The Maccabees, Barrowland, Glasgow review - indie band return with both emotion and quality

You wait years for a guitar group with brothers to reunite and then two come along at once. The Maccabees return might have attracted far less attention compared to the Gallaghers hitting the road again as Oasis, but as they strolled onstage on a humid Glasgow night the ecstatic reaction from fans suggested it was a sight many had not expected to see again.

There are many obvious differences too, given that the London fivesome never dented the public consciousness in the way of Manchester’s finest.  And while the Oasis reunion has served up a glorifying of the Britpop era they provoked, the Maccabees set offered a reminder that the group are far greater than the indie landfill trappings they are sometimes tied to. 

That isn’t to say nostalgia wasn’t a factor here too, and in various ways too. The jittery opening of “Latchmere” felt like an indie disco resurrected, all jumpable, frantic energy being unleashed, while the wistful, romantic spin of “Toothpaste Kisses” that kicked off the evening’s encore was a swaying reminder of relationships past and present, and used the fractured voice of vocalist Orlando Weeks very well.  

Those, along with a handful of others, came from 2007 debut Colour It In, a guitar record that arrived exactly as the genre fell out of favour, but the 90 minute career-spanning set spotlighted how the group’s quality over the years - and four albums - remained consistently high. There was a fantastic, wiry edge to the post-punk of “No Kind Words”, here aided by Nadine Shah popping up to provide additional vocals, and the rhythm section of drummer Sam Doyle and bassist Rupert Jarvis were a driving force throughout, powering along the tempo switch of “Feel to Follow”.

The always reticent Weeks joked that he still wasn’t sure what to say on stage even after so many years away, and mostly left the between-song chat and here we go cheer-leading to guitarist Felix White, a Tigger-esque bundle of energy, whose boosterish stage presence was part rock star and part children’s TV presenter. However as a singer Weeks has a haunting voice that layers tenderness over even the band’s most volatile material, like the sparky riff of “X-Ray” and the bursts of noise that rolled in throughout a storming “Marks to Prove It”.    

White and his brother Hugh doubled as both guitarists and provocateurs, arms going up to encourage louder reaction from a crowd that was both vocal and, at times, emotional. There were hugs from some, and knowing looks from others, to the opening notes of nearly every track, the memories presumably flooding back. But on the night’s best songs – the vulnerable optimism meets chant-a-long of “Precious Time”,  the bulky rock of “Pelican”  and the sprawling build of “Spit It Out” – the band stood as not nostalgia but a group very much of the present. Here’s hoping they stick around.