With LMW affairs well underway, The Antlers unleashed yet more euphoria on a baying Kazimier crowd, Getintothis’ Patrick Clarke took it all in.
This year’s Liverpool Music Week has been breathtaking to say the least, and with The Antlers soon to take to The Kazimier, the majority of a substantial throng once again have euphoria in their sights.
Before they’re treated as such by the headliners however, Cavalry take once again to the stage. Fast becoming Liverpool’s support band de facto their set is essentially Cavalry by numbers – no bad thing by a long stretch given that the group have a stunning live set nailed down by now.
Rich harmonies and dextrous acoustics are the opening order of the day, and the fivesome impress yet again – it’s the band at their consistent best, an enviable cue for their successor James Canty.
Somewhere between Pete Doherty and Graham Coxon on the singer-songwriter scale, Canty’s set is a hybrid of a deft backing of electronica and wistful, off-kilter acoustic segments. While the former sequences turn their fair few heads, it’s his solo showpieces that see his presence affirmed, a deft and intimate treatment to sumptuous melodics and infectious charisma.
It’s been a solid enough night thus far, but Etches see the level raised with a commanding set of supremely determined electronica, affirming the considerable acclaim they’ve seen crash their way of late.
Supremely confident, the quintet reveal a winding half-hour of enticing polyrhythmic swarms, thick and lugubrious with a Foals-ish penchant for airily melodic guitars, they soon unveil an infectious affair that feels the sound of a group utterly affirmed in their synth-pop prowess.
So far so stunning then, but there’s yet more to be untapped for the almighty Antlers as they descend to the stage to the yelps of utter adoration. They duly launch into the luscious mid-tempos of Palace, establishing an unswerving aesthetic of understated rapture.
The set never quite deviates from that middling pace, but for the vast majority that’s a more than welcome sign. The set rests on the tender intimacy of adoration from their public, luring the enraptured masses into their swirling, opulent, resplendent atmospherics before letting loose the dogs of unadulterated bliss.
It’s the richness, the warmth of the textures that shine, dual attacks of trumpets and keys enveloping the enticement of Peter Silberman’s sublimest of vocals, (whether or not, as he claims, he’s recently lost his voice).
In that most alluring of camps the group ebb into an effortless flow, and with a raft of heads under their spell sporadically unleash the thick, smooth assaults of viscous sonics that’s seen them ascend so on record.
As they close with typical understatement, conveniently enough with Epilogue, they leave the throng in little doubt that the sounds that’ve left them reeling are the signifiers of something special. It’s been arguably the best night of the week, and with the supremacy of their festival predecessors that’s one hell of a claim.
Pictures by Getintothis’ Martin Waters.