‘Are ya with us?” barks G Hastings. From lesser artists this would be just well-worn stage banter. From Young Fathers, it’s an expression of an us-against-them mindset they’ve trusted for over 15 years, a call for solidarity from a group whose conviction that their wild, idiosyncratic noise is in fact “pop” isn’t often shared by mainstream radio programmers.
The core trio – Hastings, the dapper Alloysious Massaquoi and ever-restless Kayus Bankole – are joined tonight by a drummer, a multi-instrumentalist, and singers Amber Joy and Kim Mandindo who are too essential to what’s happening here to be simply backing vocalists. The group jitter on to the unadorned stage like unstable elements, casting vast shadows of their endlessly dancing bodies on a grimy canvas backdrop. It evokes Talking Heads’ concert movie Stop Making Sense, and Young Fathers are similarly all energy and ecstasy.
Their music doesn’t easily fit any pigeonhole, though they’re often lazily described as hip-hop. They share with that genre a belief that violently divergent elements can make sense together: the euphoric Be Your Lady makes like Einstürzende Neubauten at a rave, before melting into the sweetest soul. It’s testament to the group’s alchemical magic that for all their daring invention, their unlikely sound-clashes deliver undeniable “pop” harbouring irresistible hooks and overpowering surges of emotion.
The immediacy of their tunes contrasts with the complexity of the lyrics and themes. Old Rock’n’Roll, which coined the title of their second album White Men Are Black Men Too, explores concepts of race, culture and pain. Even their anthems deal in dualities – subterranean fist-pumper Get Up juggles invitations to party and to revolution in the same breath, while Drum’s refrain of “Go numb / Have fun” infers an unhealthy undertow to its call to hedonism. But Young Fathers can also speak plainly when it’s warranted, dedicating Shame to “those who choose bombs and guns over peace”, and preceding an apocalyptic Toy with a chant of “Fuck the Tories!”
“Are ya with us?” barks Hastings again at the end, his group’s joyful, riotous, profound pop having provoked an ovation of several minutes. The radio programmers may not understand Young Fathers – but the people do.
