Review: All Time Low, Rock City
AS early as 3pm a queue of pent-up teenage girls snakes down Talbot Street in anticipation of Maryland pop-punk outfit All Time Low's show at Rock City.
Almost six and a half hours later the same teenage girls are in a state of delirium as a collective piercing scream greets the band's arrival onstage.
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Rock City
If you didn't know any better you would think you were watching JLS or One Direction.
Perfectly-shaped hairstyles, choreographed dance moves, sing-along arms-in the air choruses – if Harry Styles and co. had longer hair, wore black and grew up listening to Nirvana it would look and sound like this.
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By the end of the first song guitarist Jack Barakat (clad in a clearly hilarious T-shirt with the word '*****' scrawled across the front) has assembled a sizeable collection of schoolgirls' bras on his mic stand, leading to crowd banter centring on the subjects of wet dreams and the audiences' nipples.
It's an uncomfortable experience for anyone who isn't a fifteen-year-old girl.
The whiney middle-class American tones of lead singer Alex Gaskarth cut through drab power chords in a thoroughly uninspiring display of musicianship.
The basis of their success is in their role as the Pied Piper of early-to-mid teenage 'alternative' girls - it's music industry commercialism but in a more discreet way than the winner of the X Factor.
Adam Everett
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