Two kings of the indie dancefloor unite for a warm, timeless take on 20th century pop and rock
Perhaps if they smoked a bit less dope, they'd be a bit livelier. As it is, they're like watching moss growing on a tombstone: it's not exactly riveting to look at, but still a quantifiably religio
Despite sharing their hometown with The Verve, Witness have never looked like reaching the heights of their contemporaries. Ten years of listless drifting has taken its toll on both their sound and demeanour. Evoking the broken paving stones and empty takeaway cartons that litter a landscape of broken dreams, they're a resolutely sombre affair.
Yet they still hypnotise with their sparse yearnings. The hollow and tinny sound which blighted previous gigs is banished with the addition of Julian Pransky-Poole (ex-Strangelove) on second guitar, keyboards and xylophone, frequently juggling all at the same time. Songs like 'Heirloom' and 'My Friend Will See Me Through' are submerged urban hymns played through a mistuned radio.
And it's the sound, rather than the performance, that's the point with Witness. Perhaps if they smoked a bit less dope, they'd be a bit livelier. As it is, they're like watching moss growing on a tombstone: it's not exactly riveting to look at, but still a quantifiably religious experience.
Gerard Starkie's massive blue eyes and injured bird vocals are the perfect medium for Witness' soul diving and ripped-aorta pleadings. They'll always be too literal and innocent for the hip cognoscenti, but the thousand impending hangovers gathering outside might welcome their oddly sweet grace come the morning.
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