Review: James @ Leeds First Direct Arena

There is a moment this evening (November 23rd) – several, in fact – during which Tim Booth seems to be a man as at one with the world as anyone else in the Leeds Arena; a modern, purpose built entertainment aircraft hangar, but an aircraft hanger all the same.

Exuding serenity amongst the noise and sometime chaos, his Zen like calm and warm good humour aren’t always as infectious to the crowd as they should be, but his lack of ego is startling for someone immersed for thirty years in the career aesthetics of rock n’ roll. It feels absurd calling him a frontman; part ballet dancer, part university prof, part peacenik zealot, he’s the antithesis of the modern day rock avatar.

This is all the more remarkable given that James found the mainstream almost by accident in the early 90s and should now be considered veterans of the post acid house scene. Their audience has stayed with them too, if tonight’s attendees are anything to benchmark them by. This is the generation which briefly swapped hooliganism for hugs remember, ex-flower power casuals who now stand as designated drivers, watching on arms folded while their kids cut some rug.

Looking impossibly thin in an oversize suit (not quite David Byrne, but close), Indiana Booth takes to the stage and begins a night of gleefully ignoring the open goals. Rule #1: Arena audiences are not to be confounded (oh but they are). To this end, James open with ‘All Good Boys‘, a b-side, a sweetly pastoral obscurity built on the sort of vocal subtleties that are often the first victim of big stages. In Booth & co’s hands, however, it assumes a mantle disproportionate to its heritage, sounding at once poignant, immaculately executed and frankly, stunning. This juxtaposition between thought and entertainment resonates in every note, the band’s syntax full of our less disposable thoughts and emotions. It was a conscious tone setter.

More than once Booth surfs out into the crowd, held aloft by them, communing with them in the most physical way possible rather than satisfying any inherent Messiah complex from his elevated but remote position up on stage. He talks often between numbers in measured, soothing tones, the effect almost mesmeric. This consideration means that the night’s setlist is also immaculately judged, striking an alchemical balance between the one seventh of the band’s repertoire which remains above the popular cultural water line, and the rest that lies beneath.

As you’d guess, their most recent excursion into album releases, ‘La Petite Mort‘, features prominently, from the broken love of ‘Gone Baby Gone‘ to the cosmic spiritualism of ‘All I’m Saying‘, a song for the dead which sounds as full of promise and adventure as any for the living.

For the less zealous the pickings are a little thinner, although ‘Born Of Frustration‘, ‘Say Something‘ and a frantic, not-a-hand-left-by-anyone’s-side version of ‘Laid‘ serve to remind everyone that James come armed with a Greatest Hits collection to rival anyone’s from the last twenty five years. In between there’s a little bemusement at the likes of ‘Lullaby‘ (Booth introduces it as a song about child abuse) and ‘Jam J‘, a sometime krautrock off cut which, archetypally, prods a thousand bladders and ends up as an arena wee song.

The one blot on an otherwise seamless night is the inclusion of ‘Go To The Bank‘, a track not performed live before and one which might have been interesting in a less austere setting, but which ends up tonight awkwardly bouncing off the concrete, loved by only the true believers.

It’s hard though to not forgive them the experimentation, especially as the main body finishes with a tumultuous ‘Come Home‘, and the encores that include ‘Sound‘ and the rabble rousing country stomp of ‘Sometimes‘. At the end you’re left to reflect on how, despite the constant rush of progress towards a cultural vanishing point beyond which lies only celebrity obsession, that Booth and James and their rhapsodic, highly feminine songs deserve to be cherished rather than just brushed aside like hollow antiquities.

Just another night at the Leeds Arena then. Well, maybe not.

(Andy Peterson)

Check out our live gallery from the gig in full at this link