The Vaccines, Ritz, Manchester

If The Guardian’s pun about ‘Wreckin’ Bar (Rah Rah Rah)’ is anything to go by, The Vaccines have been in receipt of a bit of media ram-battering in the wake of their debut album release and the reason why? Because the guitarist’s mother gave him a very swish party pad in South Ken(sing)tish Town. (Oh and the singer once played heartfelt folk alongside his blood Marcus Mumford). Whilst both good reasons to hate on someone (or not, depending on your tolerance level for Mumford and Sons), the fact of the matter is: why diss the Vaccines for their lack of working class clout anyway?

Without getting bogged down in a string of other silverspooned stars or posh punks (Julian ‘Arthur Fonzarelli’ Casablancas, I don’t wish to name names but..), here’s the point: that The Vaccines never attested to be ‘punk’ in the first place.

They’re four lads making music which is immediate, short and sonically a bit raw. In fact, if you listen to their lyrics, they’re not actually chugging on about the masses against the classes but rather they tell the usual tales of heartbreak and love in an interesting, intelligent and relatable way - even in the form of falling for a magazine cover girl (whether she’s in Harper’s Bazaar or Playboy.. hell, we all do it).

Seeing The Vaccines live this time around (the last being first on the bill on the NME tour), there is a heightened quality about their performance with much to admire. Any hesitations about their energy or spirit are quickly swung from Hell to High Heaven when the front pit explodes for Wreckin’ Bar in a way reminiscent to a post-Libertines/early Babyshambles show. (Perhaps these Mancunian kids don’t read the press).

Singer Justin Hayward-Young’s pending throat operation may be the explanation for some of his more shouty moments, but it all adds to the character of the live performance over listening to the band on record. There are naturally the early Ramones-style firecrackers like Wreckin’ Bar and If You Wanna (‘Manchester, this one is for those who wanna dance’) but these are nicely counterbalanced with the more Phil Spector/Ronette-style wall of sound ambience of Wetsuit or warblings of ‘I’ve Got Too Much Time On My Hands’ on ‘A Lack of Understanding’ which could easily be one-part drunk Casablancas, one-part Flowers and three parts Morrissey (that’s quite a cocktail, let me tell you).

The chat is kept to a minimum, with Young saying a few polite ‘thank yous’ at the end of most songs, but the hits are certainly here for the fans and keep on coming. By the time the band throws down ‘Post Break-Up Sex’, guitarist Freddie Cowan no longer needs to rally the troops with his gesticulating and his military shirt, as the audience are already clapping and dancing without the formalities. The band vacate the stage for literally a minute after the frenetic climax of Family Friend and return to close with We Are Happening and fan favourite Norgaard with it’s catchy A.M.A.N. D.A Norgaard chorus and a jostling, pumping rendition to boot. A quick ‘thank you’ and they’re off again, this time for good, leaving the crowd wanting more but satisfied with what they got. All 45 minutes.

Whether The Vaccines will be able to regroup successfully for Part Deux is down to the public as the band proved tonight they have the potential to write catchy, crowd-winning songs and the live bite to back up their bark. Of course we like our heroes to be the complete package - the swagger, the stage clobber, the swigging, the snarling - it all adds up. The Vaccines have the style (Freddie Cowan - a handsome Mick Jones aficionado), the spirit (Justin Young) and the singles. Perhaps it would be much cooler if they also had homeless people’s spit in their mouths, but people should stop dissecting them for what they’re not and just enjoy them for what they are: a ruddy good live band. And seemingly affable chaps at that.