So the power of Valentines Day was imminent, and whilst many laid in the balance between either being flourished with teddies, flowers and cringe-tastic gestures, OR being deemed lonely and undesirable by the world. I had managed to escape both those terrifying scenarios, thanks to those well bread Oxford boys also known to the world as Foals.
The night came along where Foals were to rock my (plus 10,000 more fans) world, the first of two back-to-back, sold out shows at Alexander Palace had kicked off. The band really held their own, filling out the rather daunting venue with, as cringe as it sounds, an electrifying atmosphere. I challenge anybody that was there not to have walked out beaming from ear to ear.
Those pesky Foals boys have come a long way since their first appearance at Ally Pally; when they supported Block Party, where according to a very proud and exhilarated Yannis, they 'were knock-kneed and scared, and there was nobody there' well the 10,000 besotted fans were sure there to ease their fears this time around.
What really struck me though in my post-Foals bubble of awe and joy, were not the tweets or Facebook posts or even Instagram posts or any other form of social expression as fans reviewed the shows, but a review from The Guardian. Which among the flattery and praise, seemed to defy the band as a new pop sensation, that had left their complicated and tricky music behind them for more simplistic and radio friendly sounds. Now, of course in the case of posting your views on to the World Wide Web, you're doomed if you do and doomed if you don't, but there was something very bitter sweet about the piece. The adulation and recognition was well deserved but felt somewhat patronized, a good little pat on the head for a good little pop group.
Nonetheless, colliding opinions aside, the five-piece threw one hell of a night. Go see them. Go listen to them. It'll be great. They're great. You'll feel great.
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