NME live review (15/3/97)
　 　 TWO GOODS TO BE TRUE! 　 　　 EMBRACE 　　　 London Oxford Street 100 Club 　 It's all true: no false trails or lies, your expectations intact. Embrace are here, this is music and the first thing you'll need to do is be quiet. You really should concur, after all you won't be seeing them in such intimate surroundings again. Brothers Danny and Richard McNamara have finished paying their dues. It didn't take long, about a month: they've appeared at the NME On Night, they've slummed around Britain with the Longpigs and appeared at The Forum beneath Travis - and that's it, thanks very much. From now on, they'll be doing the headlining. This, of course, is their fourth London show. But still they glare at the assembled few with withering arrogance. Singer Danny hisses irritably into his microphone and adopts the pose. Scraping straggly hair behind his ear, he thrusts his hands deep into his pockets and freezes. The band immediately swagger into 'Higher Sights' - all crashing chords and distant peaks - but it's merely the testing jab, song two is the flooring punch.　 'All You Good Good People' is a song of continental dimensions - its creeping guitars, mountainous keyboards and swelling strings threaten to engulf you from the outset, and Embrace deliver it with astonishing nonchalance. Two minutes into the song, an age still to go and Danny takes a step back from the mike and gently begins to nod his head. He likes this song. To his left, Richard is in a kinetic frenzy, literally trying to shake distortion from his guitar; behind him there's a stomping (virtual) glitter beat and the whine of spiralling horns. Danny continues to look away. That should be the climax, but it isn't. Embrace continue to weave in and out of the song until finally, after seven minutes of heady tumult, they arrive at the tranquil conclusion. And Danny starts to click his fingers. From here, you don't get up off the floor. 　 Any comparisons are swamped by the sheer enormity of the band's scope and ambitions. They aren't interested in the provincial dreams of The Verve or The Stone Roses, they think they're The Doors. Except from Huddersfield, and without all the mystical analogies and desperate clich仔acutes. That's what they're aiming for: that instantaneous sense of legend and the overriding feeling that they're doing this alone. And, unlike Oasis at the same stage, you get the sense there's some soul lurking beneath all the deadpan bravado. Songs like 'My Weakness Is None Of Your Business' and 'Retread' are not coke-fuelled cries for attention, but the sound of a real life spent living, fighting and just getting by. And somehow it feels better that way, you know Embrace want to be rock'n'roll stars, you　 don't need to be reminded every other song. 　 So, Danny remains silent. He gets handed an acoustic guitar, and looks with malevolent distaste at the mumbling few near the bar. Give them six months, and they won't be saying a word. Still, Embrace push on - a tidal wave of emotional concern and wrenching, brawny noise. We've almost reached the finale before the first illumination is offered from the stage. "We're Embrace. This is our first headline show, and I've got the worst flu you've ever had," drawls Danny. The walk is being walked with the aid of Nurofen. It doesn't matter though, it just makes Embrace fight that little bit harder, engulfing us with their increasingly dark and imploring constructions. 'One Big Family' mutates into the psychedelic destruction of Sister Sledge, 'Fireworks' is the final blast of a collapsing relationship, and then that's it. There's a terse, "That's all you're getting," and a slouched, casual departure. They do return briefly, however, to offer one final reminder. Quite simply, 'You've Got To Say "Yeah"'. 　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　 James Oldham 　 Back