It has now been roughly seven months since the members of The Social Club first approached me in the Deaf Institute smoking area asserting that they wanted to bring back Britpop. Akin to a drunken Ian Curtis approaching Tony Wilson in 1977 to put Joy Division on TV, the boys in the band wanted a review of their headline show – and they got one. Quite a flattering one, at that.
Since then, The Social Club have shown no signs of stopping, playing a dizzying amount of support slots and festival slots around Manchester – and, at times, further afield. Put simply, they’ve grafted. And what better way to present the progress they’ve made as a group than to return to the venue in which they first headlined?
The Social Club returned to Lions Den in Deansgate at the end of October to prove two things. Firstly, that their back catalogue of unreleased gems had only become increasingly varied and enriched, and secondly, that their infectious energy, first displayed seven months ago, showed no sign of disappearing anytime soon. Their headline comeback was everything that it needed to be to reassert themselves as the most marvellous and melodic of student bands.
The Social Club’s setlist, thoroughly tested out in many sweaty basements across the North-West, was fine-tuned to perfection. The band achieved an increasingly eclectic variety that wasn’t quite realised at their February headline slot, established firmly by new track ‘Golden Dream’. Played live, the song illuminated the dingy upstairs area of Lions Den, as audiences had seen it done before in the underground crevasses of Northern Quarter’s Peer Hat. Dreamlike, lucid, but at its core still functioning like a Noel Gallagher-esque melodic tour-de-force, ‘Golden Dream’ points towards more adventurous influences whilst still investing in sing-along catchiness: Jimmy Hendrix, psychedelic-era The Beatles, and perhaps even early Elbow at their most transcendent.
What could have led to a more subdued sensibility for The Social Club was quickly dismissed however, instruments blaring into the adrenaline-fuelled ‘Fast Lane’ – an unreleased treasure portraying twisted stubbornness, late-night neuroses and rain-soaked motorway stretches. These two tracks – one warm, one cold – seemed deliberate in their juxtaposition. Overall, the setlist achieved a sturdy commitment to the band’s jovial Britpop roots, whilst pointing towards a variety of more outlandish roads that the group could go on to take.
Like in their February show, The Social Club utilised the acoustic break – something which can so easily be infuriating, egotistical and momentum-stalling – with punctual effectiveness. Singer Dec O’Brien planted his feet firmly to the ground, alone; no raucous to feed off. O’Brien then lilted into a mash-up cover of Pulp’s ‘Disco 2000’ and The Courteeners’ ‘Not 19 Forever’ – a choice so ridiculous that one wonders whether it was done as part of a bet. Alas, O’Brien made the two classic singles his own.
Adapting Jarvis Cocker’s seedy salutations and Liam Fray’s drunken drawling into soaring, intertwining melodies somewhere between The Lathums and 1994/1995 Oasis, O’Brien turned the overdone into the original. The singer’s voice was one of those voices that any band, let alone a student band, should be lucky to have: steadfast, unwavering, and large enough to cut through a wall of feedback.
O’Brien’s band members then returned swiftly to the stage, drummer George Butler visibly itching to get behind the kit. With a jangly acoustic rhythm, accompanied by Bradley Cork’s lead guitar and Harri Corbin’s bass respectively weaving in and out of the mix with subtle nuance, The Social Club reached their zenith with ‘California Girl’ – a setlist mainstay met with, in spite of its overwhelming cheesiness, cheers, chanting, and cries for more.
‘California Girl’ – somewhere between a wholesome love song and a tongue-in-cheek ode to casual drug use – was accompanied by the audiences’ vocals to such an extent that anyone would expect it to be the band’s big debut single that they can’t yet be free of (think Radiohead’s ‘Creep’). The incredible thing is that it isn’t even out yet. The song’s infectiousness has been built purely on hard work, a commitment to regularly performing and word of mouth. There’s something special about that.
Upcoming single ‘Rita’ blared with potent zeal, frustration and aggression – an example of a band impatient to get their voice out into the world. Butler’s drumming, the thumping heartbeat behind all of The Social Club’s live success thus far, toed the line between the senseless and the sophisticated, much like the rhythms of his self-declared idol Reni. ‘Rita’ held up strongly against The Stone Roses cover ‘She Bangs The Drums’. If their single can stand comfortably against John Squire’s paint-splashed soundscapes, then it’s needless to say that The Social Club are going to have a stable home here in Manchester.
The Social Club at Lions Den were what’s lacking in so many up-and-coming bands: they weren’t embarrassed to be melodic, referential, and catchy. They comfortably operated within the new and the nostalgic, always somewhere in between both poles. Whilst performing, the band gleamed with boyish ambition and Northern work ethic in a scene that can be otherwise so saturated with edgy pessimism.
Amidst their setlist were countless unreleased tracks that could be, in their own right, singles. Even the unmentioned tracks ought to be in the running: ‘This Town’ marched swaggeringly forward like a catchier version of The Wedding Present’s ‘Give My Love To Kevin’, ’Devil In Disguise’ twisted and turned with indie-disco-dance-floor potential, and ‘Market St.’ fizzed with rock ’n’ roll excess. There are a fair few choices for the next single after ‘Rita’.
It seems fitting to end with a quote from journalist Paul Mathur discussing Oasis’ Definitely Maybe: “‘It’s just rock ’n’ roll’ is the line that I think is what the album is about. It is just rock ‘n’ roll. But that just is one enormous, enormous just.” It’s very much the same for The Social Club.
The Social Club’s debut single ‘Rita’ is out in December.
