La Femme
The first unwelcome surprise of the evening comes with the
revelation that the headliners are not due onstage until nine thirty and that
there are no support acts other than a DJ.
We troop off to a nearby hotel to watch the football and my
second and final unwelcome surprise comes with the extremely disgruntling
result of the Chelsea v Basel
After this discouraging start however, it's sheer delight
all the way.
On returning to the tiny confines of the Sebright basement
the atmosphere is one of expectant excitement. It's hot down here and the air
hangs heavy with theatrical mist.
La Femme burst on stage looking like 1940's resistance fighters. They are clad in leather jackets, scarves and berets. Such is the
energy that the band generate that most of this clobber is discarded by the end
of the first song.
There's a wonderful cinematic quality to La Femme. Their songs inhabit a 60's noir alternate world where spies meet in darkened rooms,
mysterious beauties hold cigarettes holders and trench coats are de rigour. The
band take this as a starting point to produce a set of giddy high tempo electro
pop that is as exciting and harem scarem as a James Bond car chase.
Singer Clemence is a delightful, elegant chanteuse who
dances non-stop behind a small keyboard. To her left, band leader Marlon is
down to his vest, his torso and neck writhing with tattoos. The rest of the
band are slightly lost in the heat and the haze, but can be seen pummelling
keyboards in frenzy.
There is a huge mosh pit in front of the stage, with
everyone dancing wildly to tracks lack 'Anti Taxi' and 'Sur La Plage'. Arms are
held aloft, heads bop furiously. When they are in full flow you could imagine
that La Femme are the kind of band that Quentin Tarantino would have play at
his wedding - even with their hair plastered across their faces and sweat
pouring from every pore this band are COOL.
I have a big stupid grin on my face throughout and I'm not
the only one. The whirling synths and pounding rhythms are irresistible.
The band slightly muff their encore by confusing the
exhausted crowd into thinking that they are not coming back onstage. But when
they re-emerge, the stragglers that remain in the room throw ourselves around like
dervishes for one last time.
At the end of the evening, when I emerge into the night
outside the pub I find that the band have beaten me outside and are hanging
limp and steaming in the doorway.
La Femme really are the most fun that you can have with your
clothes on - even when it’s so hot that you have to rip them off.
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