The Bees, Bush Hall, London

Can I get away with Bees-as-band, bees-as-insects stuff here? Can I go down the route of them defying bee logic, losing their sting but instead of dying actually growing back a brand new, even stronger, stinger? I’ve got loads of this stuff, could probably get something about honey in? I could even say there’s a new buzz about them, hahaha… what’s that? No? Dammit. Ok. Fine.

So, I’m at the bar in Bush Hall, standing next to a girl whose clearly a proper grown-up reviewer cos she’s got a proper grown-up notepad and everything. Of course I sneak a look . My heart sinks; there’s the word ‘Merseybeat’ in a big circle. The implications make me shudder. It’s a short and very worrying step from ‘Merseybeat’ to ‘Trad’ and Trad is the sordid calling card of the very worst bands; backwards looking, overly-reverential, imagination defective, soul-destroyingly average oafs. The worst thing? I kinda get where the proper grown-up reviewer is coming from.

An eternity ago, crowded amongst the pool tables of the Islington Elbow Rooms, a charmingly shambolic band that sounded like they had the best record collection in the world exploded into my life. Bursting with ideas and so adorable in their boundless enthusiasm that cutely daft dabblings with the Knight Rider theme tune were easily forgiven and forgotten. Then ‘Sunshine Hit Me’; the sounds of those record collections come to life, a truly wonderful album, frayed around the edges, loose and relaxed. It sounded like summer Sundays spent half-asleep in fields, the sun scorching retinas, rendering vision a lazy, hazy blur. It sounded like they loved making that record. And the scruffily sweet lucha libre artwork perfectly reflected that scruffy sweetness, emphasised how this was music without conventional boundaries.

Somewhere, after that, something went just a bit wrong. Wrangles with labels? The interminable delays between records or just the pressure of improving on that debut? I don’t know, but the next two records were, for me, backwards steps. Appallingly, ‘Free The Bees’ was recorded at Abbey Road and swapped ‘Sunshine Hit Me’ for, Jesus wept, genuinely retro rock. It didn’t just glance a knowing look at 60s and 70s monoliths, it stared them in the eyes and turned to wretched stone, utterly incapable of lightening up and escaping back to the here and now. The playfulness was gone, and some of it was the worst thing a record can be; dull. ‘Octopus’ was better, but flabby; ideas for sure, but no discipline, nothing to reign it in, it felt like it was always seconds away from the worst thing a band can do; jam. The momentum was gone, and so was I.

But then, a few weeks ago, a new track, ‘Silverline’, reared it‘s head. It was obvious from the cover art (all 30s jazzy cocktail hour elegance and sleekness, restrained but hinting at debauchery behind the bright lights) that things were somehow right again, and it took just one listen. Oh my days. It’s beautiful, gentle, subdued and subtle. Wes Anderson could use it to soundtrack Owen Wilson and Bill Murray striding in purposeful slow-motion. It’s that good.

And tonight, at a totally sold-out Bush Hall, everything comes right for The Bees again. They seem content and confident, you can tell they know they’ve stumbled upon the secret again, you can see in their eyes that a corner has been turned. There’s the indefinable hunger that sets bands on the way up and bands on the way down apart. Those lovely boys are all sweetly, shambolically charming again. Only ‘A Minha Menina’ (how on earth are they not sick of that song? How on earth are we not sick of it? Amazing how it still sounds so fresh, vibrant and exciting, amazing how the first second of it still forces head-splitting grins) survives from the first record, but it doesn’t matter. The old songs sound like new songs, and the new songs sound like a band reborn, invigorated, essential; ‘I Really Need Love’ is so joyously repetitive its dizzying, ‘Winter Rose’ is all hungover brass and tranquil meditation, ‘Silverline’, well, you know how I feel about that song, and ‘Change Can Happen’? Well, it’s all there in the title eh? The Bees have changed, or changed back, or just rediscovered the love and, to hell with it, yeah, they’ve totally got their buzz back.