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Upon arriving at Brude on Friday, I walked into the venue with the same scepticism I feel whenever I
end up at a gig for an artist I feel I’ve outgrown. I saw the men in their skinny jeans, flannel shirts,
and Adidas Sambas, and felt like I was stepping into a time capsule of an indie scene that once felt so
central to my life. I hadn’t listened to The Last Shadow Puppets in years, and I wasn’t sure this was
music I could connect to anymore. As the night unfolded, however, I couldn’t have been proved
more wrong.
The supporting act walked onto stage with an aura of awkward narcissistic swagger, and I thought
my presumptions had been confirmed. His not-quite-rap and introspective guitar riffs did little to
win over the room. However, when he had finished, and the crowd began to fill out, I found myself
caught up in the anticipation. We grabbed our second beer, settled into a nice chat with the people
around us, and, for the first time that evening, I felt a real flicker of excitement.
All of a sudden, the first notes of ‘One Man Band’ hit and jolted the crowd to attention. Everyone
was ready to see the man they were on tenterhooks to meet. The Birkenhead-born indie rockstar
took to the stage with the air of a seasoned performer and a look very few could pull off: ripped
jeans fringed by pearl tassels and a white raccoon-esque streak through his hair. Kane greeted us
with a familiarity you’d expect from an old friend, high-fiving and shaking hands with anyone in the
crowd he could reach. He spoke to us like we were all at the pub together, even joking with one
eager fan that afters would be held at their house. Fair to say, I was hooked.
He cycled through classics like ‘Don’t Forget Who You Are’, ‘Rearrange’ and ‘Colour of the Trap’,
each landing perfectly as the audience bellowed back every word. Stripping it back for the second
half, he mesmerised the crowd with acoustic renditions which tapped into the same romantic
melancholy he had perfected with Alex Turner: pretentious and in love. It was that same mix of
bravado and vulnerability that had attracted me to his music in my youth.
By this point in the show, I had realised how wrong I’d been about the crowd. This wasn’t just an
indie cliché. Everyone was here because the music meant something to them. And, as it turned out,
it meant something to me too. I left with a grin on my face, feeling how I always do after a gig – well
and truly moved.
Miles Kane doesn’t just perform; he commands the stage in the way only someone who truly cares
about the crowd can. He made us feel part of the night, like the whole thing was one big catch-up
between old mates. When the walk-off music played and he dramatically made his exit, I reflected
on the power of gigs to stick with you. It’s not just the nostalgia or the love for the music itself, but
the feeling of being connected to the crowd around you, of walking away a little more alive than
when you walked in.
9/10
Words & Images by Charlotte Fasey
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