Django Django’s reputation for balls-out quirkiness precedes them. So it comes as a mild surprise to see four young men with sensible hair-cuts straightforwardly mooch on stage and tune their guitars. Admittedly, their matching patterned shirts err towards wacky, but, still, for an outfit whose press-kit gushes about zany live shows and random displays of wanton bonker-dom, they aren’t quite what you expected.
Speaking to the media the group have professed astonishment at being constantly compared to the Beta Band, much mourned masters of alt. jangle craziness. They protest too much, you suspect. On their debut album, Django Django – three Scots and a Derry native – take the Beta Band’s patented oddball formula and subject it to a 21st century reboot (it comes as no surprise that drummer David Maclean is the brother of the Beta Band’s keyboardist). None of this is a criticism, just a statement of the obvious, and you wonder why Django Django are so affronted by the comparison.
Singer Vincent Neff – a former Foyleside choirboy – is the charismatic one. With his parted quiff and jerky movements, he reminds you of a nerd-chic Alex Kapranos as he leads the line-up through the twitchily tempestuous ‘Love’s Dart’, a nougatty conspiracy of carefree beach-pop and cranium-crushing psychedelia. On their best songs Django Django combine the avant-grade and a charming playfulness – ‘Life’s A Beach’ is built around a Dick Dale surf riff, atop which the group pile art-rock embellishments; there’s a gospel sweep to ‘Waveforms’ while the epic ‘Storm’ suggests a krautrock Blur.