Whisperin & Hollerin review

KINGS OF CONVENIENCE'
'London, Queen Elizabeth Hall, 6th October 2004'   


-  Genre: 'Pop'

Our Rating:


The Queen Elizabeth Hall can be a stuffy, restrictive seated environment for live performances but for the Norwegian duo Erlend Oye and Eirik Glambek Boe - aka Kings Of Convenience - the surroundings are perfect for their take on softly-evolving, modern day Simon and Garfunkel- inspired sounds.

After a slightly uneasy opening number, Oye is distracted by the clicks from the lone photographer, so they proceed to give a 30-second photoshoot with a collection of cheesy catalogue poses to satisfy the picture press. The witty buggers.

This duly dealt with, they knuckle down to their simple, but winning formula of delicate duets on early material "I Don't Know What I Can Save You From", "Winning A Battle, Losing The War," "Failure" and "Toxic Girl" and a smattering of more recent songs like "Cayman Islands" and "Sorry Or Please" all of which sound enviably powerful and fresh.

Erlend Oye is in a mischievously good mood, interrupting Eirik's story at one point with an "I believe I can fly" verse. Only a disgruntled look from Eirik prevents us from hearing a full rendition. But it's only mock hurt: both are in great humour.

The Kings trace their success down to one person's support at their first UK show at a poetry bar, followed by their word of mouth that spread faster than the cold Eirik struggles with all evening. He even retires and sits in the front row to watch from the sidelines for a one-track breather at one stage. Slightly perturbed, Erlend improvises by asking for requests and then deciding to sing a song from a hometown band, requesting all the house and stage lights be turned off, to sing in Norwegian in the pitch blackness.
When Eirik returns, they slide into the carefree and floaty "Misread." It's enchanting: currently in the Italian charts at number two, much to the delight of the Kings, who proclaim Italians to "have good taste". Even the the rarely played live "Know-How" works perfectly. Impressive, considering the lack of female background vocal that makes the recorded version.

The boisterous appaluse is stifled by Oye's requests of "Snaps, not claps," with quiet duly becoming the new loud. As soon as "I'd Rather Dance With You" starts up, Oye jumps offstage and summons the crowd to the edge of the stage to dance: a scene familiar with Belle and Sebastian gigs. In fact the fans worship them just as intensely. Ultimately, the front of the stage is invaded, with this well-crafted music teaching the Indie kids how to dance again.

The quirky "Everyone Has A Friend In Stockholm" is the concluder. Kings Of Convenience are quiet noblemen of confidence and masters of simplicy. Erlend and Eirik are everyone's best friends from Norway tonight.

author: RAY STANBROOK


The Independent review

Kings of Convenience, Queen Elizabeth Hall, London

By Chris Mugan

Published: 12 October 2004

Famed for their subtlety and sensitivity, today's most celebrated acoustic duo are naturally compared to Simon and Garfunkel, but in this show they were more end-of-the-pier comedy act. You can't imagine Art dancing like your tipsy uncle at a wedding, but there was the gangly Erlend Oye, all geek glasses and shock of orange hair exploding from his high forehead.

The darkly handsome Eirik Glambek Boe was more introvert, but he nevertheless delivered dry, withering put-downs: "This song goes back to living..." Oye began, to introduce a number. "It's a true story," Boe interrupted, eager to crack on. It was a reversal of the duo's emergence three years ago, when Oye was the front man.

At that time, Kings of Convenience were the hardline faction of a new acoustic movement that threw up Turin Brakes and Ben & Jason. The title of their debut album, Quiet is the New Loud, was a defiant if understated two fingers to detractors. After that, Oye guested with his fellow Bergenites Royksopp, before recording Unrest, a collaboration with leftfield dance producers. Boe stayed home to complete a degree in psychology.

On their current album - perhaps unsurprisingly, as it is called Riot on an Empty Street, - the duo have picked up where they left off, albeit with a softened stance that has allowed the odd cello or trumpet to fill out their sound. On stage, the only accessories were drums and grand piano, although the duo began with just their guitars. It was an effective combination as Boe's fingers picked out rhythms on nylon strings, veering from traditional folk patterns to chirpy bossa novas, while his partner stuck to starker melodic lines on a steel-strung instrument.

When Oye moved to the keyboard later in the set, it was to provide more of the same with precise arpeggios. Their harmonies wrapped around each other in an even more intimate fashion, especially when they sang a cappella.

The arrangements, though, were just the pleasant background for their singular songwriting. The Kings are obsessed with not emotional blacks and whites but the grey palette of confusion, misunderstanding and hesitancy. The crowd loved it, especially vintage numbers such as "Toxic Girl" ("The moment conversation stops, she's gone - again") and "I Don't Know What I Can Save You From", with the girl for whom Boe "wouldn't mind to put the kettle on". They needed the humour. It added colour to the set.

By the end, their objective analysis was starting to grate, so it was a relief when their last single, "I'd Rather Dance with You", brought with it a propulsive drumbeat. Oye dived into the stalls to drag people to their feet, causing a rather polite charge to the front. It was a rare example of the duo performing against type, and all the more welcome for it.


Playlouder review

To classier surroundings still, as we spend the following evening in the confines of the lovely Queen Elizabeth Hall, where we’re introduced to the delights of California’s Call And Response. An intriguing-looking quintet, primarily on the strength of their bassist, whose day job would appear to be poster girl for Amazonians’R’Us, they win us over immediately by starting out so impeccably Tortoise that we find ourselves scouring the stage for a hidden xylophone. And then frontwoman Carrie Clough starts singing, and it as good as stops us cold. She’s channelling Liz Fraser! Really. You can’t move for sugared hiccupping and ‘Head Over Heels’-era gothic gurgles, while all around her prime post-rock shapes are being vibrantly redrawn by some of the least assuming chaps and chapesses to grace any stage in our experience. It’s an outdated term, perhaps, but this is the very definition of dream pop.

And to think we might not have come across them were we not still so spectacularly fond of Kings Of Convenience. What these two men can do with some acoustic guitars, a piano and the most bubble-bathingly luxurious voices around seems to continue to need documenting, as does the warmth and wryness they bring to the party, and the fact that, with two’n’a-remix albums plus ‘Unrest’ and ‘Melody A.M.’ behind them, they remain one of the decade’s defining bands at its midway mark. There’s none of the clubhopping chicanery that Erlend’s embraced in recent times on show here, but they’re on celebratory, ironically intimate and, as one punter is all too keen to share, Simon and Garfunkely form. We laugh. We cry. We sympathise with Eirik’s rotten cold, toy with snuggling with complete strangers to ‘Toxic Girl’ and narrowly think better of dancing to ‘I’d Rather Dance With You’. Still bloody luvverly, and still peaking. And they’re top three in Italy too, they inform us, chuffedly. Top call, Italy!