The Beths live at Project House review – dependable as ever, now with added recorders

New Zealand band the Beths aren’t exactly reinventing the indie rock wheel, but they remain a thoroughly reliable live act. With another rewarding album under her belt, Liz Stokes is an undeniably talented songwriter, although this set lacked the punk oomph you feel could take the band to the next level.

Sometimes you want to be shocked. Sometimes you want backflips, a Cher flash mob, a bloke ‘playing’ a bowl of water, an entire concert in Welsh, or Japanese. Sometimes you want the frontman to demand you launch him into the crowd behind you. Often, though, you just want the Beths. The four-piece band hail from Auckland but, now that I’ve already seen them twice before, they could just as well be the charming band from down the road, dependably churning out a fresh batch of solid if unspectacular indie rock numbers every year or two. The Beths have no interest in the trendy business of delving into a new genre for every new album ‘era’, and instead admirably devote their attention to honing their already sharp indie songcraft. Their albums feel familiar and perhaps a little safe, but never lazy or half-hearted.

So it was relief to see that, two and a half years and one album since I last saw them, the Beths are still not above donning the questionable disguises of black hoodies with “CREW” written on the back so they can not-so-discreetly set up their own instruments before the show. When they do finally come on stage in their official capacities and launch into the new album’s title track, Straight Line Was A Lie, they’re greeted like old friends. “Thanks for having us,” vocalist Liz Stokes says later. “Thanks for coming here!” someone sweetly calls back from somewhere in the room, taking Stokes back by their politeness. This, for once, is not the sort of Leeds crowd that will be tempted into chanting “Yorkshire!” at every opportunity.

Straight Line Was A Lie isn’t the Beths’ most consistent batch of songs – that would be 2022’s hook-packed Expert In A Dying Field – but there’s still plenty new material to enjoy tonight. No Joy, for instance, is a classic example of Stokes’ remarkable knack of turning her own depressive thoughts – in this case a pervasive anhedonia – into perversely joyous punky anthems. Never ones to take themselves too seriously, tonight’s rendition features a hilarious instrumental bridge with Stokes’ three bandmates each busting out recorders, Jonathan Pearce eventually letting the temptation to parp out a silly squeal get the better of him. Til My Heart Stops was one of the evening’s most rewarding slow burn ballads, whilst breezy Roundabout is a hearteningly earnest love song, Stokes assuring us “what will come is nothing to be scared about” over cooing violins.

Of course, with every new Beths album, more great songs from the band’s back catalog must be dropped from the set list, but tonight we’re treated to many of the previous three albums’ plentiful highlights. Each track sounds as fresh and detailed as ever: grungy I’m Not Getting Excited still sounds, as is to be expected with Stokes’ love of juxtaposition, very exciting indeed, and Jump Rope Gazers is a vaguely melancholic ballad that I find more pathos in with every listen. It’s a pleasant surprise to hear deep cut Not Running has survived the latest set list shake-up. It’s hardly the band’s biggest hit, but for my money this is the best song Stokes has penned to date: menacing, propulsive and melodically rich, with a panoply of exhilarating Tristan Deck drum fills. Elsewhere, guitar wizard Jonathan Pearce remains on imperious form – every neat eight-bar solo is a miniature work of art.

Still, this isn’t a flawless set. Stokes’ solo ballad Mother, Pray For Me no doubt has a very personal backstory, but tonight the vague narrative and static, frictionless guitar makes for a patience-testing five minutes that kills the momentum of the show. The new album’s lead single, Metal, is similarly pleasant yet mystifying. “So you need the metal in your blood to keep you alive” and “I know I’m a collaboration / Bacteria, carbon and light” Stokes insists – two interesting fun facts, sure, but more suitable for a GCSE Biology textbook than a bit of rock ‘n’ roll.

Indeed, more generally the Beths’ sound can come across as a little too studied and mature. There are times on tonight’s punk inclined numbers (the brooding Little Death, stormy closer Take) where you wish Pearce and Ben Sinclair would turn their guitar distortion up a notch further, and Stokes throw in a guttural scream or two. Instead, the crowd are never tempted into anything resembling the mosh pit these songs so deserve. The Beths are well-versed students of rock, but disposing of the rulebook and letting their hair down a bit from time to time wouldn’t hurt.

Their music may not be revolutionary, but this band’s between-song patter is genuinely some of the best I’ve ever seen. All mic’d up, the four of them switch into podcast mode, Sinclair asking which direction along the canal would be best for his run tomorrow morning (away from the city, it seems) and Pearce improvising a brilliant bit about KFC’s sweary slogan. At one point, Pearce explains that support act Dateline’s frontwoman Katie Everingham once played drums for the Beths, and even performed with them in Leeds once. Did anyone come to that show? Cue a long silence. “That’s a 0% retention rate!” Pearce laughs. Everingham’s tenure as drummer may not have been particularly successful, but tonight it seems certain that many people in the room will have no hesitation booking their tickets for every time these lovable Kiwis venture back into Yorkshire in the future, this reviewer included.