Editors + The Kooks - London Barfly 5th December 2005 live review

Whichever way you cut it, Editors have had a phenomenal 2005. One short year ago, they were strictly an underground concern, freshly signed to a small indie label and just about to release their debut single. And tonight, Editors (no, there's no 'The', for goodness's sake get used to it) stand before us like bashful conquering heroes, blinking in the glare of the bright lights trained upon them, their debut album The Back Room having shifted a weighty quarter million copies since its release in July. But apart from singer Tom Smith's voice betraying the beginnings of a cold, they're unscathed by the rigours of recognition. (Indeed, Smith in particular has taken this 'rising star' lark in his stride, even snaring himself a Heat-friendly celeb squeeze in the shape of Radio 1 DJ Edith Bowman.)

But before we can witness one of this year's most impressive success stories in action, there's a taste of next year to whet our appetites. The Kooks are from Brighton, with a name half-inched off an old Bowie tune and hair apparently styled by Stuart Cable. Theirs is a superficially Razorlighty, roughly Supergrassish raggle-taggle jumble of semi-acoustic twanging and lackadaisical vocals from singer Luke Pritchard – he's as enthusiastic onstage as any newly-signed-to-Virgin teenager may be. But sprightly as 'She Moves In Her Own Way' and 'Sofa Song' are, the uncomfortably over-capacity crowd shall not be moved and grow noticeably impatient with the decidedly non-urgent strumming going on.

Busy? I'll say. Coal could be compressed to diamonds at the bar, and there are rumours of atoms splitting spontaneously up the front. Editors could have, and indeed already have, sold out a venue five times the size of the Barfly, but this fact only serves to make tonight even more precious for those present. The forced intimacy of a cheek-by-jowl audience ups the sweat factor by several degrees, while also intensifying the invigorating thwack of Editors' performance.

With Tom Smith's nasal baritone to the fore, and his bandmates initially doing little to lighten the mood, it'd be easy to write Editors off as mere Interpol copyists, with a Joy Division fetish and little in the way of original ideas. But as tonight's gig progresses, it's increasingly clear that these are no po-faced ninnies, mistaking aloofness for cool. From second song 'All Sparks' onwards, Editors are grinning and joshing with the crowd, with only bassist Russell rooted to the spot – despite the hopeful shouts of "Dance, Russell, dance!" from the floor.

It's a well-paced set, with 'Munich' sounding especially shiny and rocket-powered, and new track 'Find Yourself A Safe Place' pleasing the hardcore no end. It's swiftly followed by 'Blood', a song so darkly catchy it feels like it's been around forever, and a mesmerising take on 'Bullets'. Sure, they play the rockstar game and disappear after 'Open Your Arms', only to return to absolutely bloody deafening cheers for a three-song encore – including a cover of 'French Disko' almost as startlingly great as hearing Stereolab's original for the first time.

With honourary mentions of drummer Ed's bizarre insistence on gaff-taping iPod headphones to his head like a pissed office Rambo, and sundry audience members doing their level best to drag guitarist Chris off the stage entirely, the half-deaf, wholly drenched punters leave the Barfly with the overwhelming impression that all gigs should be like this: boisterous, impassioned, with enough hooks to catch 1,000 eyes, and just a little bit fun.

Charlie Ivens