The Bandits are young, cocky and Scouse. Proud members of the new wave of Merseyside bands producing cosmically charged indie pop, they have the unruly hair, questionable dress-sense and blinding confidence of a band whose moment has come.
It has happened fast. It was at the Glastonbury festival in 2000 that these renegades decided to make the most of their eclectic tastes and colourful imaginations. Appreciating their home-town's heritage while embracing their personal passions, they have teamed gloriously simple Mersey-beat melodies with an appetite for eccentric sounds. But while like-minded friends the Coral play it cool, the Bandits bristle with excitement.
Crashing cymbals, forceful drums and a whirring keyboard weave in and out of the jingle-jangle of On My Way, singer John Robinson seizing the microphone, intent on demanding respect. Dressed in a military-style black jacket, his voice swamped by echo, his angst-ridden face underlit by a deep red light, he is a static psychedelic soldier fighting his way through the heavy guitars.
He almost loses the battle. The furious rhythm forces his voice - an unlikely mix of John Power's mediocrity and Jim Morrison's majesty - to duck under the tirade. But, as his vocals gradually rise above the swirl, Robinson nods his head and pounds his hand to the punchy beat, willing the music on.
Although Robinson is a charismatic frontman, the rest of the band look an unlikely bunch of troubadours. Bassist Scott Dulson grins, drummer Dave Sweeny goes bare-chested and keyboardist Tony Dunn aims for immortality by wearing a baseball cap. Gary Murphy, however, is a hyperactive bundle of enthusiasm, playing his guitar with gusto, barely pausing for breath. In contrast, nimble-fingered and pony-tailed lead guitarist Richie Taylor is aloof, only fleetingly looking into the crowd as he strikes the convoluted chords at the heart of these urgent songs.
With only two singles to their name, the Bandits are out to impress. Though Take It and Run, with its jaunty country rhythm and breezy melody, is a wink at the Coral, the dirty and dreamy Hung or Hunger is more representative of the band. Robinson swaps his usual rumble for high, light vocals as the intense and messy sound melts to a haze, drums fitfully bursting into action before gentleness takes grip again. A slinky cover of the Clash's Guns of Brixton proves how affectionate irreverence can be and just how easily the Bandits could steal the Coral's thunder.
