The Shins are the perfect Photofit band. Taking the jagged chords of the Kinks, the heavy stomp of the Dave Clarke Five, the swirling keyboards of the Beach Boys and the overenthusiasm of a hundred US college bands, they are the dictionary definition of accessible. And credible. In America, they have been heralded as the saviours of US indie rock thanks to the smash-and-grab their debut album, Oh, Inverted World, committed on the charts back in 2001.
With so much to live up to, it's unsurprising that they share furtive looks at the start of this, their first show outside the US."We're gonna try and impress you," says James Mercer, versatile voice and guitarist of the band. But instead of the expected California sunshine and Britpop jingle-jangle, Mercer thrusts his neck towards the microphone and tears into a tangle of pop and garage rock, punctuated by rolling, thudding drums and lashings of angst.
It's like being mugged by your best friend. The shock of these mild-mannered tunesmiths turning into Weezer on speed confounds all expectations. Mercer's voice, capable of the smooth beauty of Brian Wilson's, shines in a sea of unexpectedly teasing rhythms and gloopy keyboards.
Pushing the boundaries of pop is all in a night's work. Girl Inform Me has the moods of a teenage boy, whiny and winsome, with punchy guitars and a nervy beat. From a shriek to a dizzying climax, Kissing the Lipless is a rollercoaster ride of emotions and rhythms.
But the Shins lack a cohesive identity. Tonight they sound like a souped-up Dexy's Midnight Runners, Mercer's vocals aping Kevin Rowlands' stretched-out, garbled phrasing. Yet during an acoustic interlude, the purity of his easy tenor pours over his guitar as he shrugs off the influences and finally reveals his own brand of perfect pop.