The xx live review
On release, much was made of the idea that Coexist, The xx’s follow-up to their Mercury Prize-winning debut, was no departure or progression from their first record. Granted, it wasn’t a Kid A-sized step – the band continued to inhabit the same sleepy soundworld of cathedral-sized one-finger guitar lines and unrequited longing – but Coexist nonetheless moved the band forward in production, percussion and songwriting: each track was clearer and more confidently performed, laced with more club- than bedroom-inspired beats, and written with a newfound subtlety that suggested, at the very least, the band had learnt some new chords.
But if these developments weren’t immediately obvious on record, they reveal themselves tonight at a show that in both performance and production terms simply wouldn’t have fitted into the small clubs where The xx performed their first album. The confidence, ambition and push for something greater than pure bedroom miserablism that’s so exhilaratingly abundant on Coexist is realised live as a sort of strange rave: there are reworkings of old songs, mixes and mash-ups, lights and projections to rival the arena-sized productions of Radiohead or Bon Iver, and a glowing sense of communal euphoria, helped by the fact that the band – all South Londoners – are clearly humbled to be playing a homecoming show at the iconic Academy.
On one level, this could all be a touch bombastic for The xx’s trademark heartbreak and awkwardness – after all, lines like “Can I confess these things to you? I don’t know” don’t necessarily have the same intimate impact when surrounded by cavernous beats and flashing strobes – and if there’s one casualty of tonight’s increased scale, it’s a sense of detail. Indeed, everything that’s good and bad about quiet indie bands playing big arena rock shows is in evidence here: both Romy and Oliver look uncomfortable with their choreographed stage directions (not least, in Sim’s case, a gyrating performance of Heart Skipped A Beat, which seems to come straight from the X-Factor’s Book Of Dance Moves For The Ungainly Beginner), but for each lost nuance there’s a gorgeous reinvention that offers something apt for the setting. The five-song medley that starts with a bowel-shudderingly bassy Fantasy and moves through Missing, Reunion, Sunset and Night Time adapts each song to suit the clothes it must wear, and the opening riffs of VCR and Intro are greeted with the kind of cheer usually reserved for number-one hits.
As the final chords of Stars ring out, the trio join hands at the front of the stage and bow with genuine humility, the crowd applauding with equal delight, and there’s a sense across the room of everyone having just witnessed something flawed but nonetheless special. In their current incarnation as a band metamorphosing from indie wallflowers to big hitters, The xx are still not completely sure on their feet, but with shows as slick as this it’s difficult to begrudge them the ruthless ambition, especially when it’s paired with such originality. Certainly, if there are any naysayers tonight, none speak up.
