Carling Academy Islington Review
IN the short time these Dundonian scamps - average age 18 - have been terrorising the nation's airwaves with their rag'n'bone rock, The View have released three searing singles and a number-one selling album that has catapulted them into the limelight.
Tonight's show, for lucky competition winners in the intimate Academy, was fizzing with anticipation, erupting with applause when the mop-haired foursome emerged through the smoke.
Their set might have been short, but it was 45 minutes of top-drawer British rock.
An electric version of Wasted Little DJs saw the night's first crowdsurfers, beer sent flying all over the shop while lead singer Kyle Falconer's strained voice was every bit as raspy as a thrashed moped.
The pace of memorable riffs, barked lyrics and excellent bass barely let up, reaching a height on the blistering amphetamine-fuelled ska of Wasteland.
For anyone even remotely plugged in to mainstream radio, they will already know the joys of Same Jeans and Superstar Tradesman, both of which trigger a manic moshpit and litres more spilt beer.
Then in a flash, they were gone, their exit capped off with the now-compulsory crowd chant, "The View! The View! The View are on fire!"
Hot stuff indeed, but only time will tell if they can develop their own identity in a crowded post-Arctic Monkeys world.
STEPHEN MOORE, Islington Gazette 6/2/07
Tonight's show, for lucky competition winners in the intimate Academy, was fizzing with anticipation, erupting with applause when the mop-haired foursome emerged through the smoke.
Their set might have been short, but it was 45 minutes of top-drawer British rock.
An electric version of Wasted Little DJs saw the night's first crowdsurfers, beer sent flying all over the shop while lead singer Kyle Falconer's strained voice was every bit as raspy as a thrashed moped.
The pace of memorable riffs, barked lyrics and excellent bass barely let up, reaching a height on the blistering amphetamine-fuelled ska of Wasteland.
For anyone even remotely plugged in to mainstream radio, they will already know the joys of Same Jeans and Superstar Tradesman, both of which trigger a manic moshpit and litres more spilt beer.
Then in a flash, they were gone, their exit capped off with the now-compulsory crowd chant, "The View! The View! The View are on fire!"
Hot stuff indeed, but only time will tell if they can develop their own identity in a crowded post-Arctic Monkeys world.
STEPHEN MOORE, Islington Gazette 6/2/07
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