Tom’s between song banter, to be replaced by even more energy and a desire to give everyone a great, sweaty night out.
The current musical landscape will probably halt any chance of a rise to mainstream popularity – Atkin and his pals are not the city’s next Beautiful South, and it’s hard to imagine them conquering the charts, no matter how rightly cock sure they are on stage.
But they are brilliant at what they do and they continue to improve, giving Hull’s ever-increasing crop of live music fans hope because, in The Paddingtons, this city can claim part ownership in one of the most vibrant live bands in the country. “I hope your feeling happy now,” sings little Tom, belting out Sorry. Don’t apologise, you left us all feeling joyous.
Oh, what is it with girls in bands? Why do I get suckered in every time by a pretty face, sweaty armpits and their breathless, orgasmic vocal techniques? Ah, I see. Breathless, orgasmic.
