For the Last Shadow Puppet appears finally to have stepped out of Turner's shadow, and on tonight's evidence, is patently overjoyed to bask in the radiant hues of innumerable spotlights, in the luminescence of several mammoth screens that document his every swagger and strum as he and his four-piece back-up band delve headlong into a racy take on Better Left Invisible, Kane sweating it out in almost exclusively leather garb. Oh so '60s in aesthetic (a gold crucifix flails from his polo neck), aura and audio, the sultry guitars and highly kinetic rhythms of Before It's Midnight follow, as Kane proves something of a sensation in the support slot, intriguing the ignorant and delighting the scruffy, largely bearded disciples that bellow back every melodramatic chorus to Counting Down The Days and vocally evoke the ghostly, phased-out guitars of Rearrange. The incessant doo-wop of Quicksand is swallowed somewhat by the sheer enormity of arguably London's greatest venue, whilst The Rattles-meets-calypso glimmers of Telepathy come across as nostalgia by numbers. The Scott Walker-indebted My Fantasy meanwhile is altogether more melancholic, and subsequently infinitely more affecting, boasting Kane's best chorus. Come Closer, oozing urgency, is as seductive as the combination of Milk Tray and a Magnum of spumante, the differentiation between Kane and Beatle becomes further blurred by a rousing rendition of Hey Bulldog from seminal '69 LP Yellow Submarine, before Inhaler has many breathless as the temperature soars to a searing, overpowering degree.
Later returning to once again grace the Roundhouse stage to noodle his way through the shadowy reverb of 505 with everyone's preferred polar simians, Kane wields an arched-top semi-acoustic with an indefatigable verve, and could quite feasibly head up an iTunes-themed evening of his own accord anon.
