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Written by Brian Kenney Thursday, 31 August 2006 05:45

But while the band's sense of comfort in its songwriting is endearing, there was little live swagger.

Red Rocks Amphitheatre, Denver

Tough to say if we saw the best of Manchester, England's Nine Black Alps on their recent spin though Colorado, but then again, who could blame them—buried so deep in a bill that included seminal punks Social Distortion (with Mike Ness left as the only original distorter) as well as the Supersuckers and, as an afterthought, Tiger Army, who apparently have so much clout with Social D that they were asked specifically to play this one-off show.

Certainly can't blame Nine Black Alps for the billing and set time, but it was a great injustice to have these fine Manchester rookies taking the stage first, and then for an all-too-short eight-song set.

Hyperbole aside, a show at Red Rocks is an experience like nothing else. Impending ominous crimson monoliths frame the vastness of performance space layered with an acceding staircase of shingled red rock rows, a scene inhibiting enough to induce an awestruck reaction on its own. Yet imagine the scene vacant or scarcely attended. And then add 105-degree heat.

Nine Black Alps didn't bat an English eyelash as they launched into "Cosmopolitan," an interesting cocktail of a song, sounding like a punk-inspired Pearl Jam fronted by the Flaming Lips' Wayne Coyne. Like Oasis over a decade ago and recent Coldplayers Keane and Athlete, Nine Black Alps may be part of a neo-Brit invasion. They have taken Manchester and all of Britain in less time than it took Beckham to beat town after marrying Posh Spice. But where Oasis set its sights on plagiarizing '60s Beatles and Bowie records, Nine Black Alps are mining an early '90s sound primarily linked to Seattle and San Diego.

Desperate to earn immediate American success, the Alps tour relentlessly, shelving recording opportunities in favor of Stateside jaunts. But while the band's sense of comfort in its songwriting is endearing—catchy riffs lead to even catchier choruses, such as mid-set nuggets "Not Everyone," "Get Your Guns," and "Southern Cross"—there was little live swagger. They are tight. But quite possibly too tight, stiff, and proper for a bill that includes Eddie Spaghetti.

Prior tours with Kaiser Chiefs and Weezer-and with that Manchester-inherited work ethic in their hip pocket—it's not surprise to see such a young band (together only two years) grinding it out as the only British act on this bill. With little interest in between-song banter ("We're Nine Black Alps from England" just about covers it), the Alps chose to let their music (and sometimes obvious influences) do the talking with a set of tunes plucked from their starry-eyed debut Everything Is. "Iron Side" live plays like a slicker version of Stone Temple Pilots' "Big Bang Baby," and "Unsatisfied" sounds like a Gallagher brothers outtake from Definitely Maybe.

In the British press, they Alps are often sized up as Britain's answer to Nirvana, with Manchester—the land of the Smiths and Joy Division—standing in for Seattle. (Realistically, their sound is more in league with Stone Temple Pilots and—dare I say it—Taking Back Sunday.) Ultimately, Nine Black Alps need to be experienced on their own night, at a venue and on a bill that will allow them to stretch their legs, experiment, and maybe even splice in a Bowie or White Stripes cover.