Ö÷²¥´óÐã

Aptly, NI’s good-time rock rock juggernaut switches through the gears to open up the day. These guys have the scrapes and bruises to show what its taken to make their own mark, and make no mistake, TD are no one-trick pony, local sensation. Yes ‘Drink Beer, Destroy’ is their ace calling card, but there is a depth here and no question of this lot’s commitment to their cause. Covering ‘Proud Mary’ is a nice touch, something for the uninitiated to latch onto. Judging by the number of freshly sported tees spotted throughout the rest of the evening, many conversions have indeed been witnessed, despite a perfectly timed deluge that would have Noah running to the nearest timber wholesaler. Hallelujah, brothers.
Not only did we get to watch proudly as Trucker Diablo's slayed the early arrivers, but a handful of local acts were added to the bill for a second acoustic 'stage', in the bar. A great idea in theory and further evidence promoters are interested in looking after their own, to their credit. Only problem was, it didn't really work. Ropey sound, poor location and the inevitable bleed from the main stage meant the likes of , and didn't get to prove themselves much at all. 'Here's to a proper second stage next year, eh?'

, then, are something of a conundrum. Feted in their native Dublin as something akin to the second coming by some writers, their gnarly, garage rock hit has it all musically. Drummer Shane is a marvel and the snaking, feedback drenched guitars and dense bass points towards being a revelation in a small, sweaty club. However, in this vast space, the meander of many of the songs lose a lot of the audience, and the snarling attitude of frontman Mark doesn’t fully convince.

, on the other hand, provide a lesson in passion and perfomance. All at once on the verge of collapsing, but taut all the same, the delivery of the Wakefield outfit is a joy from beginning to end. Leaning heavily on the twin attack of the Jarmin brothers, they bustle through a set that probably favours their ‘Men’s Needs’ period both in terms of selection and reaction. The title track from that album is always going to be the biggest moment of this set, with yelps of recognition from the casual followers, but the standout moment is ‘Be Safe’ with a 20ft Lee Ranaldo shouting the odds from the big screens. Bass guitars are mashed with mic stands and at one point Ryan’s powder blue fender is launched into his own amps at the climactic point. Phew.

have totally lucked out. How many of their peers (Detroit Cobras? Von Bondies?) have managed to get anywhere near this level of adoration for doing the exact same thing they’ve been doing, and doing very well, for the past ten years. It’s odd that the music world has sprinkled its fairy dust on this band, but let’s not complain, it’s great to see them achieve heights that a two-piece, drum and guitars, blues-drenched band had previously thought impossible (ed: cough the White Stripes??) . Fair point, but you know what we mean. Playing the O2 in Dublin, or second on the bill to the Foos at Vital should be a distant dream, but rather pleasantly here we are.

Initially swelling to a four piece, The Black Keys play the mid portion of their time onstage as the familiar duo, all scuzzy, swampy riffs and plaintiff, heartfelt angst. The power of the advertising industry is clear, given the reaction to ‘Tighten Up’ and ‘Gold on the Ceiling’ the song which propelled El Camino into the public consciousness.

‘I Got Mine’ as a closer, and the late appearance of a large set of Black Keys lights brings some debate within the ATL squadron, with some dismissing the band as one dimensional. Those people are, however, wrong, on a very fundamental level. It’s powerful, affirmative rock music. Within a much-worn tradition it may be, but there is enough here in terms of melody, poise and delivery to in it’s own right deserve the elevation.

Ìý

Then came the rattlers of windows, the upsetters of canines, the scourge of the young south, north, east and west Belfast parent – .

It’s a little known fact, except for those who watched ATL TV a few years back, (kudos, you lovely people) that Dave Grohl came within a whisker of being brought up in Lisburn, when his mom – he is American - was offered a teaching post here in the 80s. As it was, he was certainly heard there last night, as Vital notched up an impressive level of volume. Check your local facebook complainers for further details.

The Foos have now reached that point whereby their arsenal is so vast that they can afford to drop enormous global hits at will.

At one point drummer Taylor Hawkins eulogises Dave Grohl as the greatest man in music today. He might be right, certainly as a showman. Grohl isn't alone though as the rest of the band are as tight as Taylor's drums, their professionalism blaring from the stage, dropping in blasts of Alternative Ulster and never missing a note as they let Grohl gallavant around the stage, seemingly wanting to make eye contact with every punter there.

If you're being harsh you could say that every cliche in the big book of rock and roll was wheeled out, but they're done with such enthusiasm, charm and a sense of humour that all is forgivable. Few bands in rock can engage an audience in this manner.

From multiple apologies for taking so long to get there, while discretely referencing his and Pat Smear's past visit, to promises to return soon, praising the crowd, singing 'Happy Birthday' to their tour manager, even the appearance of his daughter for a solo 'Wheels' stays the right side of cute due to Grohl's humour.

And of course there are the multiple singalongs - 'My Hero', 'Learn To Fly' - in fact just about all of the mammoth set, including the encore, the length of which was seemingly decided via the video screens as Grohl and Hawkins toy with the crowd. At one point Grohl says that he could play a gig like this every night. That might not please the residents of the city and environs (as far as Comber if reports are true) but the rest of us would be pretty happy too.

Words: Paul McClean, William Johnston, Ross Haymes

Photo: Tony Irvine