The pioneering Welsh-language trio had plenty of quality material from their recent double album to dig into in Newcastle, although the scuzzy guitars and restless basslines were occasionally let down by Hollie Singer’s limited vocal performance.
It’s a gorgeous, starry night in Ouseburn, and from my vantage point high up in the valley the distant yellow lights of the Cluny could easily be sparkling campfire or a stray firefly. I walk down over the old cobblestone bridge that crosses the brook and, not for the first time, I’m awed by the looming giant that is Byker Bridge – a hulking red-brick symbol of the triumph and brutality of Victorian industry, which today conveys a steady flow of double decker busses some 100 feet above the valley floor. These days, of course, Ouseburn is known not as the centre of Newcastle’s heavy industries, but as a remarkable cultural oasis, with the Cluny as its beloved beating heart. This Tuesday night in February features a typically grassroots bill, including local dance-punks Fashion Tips (who deliver a rather incoherent set, despite the appeal of screaming frontwoman Louise Newman looking like a librarian gone wild) and buzzy Welsh-language post punk trio Adwaith.
In fact, these are exciting times for Adwaith and Welsh rock in general. The fact that the Carmarthen band choose to sing exclusively in Welsh is a laudably punk act in itself – any casual student of Eurovision will know English is the language of choice if you want to appeal to the broadest audience possible – but Adwaith clearly value the promotion of their language and culture over profits. They’re not shy about it either – their recent release, timed to coincide with the tenth anniversary of Welsh Language Music Day, is a 23-track, 75-minute behemoth that wilfully disregards the accepted wisdom that a steady stream of singles and EPs is that best way to grow your streaming numbers these days. Alongside Gruff Rhys and Tara Bandito, Adwaith are the brightest lights in a new wave of Welsh music revivalists hoping to meet and possibly surpass the success of the genre’s 90s figureheads Super Furry Animals.
What was so surprising about that double album, Solas, was not just its ambitious length, but how the quality of the songwriting remained so consistently strong throughout its testing runtime. “It cost us a bloody fortune,” bassist Gwenllian Anthony reminds us twice tonight, pointing towards the merch stand where t-shirts printed with the band’s glorious Welsh names (Gwenllian, Heledd and Hollie) appear to be selling well. Tonight’s set is essentially a front-to-back playthrough of Solas (minus of a few of the duller tracks), a choice which gives the set the meticulous sequencing of an album, although also leaves it feeling somewhat risk-free and predictable.
Opener Planed established quickly that the Welsh language was far from the only interesting thing about this band. Bubbly synths mingled with fidgety, vaguely Middle Eastern guitar snippets (inevitably pre-recorded and played as a backing track), whilst Anthony’s muscular bass riff contrasted nicely with Hollie Singer’s deadpan vocals – a juxtaposition that appeals on song after song tonight. Mwy and Gofyn were stompy early highlights, with Anthony wrapping her fingers around two elephantine bass riffs, the minimalist compositions ending up like warped approximations of Afrobeat and reggae respectively.
Whilst Singer’s quiet and restrained approach to vocals offered some nice contrasts to the gritty guitar music that surrounded her (her almost-whispered performance in frugging standout Y Ddawns was deliciously sinister), other songs demanded a bigger stage presence and a vocal commitment Singer never seemed prepared to offer. Coeden Anniben’s bratty punk strop fell flat with Singer standing largely motionless on stage, and it’s no wonder that there was never the faintest whiff of a mosh pit amongst the Cluny patrons (in fact, sometimes it felt like I was the only one dancing). Singer was upstaged when she swapped roles with Anthony for Pelydr-X, who duly wrapped the mic cord around her neck like a feather boa, planted a boot on an on-stage monitor and gave it her all. It was a theatrical performance that elevated an otherwise middling track, but it also highlighted how much better Adwaith could be with a little more charisma and chutzpah.
Sanas, the recent album’s exhilaratingly unhinged prog rock interlude, disappointingly didn’t make the cut for this show, but we did get its follow-up Miliwn. Easily the band’s most tightly written pop-rock composition, it was only at this point that Singer seemed to fully relax, digging into an anthemic chorus over a lively bassline (the fact that “miliwn” is a simple cognate of the English “million” allowed for a rare opportunity for an audience singalong in Newcastle). Heledd Owen was an engine on the drums at the back of the stage, and Singer’s hook is a knockout. One suspects more singles of this quality are only a matter of time for Adwaith, but for now Miliwn stands alone as their finest effort.
The applause at the end of the set lasted just about long enough to justify an encore of the band’s sleeper hit Fel i Fod and the sweetly sentimental Eto, before the trio were unplugging their guitars and hurrying over to man their own merch stand. I obtained a set list from Owen and happily strolled back onto the streets of Ouseburn and back under Byker Bridge. It had been a satisfying if unspectacular midweek fixture – the gigging equivalent to a 1-0 win at home – but I was reassured that I’d supported a worthy up-and-coming band, both with my ticket fee and my lonesome yet committed dancing at the front and centre of the crowd. I may not have understood a word Hollie Singer sang, but strolling back home along dark wooded lanes, I was left certain that Adwaith’s star is in the ascendance.