Cake: Astoria, London 04 Feb 2005

For some reason Cake didn’t seem like the band that would have such a wide appeal. Don’t get me wrong, I love them. I think their country tinged indie is fantastically good – witty, intelligent and easy on the ears. They have a talented line up, an instantly recognisable style and a trumpet. Which all makes for a great listening experience.

So I really have no idea why I thought that my friend, who fancied listening to some live music and trusted my tastes, would have no problem getting into the Cake gig at the Astoria on a Friday night. We sauntered up to the door, late, expecting just a momentary delay at the bouncer before leisurely strolling to the box office, stopping by the bar, and casually taking our places mid-crowd to wait the start of the band that would probably be coming on late. Imagine our surprise then, when we were told that it was sold out. In the cold sodium light of the West End at night, we found out that the Astoria, not a small place in anyone’s reckoning, was absolutely PACKED full to the brim and no-one else was getting in, no sir. But like I said before, my prior assumptions were completely unfounded and totally illogical anyway given my opinion of the band. So you live and learn.

Having missed the first song and struggling to actually clap eyes on the five-piece from Sacramento, California, myself and my other fortunately guest-listed accomplice boogied our way upstairs to the sounds of the rude, but not really, ‘Shut The Fuck Up’. This song could be hummed by your mum in the kitchen, so unoffending is the melody and it nicely illustrates how chilled a band Cake are. Chilled but eccentric though. They quickly followed it up with the crowd pleasing ‘Sheep Go To Heaven (Goats Go To Hell)’ that has a funky bass line and the odd harmony chucked in for good measure. And of course the trumpet - a genius addition to any line up.

Not afraid of a bit of banter, and totally comfortable with fame, the band communicated all night with the audience, through song and punditry. Commenting on the crowd’s vocal prowess early on in the evening, singer John McCrea, memorably labelled London “a robust entertainment capital” and was not at all shy about berating the lighting technicians for a job badly done. Which kind of betrayed a soupcon of pretension that came out in dribs and drabs throughout the night, largely in the lyrics of songs such as ‘Excuse Me I Think I Have a Heartache’ and ‘No Phone’, the latter being an outright attack on mobile phone users (but, thankfully, also an effective crowd participation number).

But really the above paragraph is just an attempt to offer a balanced review of the concert as well as an pretty obscure jibe at my aforementioned accomplice. No-one in the Astoria could have said they didn’t enjoy themselves, even the loud drunk people who really, really wanted to hear ‘Mexico’ and weren’t shy about voicing their desires. Cake played all their best songs – ‘Italian Leather Sofa’, ‘Comfort Eagle’ and ‘Stick Shifts and Safety Belts’ all got an airing, as did their superb cover ‘I Will Survive’, which rounded off the night. The excellent ‘Wheels’ from their latest album ‘Pressure Chief’ shows Cake are still on it, which is good news. So go down to your local record store and get it but don’t be surprised if, when you leave it too late, it is sold out.

words: Robin Harris

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