Bristol's UNDERCUT swagger onto the stage at the University of London Union with barely a greeting or nod. Soundchecks have overrun, doors have opened late and they're obviously pressed for time. As they begin, a introduction of sorts is delivered with a laugh across a crunchy guitar and drums.
Visually, they're unmistakably a product of the times – an equation of equal parts (grown-up) boyband, equal parts indie-rock stars. One might even be forgiven for suggesting a deliberate hand in manufacturing some sort of cross-demographic appeal: each member of the band, unique in his own way, covers a different base...there's the crazy peroxide tattooed guitarist on the right, gurning away at the choruses, mic stand slung deliberately too high. To the left; the quiet, fedora-d jazzy bass player [a dead-ringer for Scissor Sisters' Babydaddy] and the second guitar emo-boy behind him - innocent, mascara'd and wide eyed. Front and centre, singer Johnny Benn is charming enough: a rugby player physique, dressed mainly in black and with the cheek of a Robbie Williams and a pleasing transatlantical-meat-and-potato vocal.
Cynicism aside, it's more likely they have an acute awareness of the need for strong visuals and some savvy of who thier potential audience is. There's an obvious professionalism here and a dedication to their craft that might be wasted on a Sunday night support slot in a University bar. Only the fanboys and the eternally sober come out at such a time.
Still, Undercut manage to pull off a decent performance. Despite the sparse and disinterested crowd, they deliver the goods like they're in a Friday night headline slot at Madison Square Gardens. Inside a frenetic thirty-minute set are hints of an edgy sound – it’s a bit punk [the late 90’s US flavour], a bit epic-indie – but "proper" musicianship and well-written songs reign throughout.
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So it's clear that these guys are aiming straight for the top of their game: they're tight as hell and Benn strikes the proud poses of a rock n roll frontman to show he’s right at home in his role.
The songs come fast and mostly blend in with one another. An edginess creeps in at times but it's kept in check by the limits of the songwriting. "Let's see if we can get a loud whoop for the next song, eh?" singer Johnny Benn asks the crowd, sedate and wary of this imposing and charismatic figure.
"A Bit of Education" - a previous single; anthemic, memorable and radio-friendly - gets a good response and paves the way for their closing gambit, an inventive and fun reworking of Britney Spears' "Toxic". The wonderfully camp song becomes a stomping glam-punk romp in their hands; the kind of cover Radio 1 would cream itself over. And although it takes one hell of an effort for me to put my reservations aside and enjoy it, once I can accept that this isn't art music for the critics or fanboys, it goes down that much sweeter.
What might be to their detriminent is this: Undercut may simply be too polished to achieve anything this side of the pond. We are a fickle old crowd, us Brits, and where there's more than a tinge of the Yankees about something, we're liable to distrust and ridicule. Undercut's obvious transatlantic leanings means they could be the next Bush - albeit less morose and more life affirming than Gavin Rossdale's bunch of muppets.
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