While the lead singer of Future Islands, Samuel T. Herring, looks distinctly like a GP with his sleeves rolled up in preparation to perform a prostate exam, the sound that spreads through Brixton Academy from his voicebox and the collective sounds of the band are quite different.
Future Islands do not look how they sound. Quite the opposite in fact – the cool demeanour in their sound is not represented by their image. Had you only heard these guys on the radio, you’d be surprised to see the four men standing on the stage in front of you. They look more like they’re about to teach a geography lesson than rustle up a heady collection of songs that set Brixton Academy alight with a thrumming atmosphere and make feet tap to the rhythmic beat of the heavy drums and synthy keyboard sounds. And this is something which only seems to add to the magic of their live shows.
The intensely feeling lyrics, such as “People change, You know but some people never do, You know when people change, They gain a peace but they lose one too” from the hit song Waiting on You, enable Future Islands to balance dreamy, futuristic riffs, guitar sounds and the haunting language of the songs with meaning that lingers long after the song has finished. There’s something about their lyrics which speak to the millennial audience gathered. The crowd is hooked on both the sounds and words of each song as if it is an addictive drug, but rather than seeking nothingness from its clutches they are seeking guidance from the wisdom of the song lyrics and escape from the real world with the harmonious melodies. Every song can be related to the real lives of the audiences – we all hear a part of ourselves as Herring performs, throwing himself dramatically around the stage and giving attention to every word he sings.
Herring is a showman like no other, eliciting the full spectrum of emotions from the audience looking on to his performance. From the guttural roars of his low-end vocals to his theatrical, crowd-pleasing dance moves, dazzling high kicks, Cossak moves (yes, really) and overwrought chest thumping feeling of the lyrics, it’s as if every moment of the show is an exercise in exorcising his internal demons. Were it not for his regular interaction with the audience – singing directly to those crammed in at the front of the stage to expletive laden messages about how awesome the rowdy crowd are – it would almost feel voyeuristic to watch the man in front of you come undone and piece himself back together in every song, especially as the band’s latest offerings have become somewhat bleaker, exploring themes of depression, death and loss with in amongst their pithy electrobeats. His energy levels are similar to that of an over exerted toddler on a frenzied high before they crash out into a deep sleep or an exhausted tantrum. Just how much he exerts himself is evidenced in the way his characteristically cleanly pressed black shirt becomes a sweat-sodden memory of a shirt within the first 25 minutes of the show.
Future Islands sound like no other band of the present or from history and the album of this tour The Far Field (released in April 2017) is a rip-roaring success amongst those who require their music to have as much theatre as it does feeling. And boy do these guys know how to put on a show as they edge their way towards the curfew with no hint of winding down anytime soon. When the gig finishes, Future Islands leave behind a feeling reminiscent of the moments just after a storm – an electric atmosphere still hanging in the air and the sense that you’ve just witnessed some of the realest, purest magic the world has to offer.