While I have a bone to pick with the sadist that put this venue on top of a hill, now sweating and chugging a litre of water to the sweet sound of opener Marcus King, there are more important tasks at hand. Greta Van Fleet are set to take the stage any minute and I am so far back that Queen Lizzie could headline and I’d be none the wiser.
The hallowed hall of Ally Pally can hold more than 10,000 people on a good day, and this is a very good day.
Merch is everywhere – band t-shirts is the business to be in. I am flanked by fans of Kiss, Royal Blood, U2, Led Zeppelin, AC/DC, Nirvana, Pink Floyd and Robert Plant. Upon further inspection, it’s clear this crowd has started clearing Greta Van Fleet out of their stock too.
Stood in the theoretically perfect spot – not too near or too far from the stage, central, with the vast majority of the audience behind me – the sight of Kiszka & Co. at long last is one for sore eyes. While I have fallen prey to my own height, my visuals are intermittently blocked by a gaggle of the tallest men in London, I am focused on the front man, Josh.
Whether it’s the hair or just the otherworldly vocals, something about Josh seems like he has been plucked fresh from the Shire. Dressed as what I can only say is a rhinestoned Pink Panther, this man is a show in and of himself.
As ‘Black Smoke Rising’, ‘Heat Above’ and ‘Safari Song’ go down a treat, the atmosphere is defined by ‘Light My Love’, a song about infinite possibilities that exist within life and love. This is fitting. The backdrop, eight identical light fixtures which at first glance look like electricity pylons, have started to resemble Christmas trees – my sense of time and place is waning. This is a step back from reality, a show designed to provoke nostalgia in those familiar with the inspirations of the band and one to spark joy in those who can’t quite get their heads around the folk-rock-yodelling at hand.
God love them, great drummers really are the lynchpin of American rock, and Danny Wagner is putting in overtime. Alongside the remaining Kiszkas, Sam who plays the guitar backwards with ease and the multi talented bass and keys aficionado Jake, the four that make up Greta Van Fleet are legit.
Critics have berated the group for projecting a sound similar to that of their parents’ generation but seeing as that is their inspiration, it seems only right that they do it justice. Personally bereft not to be hearing the group’s cover of Fairport Convention’s ‘Meet on The Ledge’ – hands down the greatest song to come out of British folk rock – I understand what reaction they want from the crowd, and they’re not quite getting it.
Great music alone does not make a great performance and big venues make life hard for artists. We are a static mob. There’s only so far you can throw roses into a crowd, and in a standing-only situation, you’ve got to accept that anyone under 5’7” will hear significantly more than they can see. But it is the task of the performer and their team to compensate for this.
A couple of sudo-comprehensive speeches, of which I only caught the words “how’s my hair?” from Josh break up the show. The band is eager and determined to deliver the songs they know we love at light speed. I just want to slow it down and take it in but frankly, I’m envious of those who saw the band pre-2017, in intimate venues, because I believe they will have been their best performances to date.
Perhaps next time I will stay towards the back, make some space and just enjoy. I am, however, sold. It’s not a perfect show, yet it has all the hallmarks of something special and I am sure that with time they will adjust to their fame and fill arenas with the intensity of their art.
This band is life support for the kind of rock music which has long risked dying with its generation. Greta Van Fleet are a blast from the past creating a legacy in the present.
Words by Catherine Woolley
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