There are currently mumblings amongst certain dullard adults about raising the age of consent to 18. I’d love to take a bunch of these Daily Mail readers to a Raveonettes gig, and have a good old chuckle at the looks of disgust that may well spread across their bloated faces.
Not that there’s anything pornographic on stage tonight. But as with the best erotic films, it’s not what we see but what is suggested which turns us on. And The Raveonettes suggest sex. On drugs, in a dirty basement with the lights off!
This is due in part to the cool, barely articulated but ever present chemistry between the boy/girl duo. It is also due in no small measure to the slinky harmonies and mesmerisingly sleazy wall of sound which the duo – plus extra musicians – create. For a drone rock band whose debut album was infamously written entirely in b flat minor, there was a risk that the gig could get somewhat monotonous. Tonight The Raveonettes skilfully avoid this trap, constantly maintaining our attention by lurching between scuzzy Jesus and Marychain intensity and dreamier, blissed-out fuzz pop. The set is thus pleasingly coherent but never dull.
Most of the songs played from new album Chaingang of Love are essentially melodic pop songs. But The Raveonettes are capable of taking a simple pop tune and twisting it in to something altogether more dirty and perverted. This is their forte and their joy, as demonstrated by their gloriously filthy cover of 50s classic Come On Everybody. It’s the joy of adding a bit of sex.
