Superannuated Supergrass can still put on a fine show

Sydney Morning Herald

a day ago

Supergrass were the puppies snapping at the heels of Britpop big dogs Oasis, Blur and Pulp in the mid-'90s – basically because two of the band were barely out of their Oxfordshire school and they exuberantly sang about teenage japes, from 1994's adrenalised introductory single Caught by the Fuzz onwards.
This youthful, anarchic energy helped send debut album I Should Coco to the top of the UK charts, which immediately presents a problem for a 30th-anniversary show starting with that record played in order, in its entirety.
That is: while I Should Coco is resplendent with bangers – the most famous Supergrass song, Alright, is merely the album's fourth-best single (and perhaps its eighth-best tune) – there's a palpable difference in vibe between watching a bunch of fresh- (and famously hairy-) faced kids rip through them in a sweaty club in the '90s, and middle-aged men humbled to play them in this most venerable venue 30 years later.
Still, a delirious Mansize Rooster and the epic thump of Lenny thrill as they always did, Strange Ones greets you like an old mate you couldn't be happier to see again, and the bluesy swing of Time brings one of several blissful changes of tempo. Even We're Not Supposed To, an early, acid-fried bedroom goof that somehow made it onto the album, has its charms in this context.
Better yet, helped by some early sound issues finally having been sorted, is the fat-free selection of Supergrass favourites that follow the debut's run-through. There is, wisely, nothing later than 2002's Grace, which means we get to hear Richard III still rock like a beast, and the sublime Moving soar and stomp with delicious abandon. Plus, it's always a joy to get close to that place where the Sun Hits the Sky.
Danny Goffey remains an unstoppable force behind the drums, bassist Mick Quinn's underrated backing vocals (when you can hear them) and Rob Coombes' sizzling keys prove their redoubtable value, and Rob's little brother Gaz, in his barrow-boy trilby, still exudes loveability when singing, playing his guitars or even just speaking between songs.
But it seems that it's only the unavoidable missing X factor of, dare one suggest it, youth that just holds back this very fine Supergrass show from being an all-time great one.