12 hours ago
10
‘If I want to wear my sparkly knickers, I will!” Ellie Rowsell giggles into the mic as she struts into The Sofa, a stylish 70s slow-burner about making guilt-free decisions and watching “reruns on the TV” without judgment. Tonight there is no sign of a settee-induced slumber, as the sparkling singer writhes around on the stage in a tight black leotard with red hearts strategically zig-zagged across her torso. She has long since abandoned her tousled blond locks for something closer to PJ Harvey on a glam-rock bender.
It’s a fun, snazzy reinvention, and it bodes well for the audience. Wolf Alice have worn many skins and shed them without sentiment – it has come to be expected of a band with more than 15 years of performing, who began as the north London folk duo of Roswell and guitarist Joff Oddie before evolving into a fully-fledged four-piece. There are grunge snarls in their debut, My Love Is Cool; 90s alt-fuzz in the Mercury Prize winner Visions of a Life and Blue Weekend. But their current arena tour shows that the full-throttle cabaret theatre of The Clearing may just be their most complete incarnation yet.
References to the 70s – glowing glitter-rock, and speedy Hawkwind and Sabbath chugs on Roswell’s Gibson SG – are everywhere. Other moments lean on the piano for stage presence. The group open with a crooning ballad, Thorns, tinsel tassels draped between each long-haired member, before blustering into Bloom Baby Bloom, a bouncy, tom-heavy number. Drummer Joel Amey shines, singing White Horses and crashing the hi-hats in a slightly proggy, krautrock-inflected surge. Roswell’s harmonies cling close. “Let the branches wrap their arms around me,” the band chant, plucking acoustic guitars like a pagan seance strung out by the Incredible String Band.
Despite the genre jumps, which admittedly can be at times hard to follow, the most consistent and impressive thing about Wolf Alice is Roswell’s vocal performance. Every iteration has only grown stronger. The band’s set never shows the songwriter falter once, she’s on par with the glam gods. “This phone thing makes me cry,” Roswell says, as fans huddle to the front and light the space with iPhone torches. Even in a packed-out arena, it’s puzzling that wider fame, or a number one hit, haven’t followed. But with a new major label, that could change.
