Pop quiz. Without resorting to a Google search, who would you say is the best Scottish rock band of all time?
The Jesus and Mary Chain? Primal Scream? Simple Minds? Belle and Sebastian? The Beta Band? The Proclaimers? Whatever your answer, you now need to add Biffy Clyro to the discussion.
"Biffy who?" you're probably saying. It's a valid question. Too weird for CFOX, too noisy to fit into The Peak's 24-hour Mumford and Sons playlist; Biffy Clyro remain virtually unknown in this corner of the English-speaking world. Which is why they're reduced to playing Granville Street's 500-capacity Venue for the budget price of $14 a ticket.
Back in their native UK however, five albums and 15 years of touring have turned Biffy Clyro into major league rock stars. Their last British tour took place across the island's arenas. And just two nights before the band's arrival in Vancouver, they were named Best Live Band at the prestigious NME Awards. They've even received the Simon Cowell nod of approval. A cover version of their track Many Of Horror was the debut single for the winner of 2010's X Factor, Britain's equally tawdry take on the Canadian/American Idol format. Not bad for a post-hardcore band from the small town of Kilmarnock who were toiling in virtual obscurity for the first 10 years of their existence.
Some bands resent dropping down in venue size to play uncharted territory. Others enjoy the challenge. Biffy Clyro's opinion was clear from the moment the three of them strode on stage, each stripped to the waist, and started attacking their songs like they had personally offended their mothers. It was fast. It was heavy. The crowd went nuts. It was fantastic.
On paper, Biffy Clyro do not make sense. They have a very silly name. The band's rhythm section, the Johnston twins, are the sort of Scottish redheads who need a week in the sun just to get white. Their guitar-wielding frontman, Simon Neil, is rocking a strange, tattooed Jesus look. Most of their songs are filled with unpredictable stops and starts, take the quiet-loud dynamic to the nth degree and have impossible to remember names like My Recovery Injection and Kill The Old, Torture Their Young.
And yet, on stage, the ultra-pasty trio turn into nothing less than Rock Gods. Barely a kilometre away, Eric Clapton was lulling Rogers Arena into a coma with an endless procession of intricate blues solos. In the sweaty confines of The Venue, Biffy Clyro were conducting a rock and roll masterclass, generating singalongs and inspiring mosh pits with instantly loveable hit after hit after hit. One minute, Neil is standing alone on stage, armed only with an acoustic guitar, singing a gentle ballad like Machines. Moments later, he's careening across the stage as the band go Slayer-heavy to There's No Such Thing As A Jaggy Snake. Even under the layers of guitar noise, melody always triumphs. More often than not, those tunes are supported by the type of three-part vocal harmonies only possible after 15 years of life on the road. Even at their most jagged, the band is speedo tight.
An early contender for gig of 2011? No doubt. It's also a reminder that while Vancouver's moaners accuse the city of being a cultural backwater, for people looking beyond the latest waves of hype filtering up from the US border, there are astonishing opportunities to see great artists in the type of intimate venues fans elsewhere would sell arms and testicles for.
"Thanks Vancouver," smiles an impossibly sweaty Neil at the show's end. "We love your city and you've made this a very special night."
He's right. Across the Lower Mainland today, 500 Biffy Clyro fans are ranting uncontrollably about how they experienced one of the great live bands up close and personal. Eight time zones eastward, hundreds of thousands of Brits can't believe how lucky we are.
