Kaiser Chiefs

If you'll excuse a degree of self-reflection, I first saw the Kaiser Chiefs perform live in 2005, the year Glastonbury suffered freak weather conditions that left the front of Pyramid stage welly-deep in water. Presumably booked before their stratospheric ascendance, they were relatively low down the bill - sandwiched between Goldie Lookin Chain and Ash - but nonetheless garnered a huge crowd. My abiding memory is being hit on the head by a pillow - a blink and you'll miss it feather explosion moment caught on the BBC, no less - but otherwise being cold and wet. What I can appreciate in hindsight is that I witnessed a seminal moment for post-Britpop, capturing the restless energy of mid-2000s Britain, blending punchy, angular guitar riffs with witty, sharply observed lyrics about working-class life, suburban ennui, and youthful ambition. The set consisted of practically the whole of Employment - what else were they going to play? - and was therefore, I imagine, the last time it got such a comprehensive airing. Twenty years on, fans and band alike must wonder where the time has gone.

Before finding out, Corella take to the stage, a Manchester‑based indie‑pop four‑piece. Whether folk knew what to expect - there were certainly pockets of proper fans - or they were just settling in for the headliner, it was hard to say. Perhaps both. Whatever the reason, I don't think I've ever seen the LCR so packed for a support act. The reward was evident from the outset, with the band delivering a set that could have been mistaken for the main reason for being there. Frontman Joel Smith worked the crowd throughout, and while there was initial hesitancy, by the time he'd split the audience into two for the anthemic Lady Messiah the LCR was thoroughly won over. Comparisons with The Vaccines or the Kooks spring to mind, though fittingly for an act supporting a noughties band, I'd reach back to the Coral or We Are Scientists. This was a cracking set, not least as the, as yet unreleased, Rewire was the obvious highlight, promising only more good things to come.

I'm not sure whether the Kaiser Chiefs would have appreciated that Joel Smith recalled listening to Employment in his Dad's car when he was ten. Neither, I imagine, did the heaving crowd, largely composed of people who are now significantly older than when it came out. It's a shocker to be reminded that even post-Britpop happened a long time ago. Nonetheless, when acts like Heaven 17, the Cure or U2 celebrate albums produced up to 40 years ago, it feels a tad precocious to be revisiting music created this century.

The justification comes thick and fast, as Everyday is followed by I predict a Riot, Modern Way and Na Na Na Na Naa. You Can Have It All gave the ecstatic crowd a breather, but then we're off again with Oh My God. It's fair to say Employment is front-loaded, and while this creates a quite extraordinary atmosphere in the LCR - I can't recall when I last experienced such an animated crowd - things do go a bit weird thereafter. The decision to play Employment in the same order as the recording begs the real question - who decided on the running of the album in the first place. Time Honoured Tradition was a jolly diversion about death, Team Mate a dreamy ballad, and what on earth was that dinosaur cartoon that backed Take My Temperature. A bit of fun, I guess, would be the answer, and you have to admire that it was a bookend partnered by the inestimable Was (not Was) providing the walk on music with Walk the Dinosaur at the start of the first set. But, all praise aside for committing to the project, there is a reason some of these songs were dropped from the set. 

After the break, what amounted to an extended encore had us on firmer ground, as missing pieces of the Kaiser Chiefs jigsaw were slotted into place. Ruby, Never Miss a Beat and Angry Mob signalled a continued reliance on older material but that's just fine for an evening celebrating things past. Ricky Wilson seemed a little more restrained compared to the elbow room afforded by bigger venues, perhaps conscious of bumping into White and Rix either side of him. Nick Baines was as unassuming as ever, his signature pork pie hat a reminder of those heady noughties days. Strikingly, it was Vijay Mistry that seemed to be having the time of his life, which only served to emphasise he wasn't around when Employment was recorded. 

This was, after all, the elephant not in the room. All but five of the evening's songs were written by the man he replaced, Nick Hodgson, and one of those was a Ramones cover. Never Miss a Beat and Hole in my Soul are fine tunes, but I can't help think that celebrating the giddy heights of their initial creative outburst might prove a double-edged sword.