The Pigeon Detectives


I remember my first Wait For Me album encounter. It was in a pound shop. Kerching! In a time when my sixteen-year-old-self just wanted 2007 indie tunes banging in my lobes constantly, not the rants from my driving instructor, nor the career advice from my sixth form tutors. Just give me a bit of something from the Angus, Thongs and Perfect Snogging soundtrack. The kind of ‘beige,’ ‘landfill indie’ that pleases crowds but boils Peter Robinson’s blood.

That was one of the first albums I owned which I could play all the way through without skipping a song. 33 minutes of guitar-thrashing bliss, if you ask me. So I’m delighted to say their Thursday night ten-year anniversary set at the Academy was one of the first gigs I could stand all the way through without getting bored of a song.

Lead singer Matt doesn’t stop for a second, constantly darting across the stage and perching himself on the speakers with arms outstretched, much like the image of the crucifixion. Shoulder-length tendrils dripping with sweat, leather jacket stripped off, you could almost see Peter Robinson’s crown of thorns sitting on his head. He douses the crowd with (obviously holy) water and does not give up for the whole of the exhausting set.

I daresay he’s like an indie Jesus. It didn’t get much better for the pigeons after Wait For Me. Perhaps they had to die for our apparent sins of letting indie become mainstream monotony way back in 2007. But tonight, the Pigeons resurrected. For all it wasn’t a sold out gig, the enthusiastic crowd of 21-year-old students and 43-year-old dads alike lapped up classics: ‘I Found Out,’ ’Romantic Type,’ and ‘Take Her Back.’

All I can say is, roll on the twenty-year anniversary.

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Amy-Lea Wright

A multimedia journalism student at MMU, thrives on red hot chili peppers, survives on instant noodles.