Live review: Moving to Halifax? The Wombats conquer Piece Hall
Nothing on this parched earth can match that quintessential sound of mid-2000s indie sleaze, bottling up all that nervous, kinetic energy, and uncorking it right in the middle of an 18th-century Grade I listed cloth hall - yet Liverpool’s best output in recent years, The Wombats all the while did with the bottle opener in hand.
As Friday night at Halifax’s breathtaking Piece Hall proved that not only is the indie-pop renaissance alive and kicking, but it's new in-town ringmasters still know exactly how to throw a massive, unapologetic party of lethal combinations, as four dynamic guitar bands (two new and two experienced) took to the Yorkshire stage.
The evening of music kicked off with a brilliant showcase of fresh blood.
As Halifax’s own The Caymans took to the sprawling courtyard stage first, shaking off the early-doors sunshine with a tight, punchy set that immediately got the growing Yorkshire crowd moving.
They were swiftly followed by Cherryholt, who brought their own distinctly sweet indie flavour to the mix, dialling up the atmosphere and ensuring the pints were flowing and the vibe was bubbling over into the sets to follow.
But if there was ever a masterclass in how to perfectly tee up an indie gig, Circa Waves delivered it on a plate.
Acting as the ultimate heavyweight main support, Kieran Shudall and the fellow Scouse boys tore through a festival-ready set that felt like a headline slot in its own right; tracks like Do You Wanna Talk and Be Your Drug hit the listening ears like a bell weight to the back of the head.
And by the time they unleashed the obligatory chaos of T-Shirt Weather, the 5,500 odd-capacity courtyard was absolutely bouncing, primed and ready for the main event.
When The Wombats finally bounded onto the stage, they didn't waste a single second.
Matthew "Murph" Murphy (vocals), Tord Øverland Knudsen (bass guitarist and part-time aeroplane), and Dan Haggis (on the sticks at the back) immediately had the crowd in the palm of their hands, or paws, depending on who you ask.
But it was track one where the roof, had there been one, would have been blown clean off into the West Yorkshire stratosphere.
The unmistakable opening bassline of Moving to New York triggered absolute bedlam at the Hall.
It’s a testament to the track's enduring brilliance that it still sounds as urgently frantic as it did back in 2007.
With the BPM being kept punishingly high, they launched straight into Techno Fan and cemented the fact that tonight was going to be a relentless, sweat-soaked sprint to the finish.
What has always made The Wombats so loveable is their ability to wrap crippling anxiety in massive, danceable pop-thematic hooks.
As the mid-set groove leant heavily into this format, with the strutting bass of Cheetah Tongue and the brilliantly self-deprecating Sorry I'm Late, I Didn't Want to Come offering a masterclass in neurotic pop perfection.
Of course, the biggest singalongs came with the near-on-two-decade-old classics.
Kill the Director was an undeniable triumph, with the entire Piece Hall screaming about Bridget Jones at the top of their lungs; a quite exquisitely British cultural phenomenon that will frankly never age.
The Scouse trio expertly wove their newer, polished pop anthems amongst the gallery of indie.
As Ready for the High (featuring a wombat playing the trumpet), Can't Say No, and Give Me a Try kept the momentum surging with unmatched chaotic prowess.
Later, the infectious one-two-three punch of Lemon to a Knife Fight, the fiery If You Ever Leave, I’m Coming With You and the brilliantly manic Tokyo (Vampires & Wolves) proved that The Wombats’ arsenal of mosh pit inducing hits is much deeper than most casual observers give them credit for and if you weren’t treading carefully during this vigorous segment of the show you might have landed a sucker punch from an airborne pint of San Miguel.
Yet by the time they wrapped the main set with the massive, soaringly beautiful chorus of Turn, the courtyard was a sea of churning bodies on shoulders and discarded plastic cups spilling their last drops into the crevasses of the stone floor.
An encore was inescapable, but the sheer force of it was still staggering.
Returning to the raised stage, they launched into the formidably larger than life track Greek Tragedy, an anthem that has enjoyed a massive second lifecycle thanks to TikTok, but live, it transcends any app algorithm to become a colossal, stadium-sized anthem ready to vibrate every single bone in your body.
And then, the closer. Is there a better final song in the modern indie playbook than Let's Dance to Joy Division? I’ll go ahead and answer that; probably not.
The instantly recognisable opening chords cut with a roar that likely woke up half of Halifax.
And for three glorious minutes, thousands of people ironically celebrated the irony of dancing to Ian Curtis, thrashing around akin to the iconic movements of Curtis, all the while being in the shadowed beauty of a stunning Georgian monument.
The Liverpudlian marsupials might be nearly two decades deep into their jam-packed career, but on a Friday night in Halifax’s surreal scenery, they undoubtedly proved that they haven't lost an ounce of their bite from their first seminal gnawing into the music industry.
As for me at least, they are still the undisputed kings of the indie-disco frontier, and with a rumoured anniversary tour in the works for next year, I say long may their indie reign last forever.
All photos: Luc Burke-Lejeune