Hundreds of university students descended on Newcastle’s City Hall for an evening of singalong soft pop and RnB so unnecessarily injected with superficial rock and roll antics it made you wonder if Murray Matravers and co have chosen the wrong genre.
You know you’re in for a wild night when you find yourself on the frenzied brim of your second mosh pit of the night and the headline act hasn’t even appeared yet. Instead, it’s Archie Blagden, one half of Somerset hip-hop duo Sad Night Dynamite, that’s flinging himself around in the empty area in front of me, battle-ready with tinted goggles and aided by boomy 808s and scuzzy autotune. I had in some way asked for it – on the walk down to the City Hall I’d told my friend Izzie that I was eager for some full-throated mosh pit action now with the enthralling drama of cleopatrick’s heavy rock set last spring a distant memory. But to the sound of this grungy mess I was as reluctant as the rest of the peace-loving easy life fans around me when Blagden made his final orders to collide. Sad Night Dynamite worked hard during their set but eliciting such an extreme response from a set of fans that largely didn’t know they existed at lunchtime was always going to be an uphill struggle. As it happened, their set ended in a degree of ignominy, with the onstage Macbook crashing despite several midsong attempts at revival.
Thirty minutes later, and seemingly unperturbed by his colleagues’ struggles, easy life frontman Murray Matravers sauntered onto stage as if he simply hadn’t noticed the several thousand fans in the room loudly celebrating his arrival, still clutching his red plastic beer cup as he settled himself at a keyboard for the opening number. He was surrounded by a neat set mimicking the insides of a house – complete with fake, curtained windows and a prop door – to match the homely aesthetic of their second album MAYBE IN ANOTHER LIFE. A marked improvement from the debut’s rough edges and loose concept, it was that horns-infused second album that I was most looking forward to experiencing in person. Many in the room had affections for the quintet that long predated the 2021 debut album; easy life has supplied a steady drip of singles since 2017, and their disaffected, loose RnB style has already made them regular winning fixtures at festivals across the country every summer. Last year’s jaunt in Glastonbury was particularly notorious, with Matravers jumping several barriers to get down and dirty in the mud at Worthy Farm during skeletons. Through the TV screen, I could hardly believe what I was watching.
Despite the reputation of their energetic live shows, more often than not it was the more laid-back numbers from the recent album that shone the brightest in Newcastle. Lazy funk head-thumper GROWING PAINS got the gig off to a good start with a display of Matravers’ endearing lackadaisical rap style and knack for an infectious groove. On serene OTT Matravers’ whiny and strained but oddly affecting vocals were also a highlight, doing well to avoid the autotune and instead opting for a stark authenticity that seemed to have the audience screaming along all the louder. No song was screamed louder than exquisite early highlight sangria, a song propelled by a deliciously groovy bass line and one of the finest chorus hooks easy life have penned to date. The refrain was so strong it made up for a pre-recorded Arlo Parks retaining her chorus for the live performance and some dubiously pretentious verses with lines like “euphoric but unbalanced, like two top-heavy fractions”.
The occasional horns that elevated the latest album appeared periodically in Newcastle as a three-piece tucked somewhat apologetically in a distant corner of the stage. It must be said that the musicians didn’t seem to be at their sharpest and on occasion big moments were fluffed by a dodgy note or lack of conviction, but they nonetheless delivered the goods for CALLING IN SICK‘s remarkable instrumental finale, their rousing melodies rising further and further into bliss. As questionable as the horn section’s performance was at times, they were criminally underused, and even obliged to exit via the prop door on songs where they were deemed surplus to requirement. A little more effort towards including them as part of the gang would have gone a long way – easy life’s jazzy pop inflections could suit an extra sophisticated instrumental edge. Besides, pop as a genre (like most things) could always do with more trumpet solos.
The horn section delivered the goods, their rousing melodies rising further and further into bliss.
easy life is a band that appeals to a very specific Gen Z audience, and I had arrived fittingly amongst a gaggle of a dozen university students eager enough to accept an hour waiting outside under the City Hall’s towering stone pillars before the gig. As a result, I found myself in the epicentre of a crowd of the most passionate easy lifers, and after the vigorous warm up of the support act I readied myself for battle, ensuring that the usual pint of Coke was fully consumed before the inevitable mayhem that would ensue. It was song four when I last caught sight of my friends, Matravers splitting the crowd for a booming rendition of BASEMENT. The song was a gritty highlight of the last album but the deafening, elephantine bass synth inevitably came out as a mangled, indistinct rumble from the overworked City Hall soundsystem. The muddy mix didn’t seem to help the audience enthusiasm, and there were audible groans when Matravers enthusiastically set up a second mosh pit for the third chorus. The screams that followed near me seemed more likely to be discomfort from the genuinely alarming crush than delighted exhilaration.
The enforced fun didn’t stop there. skeletons was the climax of the night, with scruffy looking drummer Oliver Cassidy orchestrating a mosh circle before impressively extricating himself from the sea of bodies in time for the final chorus. To be fair, if any easy life song warrants such chaos, it’s this one, and performed with a little extra abrasive attitude than the originals the dirty synths and shouty hook gave a satisfactory reason to work up a sweat and inadvertently become intimately aware of the hair hygiene routine of the person in front of you. At other times, the rock and roll antics were simply uncomfortable distractions from unfittingly amiable pop songs. Matravers spent much of breakout hit Nightmares surfing the crowd and, as fun as getting a hand on his shiny leather coat was, I was too busy avoiding getting kicked in the head by the popstar to appreciate the song’s rock solid chorus. Later, an outrageously jazzy trumpet solo was demoted to background music as guitarist Lewis Berry also had a crack at crowd surfing, apparently twisting his ankle as he fell off the stage but getting stuck in regardless. It was telling that I only realised how good the instrumental section sounded when watching back through my jittery footage of the whole hullabaloo in front of me.
I was too busy avoiding getting kicked in the head by a popstar to appreciate Nightmares‘ rock solid hook.
As the night wore on there was a growing feeling that those around me were growing tired of the theatrics too, and even the calmer moments of crowd participation felt jarringly superficial. Matravers had to almost beg the audience to get their lighters in the air for ho-hum new ballad trust exercises, and elsewhere vigorous hand waving from Cassidy only just got the crowd swaying along. There was of course plenty of joy to be had at this easy life for the band’s most faithful followers, but for those still needing convincing the boyband could have done well to tone it all down a bit.
I staggered out the City Hall at 10.30pm underwhelmed but inevitably sweaty and lingered around in vain for a sight of any of the friends I showed up with, having last seen them on the other side of BASEMENT. Grateful for the fresh air, I gave it five minutes before zipping home on an e-scooter, head ringing. I had been given the sticky, claustrophobic music workout I had half-desired before the gig, but it came at the cost of easy life’s music. This is no hard rock or metal band, and I left more confused than when I arrived as to why the band felt the need to turn up the volume on their relatively gentle indie pop so forcefully. Moshing is a worthwhile experience whilst we’re young, but there’s a time and a place. Next time I’ll be more careful what I wish for.