Editors

I would have expected more polka-dot ties. Instead, the huge crowd that turned out for the Editors' Roman show at a literally overflowing Piper turned out to be quite varied, including in terms of age as well as style. But we have to start from the beginning, namely from a satnav seduced by the forces of evil, convinced that the Piper was located on a side street off the A24, only to think better of it and suggest, "if possible" (his exact words), a U-turn on the Grande Raccordo Anulare (it would later get its revenge on the way back by forcing a detour to Monte Mario before self-destructing on the road to Grosseto, when the actual destination should have been Latina). These factors contributed no small amount (add to this a wristwatch convinced, against all reason, that an hour lasts ninety minutes) to making it practically impossible to catch the opening act's set, in all likelihood the very Italian Joycut, out on the road promoting their brand new album.

Descending the stairs of the infamous Roman venue still gives the sentimental rock fan a small shiver down the spine, as their mind turns to the thought that forty years ago, within those very walls, an obscure little band called Pink Floyd once played.

Inside, the heat is positively Saharan, and it certainly doesn't help that there's a heavy female presence of above-average quality, with peaks of downright sinful excellence. The building's interior is quite striking, and having Carpacho! watching your back adds to the feeling of being part (even if you forgot your little tie at home) of a small but great musical world that celebrates the collective pop ritual amid the enthusiasm of its followers and minor priests. The Editors make anything but a triumphant entrance, launching straight into where it all began two years ago, with "Lights", the opener of "The Back Room", its "I've got a million things to say" machine-gunned at the crowd in the front rows.

The concert goes on alternating songs from the first and second albums, and the Editors show an almost total command of their own repertoire, with renditions so symmetrical and precise as to border on pedantry. The result is a sort of little greatest hits live set stringing together "An End Has a Start", "Bones", "All Sparks", "Bullet", "Spiders", "The Racing Rats", and allowing themselves the luxury of a couple of unreleased tracks (at least as far as the two albums go), the second of which, played in the encore, is fairly intriguing.

It thus becomes clear what the Editors actually are within today's rock landscape: a voice and a guitar. The whole performance essentially played out as a conversation between singer Tom Smith and Chris Urbanowicz's guitar. The former, unusually curly-haired and subtly underfed yet remarkably dynamic, hops around, twists and knots his arms as if in an imaginary straitjacket (or maybe it's just stretching), constantly fixes his hair, spasmodically switches guitars at the end of every song, and on a couple of occasions even climbs onto the piano like a latter-day Bruce Springsteen, continually engaging the crowd (within what was, in any case, a very open and participatory show) and, above all, showing off a genuinely enviable voice. Urbanowicz, for his part, sends the fiery lines of his U2-schooled guitar flak flying through the air, staying very faithful to the original arrangements and steering clear of any overly unpredictable or dangerous corners of the soul.

The drums, on the other hand, sound a bit stiff, while the bass sticks to a diligent, punctual and hard-working supporting role. The crowd responds with handclaps and commanding chants, the music is more about impact than atmosphere (not for nothing are all the slower ballads set aside, some of which are actually among the Editors' finest moments), and the gap with their New York uncles Interpol couldn't be wider.

"Munich" is brought back with a slowed-down intro before exploding, fairly predictably, a few minutes later, with an old rock fox's trick worthy of any Liga; "Smokers Outside the Hospital Doors" (the opening track of the latest album) is played in the encore, and you'd expect the concert to end right there, with an ending that's a beginning and a beginning that's an ending — instead, it closes with "Fingers in the Factories", in the name of the most classic, guitar-driven brit-rock.

The show doesn't even last an hour and a quarter, which comes as no surprise to anyone familiar with the Editors' views on the ideal length of a rock concert. Overall, the verdict is positive. The Editors could end up being better than Coldplay — actually, maybe they already are. And what became of the rage and despair of Joy Division? Well, maybe they were right after all: in the end, that rage and despair were never really there.

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