They’ve always been an irreverent band. ‘It’s raining lemons in Sheffield’ cries Matthew Murphey in jest, pleased with his band’s tendency towards singing about citrus. The Wombats treat live shows the way most people treat karaoke – the trio appear on stage like a gaggle of mates appear in the bar, with Murphey even suggesting that they’re hungover. The difference is that unlike most people at karaoke, The Wombats do not disappoint.
Despite continually appealing to young audiences, the band are nearly two decades old. Evidently, wombats must have lengthy lifespans because the trio remain youthful performers. Songs like ‘Kill the Director’ and ‘Greek Tragedy’ are nearing classic status within indie music and while many of the band’s contemporaries either faded or continued to rely on early material, The Wombats have steadily released successful albums over the last twenty years – gaining their first number one earlier this year. New songs are healthily scattered amongst the setlist with relative ease.
Opener ‘Moving to New York’ begins before the crowd have adjusted to the band’s presence. Likewise, the sound engineers are equally unprepared and the track is a dissatisfying quiet. However, balance is quickly restored and the band sound their usual colourful selves as the infectious ‘Techno Fan’ blasts from the speakers.
‘Ready for the High’ sees an actual wombat (most likely someone in a wombat costume) enter the stage to mime a trombone solo, before falling over – either because wombats are blind or, more likely, because the person inside the suit can’t see. These wombats return during ‘Let’s Dance to Joy Division’ to perform a surreal dance routine. Nonetheless, it all fits into the band’s joyously silly aesthetic and attitude towards their music. By never taking themselves too seriously, they continue to be one of the most reliable festival performers.