Editors have grown up. They’re no longer trying to imitate Interpol. Tom Smith and company have moved on to bigger and bolder things. They’re now hell bent on sounding like a darker version of Joy Division, but what we see before us in the Olympia tonight, is a band that wants to be the next Coldplay.
Having graduated from the school of sparse guitars and hooky bass lines, The Editors are now doing what all mediocre bands try to do when they run out of ideas, build a wall of sound, but they just don’t cut the mustard. Tom Smith is running back and forth on the stage like a man who has watched Control too many times, he even sounds disturbingly like Ian Curtis. He then politely sips from his glass of red wine and tells the loyal faithful: ‘thanks we love to play here, it’s a great place to play’.
And that’s about the only bit of audience interaction we get with the band all night. In fairness, there are a few standout moments from their back catalogue- anthems like ‘Bullets’ and ‘Munich’ bringing the gang of predominantly young males close to tears.
But it’s the tunes off the new album where the cringe factor comes seriously into play. Under a layer of keyboards that sound like something from Blade Runner, Smith in all his melancholy glory is spouting profound lyrics such as:
‘No one understands, the way you found your God,
there’s a bullet in your hands,
Give a dog a bone, feed him for the day,
and teach him how to kill and,
I am the posted fence, I am the city wall.’
Judging how Editors’ sermons seem to be progressing, it wouldn’t surprise me if Tom Smith is drinking from a golden chalice by the time their next tour roles around. On the contrived barometer, these guys score a ten out of ten tonight. They just aint got the soul.
Photos by Julie Bienvenu.