The Coral are psychedelic pirates with a gift for discovering diamonds in their much-robbed Merseybeat heritage and for confusing light simplicity with steaming, inebriated rhythms. They are not concerned with satisfaction. Reserved to the point of terror, and so serious that they're in danger of negating the cheeky humour and tangible warmth within their songs, pop's latest boy wonders are out to please themselves.
And they're in a position to do it. After last year's successful eponymous debut, their new album, Magic and Medicine, with its fusion of the Doors and Lonnie Donegan, proves that a year in the limelight makes for maturity and madness.
The confidence is still overwhelming, but the approach is less hit-and-run-away-giggling. The Coral look like a bunch of kids in detention. With no fuss and little fanfare, they start the eerie, plodding melody of In the Forest, its crashing cymbal making for a fitful day dream, singer James Skelly peering warily from beneath his hat.
The mood is thoughtful, the Coral's performance obtuse. Turning towards bass player and backing singer Paul Duffy, Skelly wraps his yearning vocals around the everyday tragedy of Bill McCai, attacking and sympathising with the mundanity of McCai's life. The rhythm picks up and each schoolboy mop-top nods maniacally to the quickening pace. The Coral indulge in the squiggly guitar and Motown rhythm of Talkin' Gypsy Market Blues before feeding off the frustration and spontaneity of Simon Diamond.
But it's not until the epic Skeleton Key that they really seem to understand and feel the claustrophobia their unpredictability induces. Skelly flows from being tambourine shaker to cymbal basher, leading us on a merry dance as the melody falls and the anticipation rises to breaking point.
Snatches of retro keyboards spin above the bass and drums. Funk, groove, rock'n'roll and jazz fall into the brew, the sweet melody reduced to a wounded cry. The astonishing and antagonistic sound ends only when Skelly resurrects his soothing vocals.
The band leave the stage without playing the popular Dreaming of You. Refusing to return, the rapturous reception soon becomes a roar of collective boos that might actually make these contrary mavericks smile.
