I REALLY SHOULD BE WATCHING MORE INDIE VIDEOS ON YOUTUBE

Or poring through more issues of Magnet. I have to admit I had a pretty hazy conception of what the dudes in The Rapture looked like before I saw ‘em in the flesh last night. Basically, I knew Luke Jenner had a curly-floppy ‘do and that’s about it.

Suffice to say, the group that ambled onstage at the Cat’s Cradle looked absolutely nothing like the image I held in my head of the band that wrought the dance-punk fuckery of Echoes and the slick cock-rock of Pieces of the People We Love. That incongruity may not have been the overriding problem with the show itself, but it was certainly a symptom.

Simply put, The Rapture just didn’t have the stage presence to pull off the music they make in the studio, at least on this night. On wax they come off all street-scuzzy and invitingly lecherous, Pistols fans who’ve just discovered Zeppelin or club kids who’ve just discovered both. In person the band is standard-issue indie, fronted by a shaggy-headed cutie-pie when only a leering bozo showing off his cock bulge will do.

See, it wasn’t just physical features either. Musically, the Rapture was suitably tight, but only in rare instances did anyone in the band exude even a rudimentary degree of showmanship (Jenner stage-diving at show’s end, mainly). If they sounded like The Shins or Pavement the band’s visual presentation would be perfectly peachy, but music that thrives on sex and ugliness demands complementary panache. Imagine if Roxy had performed wearing oversized football jerseys and sweatpants and you’ll get some idea of the touching awkwardness I felt when Jenner tamely unleashed his best Bob Plant impression on “The Devil.” Perhaps the lack of ocular stimulation on stage explains why a ridiculous little mosh pit repeatedly broke out amidst the first few rows of the crowd.

(penned by Josh Love, the victim of log-in problems and his crack addiction).