The somewhat sexier of two Tings, Katie White, is obviously not insecure about being the third ball of youthful, feminine sass to roll on stage during her band’s current UK tour. It’s a shocker that the law of diminishing returns does not set in, considering doo-wop firecracker and future star VV Brown kicks things off in breathless style at the sold-out show at Wolves Civic…

Perhaps unsurprisingly, Brown (above) herself is trumped by the cool-as Ladyhawke (below), looking every inch the effortless icon-in-waiting in her Nirvana vest top. Disproving whispers that her live routine is dogged by a debilitating shyness, Pip and her band squeeze out every drop of nostalgic delirium from her Back to the Future ’80s pop. Opener Dusk Till Dawn wakes the dead, while the evocative and impossibly catchy likes of Paris Is Burning and Back of the Van are on loan from a long-lost Molly Ringwald movie.

If I’m completely honest, I’m not usually one to venture out on a Monday night (!) to see, of all bands, the Ting Tings. They caught my ear back at V in 2007 with their lo-fi pop but, having heard that song relentlessly and one slight and mediocre album since, I considered them to be, frankly, not my name. Sigh. I don’t know why I’m so snobbish sometimes when I will get my Monday party shapes on to a gal whose sound marries Fleetwood Mac, The Buggles and Kylie. Well, third lady of the night soon appears with her male Ting in crime, whooping my hypocritical arse into gear – and motion – within seconds.

Granted, new single We Walk, which chucks a mournful piano line on top of their shuffling beats, is an odd choice of opener; still, Katie struts onstage like a propa pop star, directing all eyes her way as her surprisingly pretty voice leads the mid-tempo ballad. Ladyhawke who? Well, it’s not that impressive but I’m already liking them a whole lot more than I was ten minutes ago, even if drummer Jules can’t fail to look like a bit of a berk in his trademark shades. Still, the opening chug-a-chug of Great DJ has always been their best song, lending them a great choon to back up the hype, and a lot of that is down to his skill with a pair of sticks. Its charmingly hectic pop sound is extended to Fruit Machine, which on record is relentlessly annoying as Katie squawks like a manga character given a mic, but is contagious and fun in a live setting. Too much of the Red Stripe, or are they actually pretty good? Either way, it’s officially a happy Monday.

Their set continues to throw up smart, honed – but never too slick – pop tricks that defy expectation. Moaning, uppity snoots like myself have branded their sound bratty and unsophisticated but it’s hard to deny that the party, for tonight at least, is on. For two people to make the racket that is We Started Nothing and the noodling funk of Impacilla Carpisung is impressive and Katie, whether banging a huge drum stick, working her guitar or simply causing the crowd to fall in love with her, continues to surprise. A stripped back Traffic Light is a particular highlight, showcasing some vocal steel but, alas, it’s up to the encore to raise the stakes for what is a relatively short set. Extended jams of both Shut Up and Let Me Go and, of course, That’s Not My Name (‘name… name… name…’) cause the inevitable, stirred-up frenzy. When the house lights go boom and we’re still unsure what name to call ’em, the youngsters and Topshop teens are as happy as can be, but the accompanying chaperones and dragged-along boyfs leave the Civic in an equally happy daze. Girl power done good, no?

Images by Lee Allen
Words by Luke McNaney