Caught Live: Midlake @ The Roundhouse, London

Texan psychedelic folksters Midlake are not simply critics’ darlings here in Europe; they have slowly grown into a band with some genuine live clout – something which has earned them a dedicated, vocal cult following. While that cult continues to expand, enabling the band to play shows at sizeable venues like the legendary Roundhouse, their slow-burning brand of expertly-played retro-rock continues to be relatively unbending in terms of commerciality.

Midlake play, almost uniformly, mid-tempo songs about the elements, about woodsmen and their wives, about the transient nature of the universe. What's more, they were likely holed up in an Appalachian cave practicing their harmonies long before Fleet Foxes came along. Are they hippies? Their liberal use of flutes and mandatory beards suggests so. While this is not inherently a bad thing – and their most recognisable tunes such as ‘Roscoe’, ‘Young Bride’ and the weaving, lyrical ‘Van Occupanther’, are genuinely well-crafted songs – it is nevertheless hard to escape the feeling that this is a band stuck firmly in second gear, and one that’s very happy to be there.

Crazy Horse-style wig-outs attempt to counterpoint the overall staid slowness of the set, but when they’re played in such a precise, controlled fashion, we’re never really left with the feeling that we’re seeing the accomplished seven-piece ‘cut loose’; it’s just all too well-rehearsed, all too considered, to be genuinely vital. It must be pointed out that, as hosts, they are at least courteous and amusing – a cry of “What a f**king band!” from within tonight’s appreciative crowd is met with a response of “What a fan!” – and it’s easy to see how live audiences with a real feel for what the band does are so endeared to them.

Sadly, much of their work comes across as the quieter moments of Radiohead or Pink Floyd delivered through a cipher of The Eagles. Midlake sit very much in the middle of the musical road – and, while they show flashes of Fleetwood Mac exuberance, and the odd dash of The Flaming Lips’ quirk, it’s just not enough to convince this writer that they are much more than an easily-accessible, albeit charming, MOR band with a handful of nice tunes.

The undisputed highlight of the show comes with the appearance of Jason Lytle – he of the near-legendary (and much-missed) Grandaddy, and tonight's opening act – for a faithfully brilliant version of his old band’s seminal anthem ‘A.M. 180’, the song’s lurching, looping keyboard riff and strange, beautiful vocal sadly pinpointing exactly where it is that Midlake do not excel. It’s a shame to say that a cover is the best song in tonight’s set, but in this instance that is certainly the case.

Again, it’s understandable how a band like this becomes popular – Midlake are nothing if not easy, pleasant and undemanding. Alas, this does not for a particularly memorable show make.