At their best when basking in strobe lights and stage smoke, Jockstrap proved their credentials in Leeds as artists at the cutting edge of electronic music. No other artist can even begin to sound like them.
Walking into the main concert room of Belgrave Music Hall shortly after doors opened, I was confronted with a disconcerting scene. Smoky and lit a pungent blood red, the room was almost entirely empty save for two lone figures stood beneath the stage and several more sat ominously on seats by the walls around me. Strangest of all, an eerily serene Tchaikovsky string quartet played loudly through the speakers. Such gentle music felt like a poorly disguised lure into some supervillain’s lair, and I took a minute or two to wait on the benches as the crowds built before taking the bait myself and finding a spot at the front.
The background music was an aptly unsettling way to set the tone for the night ahead. Jockstrap’s music may often involve instruments we all know and love – piano, acoustic guitar, strings – but quite how the duo stitch these raw materials together varies wildly, although a meticulous, avant garde approach to electronics usually has a part to play. Underpinning it all is a knack for sinister lyricism and haunting, half-whispered melodies to match the alien concoction of sounds. Talented vocalist Georgia Ellery doubles as violinist in cult chamber rock group Black County, New Road, but the endlessly creative production of Taylor Skye ensures that Jockstrap’s sound is starkly different to her other project: darker, harsher and altogether even less accessible. Ants From Up There turns out to be excellent gateway drug to Jockstrap superfandom.
Ellery occasionally took to violin and acoustic guitar, whilst Skye crafted the beats
They may not sound quite like BC,NR, but the thirst for creative, eyebrow-raising songwriting is the same. On the duo’s slightly more straightforward tracks, this manifested itself in adventurous harmony, like on the shimmering Greatest Hits. Perhaps the closest thing Jockstrap have got to a pop singalong, the catchy “I believe in dreams, do you?” hook had the crowd on the pair’s side early on. There was of course no real drummer for the outstanding percussion break in the bridge, but Ellery was comfortable enough dancing impressively on stage, maintaining the excitement. All night, boredom was an impossibility. Even during these instrumental breaks, Ellery seemed laser focussed on the task at hand, be it decoratively splaying her hands in the air or squatting and clutching the mic stand like a predator in some of the more menacing passages of music. Further away from me, a shadowy Skye cowered over his synthesisers, the humble mastermind behind Jockstrap’s compelling soundworld. The occasions he peeked out his shell for a moment singing lead vocals on the apex of a few songs felt momentous.
Most of the time the genres were harder to define than Greatest Hits‘ retro soul or Acid‘s sumptuous R&B. Debra, for example, sounded like a deeply disturbed Macarena, technical vocal melodies meandering over stuttering, harsh drum grooves. A lyric as heavy and profound as “grief is just love with nowhere to go” was immediately followed by a gleeful “press Y for a party!” and, stood right next to the booming speakers, it felt like I’d dived deep into a dark fever dream where the music made no sense but compelled me to move with the group nonetheless. By the time the utterly bizarre (yet inspired) Bollywood strings entered, it felt like I could have been on another planet entirely.
The remarkable Robert pushed Jockstrap’s craving for musical rulebreaking to its logical extreme. Baleful deadpan spoken vocals (“you’re provoking me, Robert,”) were all the more potent over Skye’s earsplittingly loud synth bass, before a tumult of rapid hip hop, screeching sirens and clanging percussion. “I am very impressed,” Ellery spoke during one gap in the melee with ice cool nonchalance, and witnessing it all, it was hard not to be impressed by the sheer intensity of the performance. It was a nonsensical cacophony, but helped by Ellery’s earnest performance, it was a treat to dive into the chaos.
Ellery’s stage presence was strong throughout
Despite all the full-throttle weirdness, the calmed, reassuring sound of real instruments on the classical music that began the night wasn’t completely inappropriate for an act as sonically varied as Jockstrap. Glasgow, for example, ends with a stunning passage of soaring strings alongside a sorrowful acoustic guitar melody that was loudly belted out by the keen fans behind me, and an opening harp played on keyboard by Skye was just as pretty. Similarly beautiful guitar ballad What’s It All About? was one of the highlights of the duo’s recent debut album and here the luscious strings accompaniment remained charming, as did the inventive harmonic progressions. It was a shame that this time an overbearing bass sound was a detraction rather than a benefit for such a light, serene track. Neon‘s transition from ominous folk to head-banging noise rock was exciting to witness in the flesh, although the big moment was crucially let down by mistimed lights and Ellery’s guitar strap slipping off.
It wasn’t until the transcendent Concrete Over Water near the end of the set that Jockstrap finally struck that perfect balance between chaos and calm. A serene, sparse verse gave way to a strangely affecting, sporadic synth hook that was miraculously controlled by Skye who, head bowed over a synthesiser, resembled a wizard casting a powerful spell. Throw in a stuttering, militaristic snare beat and haunting strings, and the result was one of his most alluring amalgomations of sound to date. Ellery also had plenty to give to the track, namely through a truly remarkable set of lyrics that shone brightest during the stark and vulnerable piano-led middle section, her melodies reaching for the heavens. As the song gathered pace for a final chorus and Ellery took to her violin for a spectacular instrumental, it seemed Jockstrap had discovered the perfect song to cry or dance to. I’m sure many in the audience were doing both.
Intense stage effects were a key element of the performance
And still, the pair had an ace up their sleeves before their brief encore and departure. 50/50, indisputably the biggest banger of their career, began with a brutal pummeling of dance bass and swirling synths, repurposing Belgrave Music Hall into a nightclub from hell. Soon enough we were chanting away to the non-sensical, yelped lyrics (“ah! eh! oo! ee! ah!” was one of the best vocal earworms) before Skye’s choppy drum machine intensified yet again. The mere act of the musician jumping from behind his keyboards and throwing his arms up in the air expectantly was the spark that ignited Belgrave. Soon enough I was engulfed in a viscious mosh pit, our hands reaching up to a furious looking Ellery as she reached back, our fingertips inches apart. Bodies collided and sweat flew as Ellery, doused in stage smoke and flickering in and out of view under kaleidoscopic strobe lights, bent double and screamed the words almost directly into our ears. The catharsis was so strong, any understanding whatsoever of the words we were yelling was unnecessary. My experience of live music had never been so intensely visceral.
50/50 was so all-consuming, returning to the real world outside after follow up I Want Another Affair felt like a shock. It felt like such an experience needed to be somehow mentally processed before I moved on to the task of finding my way home. Fellow fans clutching bright pink signed vinyls on the train platform seemed understandably too stunned to speak. Committing to a song so completely takes its toll, both physically and emotionally. In one sense, Jockstrap’s music had been a challenge to my musical open-mindedness, with its jarring electronics and unpredicatable chord changes (if indeed there are any chords to speak of). However, stood a few feet away from a spellbinding Georgia Ellery, loving their music was easy, a simple act of letting go and allowing whatever feelings that arise – be it rage or peace, joy or pain – to manifest themselves. As the lights dazzled my eyes and the copious mist washed over me, it felt only natural to lean into the beautiful chaos. Lost in it all, I’ve never felt so alive.
Just in time for the end of 2022, it’s time to complete our countdown of Undertone’s top songs of the year.
20.Got Weird
from Hot Mess by dodie (pop)
I’m wary of giving in to bias on this one. dodie was here last year with I Kissed Someone (It Wasn’t You), and the year before with Cool Girl, and was also responsible for one of my favourite gigs of all time, even if I find her music often a little saccharine and lacking in a certain oompf. But this song, I insist, deserves some attention. After years of making do with flawed-but-fun In the Middle, July’s Got Weird at last ended the wait for a genuinely danceable dodie song with a strong backbeat. The production is meticulous (new tiny elements of percussion and little vocal interjections are revealed with every repeat listen) and the chorus hook is one of her strongest to date. dodie’s development as an artist is showing no sign of slowing, and whilst Got Weird isn’t quite top ten material, there’s no denying she’s getting closer.
Also listen: Hot Mess
19.Wishbone
from Incantation by Emma Rawicz (jazz)
20-year-old jazz newcomer Emma Rawicz didn’t pick up a tenor saxophone until she was 16. Listening to her assertive solo in the bold and brilliant Wishbone – a jazz fusion number that proudly announced herself onto the UK jazz stage in May – that fact seems beyond belief. The song’s agile but catchy head is delivered by Rawicz (and, importantly, a crisp electric guitar) with all the confidence and panache of someone twice her age. A concise solo packs an even more impressive punch, Rawicz’s tone enjoyably blunt-edged and vibrato-free. By far the most impressive aspect of Wishbone, however, is the quality of the composition. Shifting chords sit naturally with a busy drum part, and Rawicz’s engaging melody ties it all together very nicely. A gripping drum solo at the end also makes for a satisfyingly no-nonsense finale of her debut album. With a starting point as great as Wishbone, big things seem to be ahead for 2022’s brightest rising star in British jazz.
Also listen: Voodoo
18.Esperanza
by Hermanos Gutiérrez (latin, ambient)
Like many of the more obscure artists I’ve discovered over the past year, the Gutiérrez brothers found me in an unexpected place – specifically an independent coffe shop in Ullapool (that is, their music through a speaker, not the Swiss-Ecuadorian musicians themselves, who I would assume are infrequent visitors to the far north of Scotland). It turned out to be a good place to discover Esperanza, a hypnotic, strangely affecting guitar duet that would serve as a quite magnificent soundtrack to the scenic car journeys through remote Scotland in the days to come. The song possesses all the beauty and tranquility of a long, pleasantly uneventful drive through endless hills or, as María Medem’s companion animation vividly portrays, a surreally sparse desert. The musical chemistry of the two brothers is a big part of the song’s success. It’s often difficult to pick out one guitar from another, and the intricacy of the plucking ensures there’s plenty to listen to even as the final, haunting refrain settles into its many meditative repeats. Whether on a physical road trip or not, to listen to Hermanos Gutiérrez is to be taken on a powerfully visceral musical journey. I’ve never heard anything like it.
Also listen: Tres Hermanos is the highlight from the duo’s strong recent album El Bueno Y El Malo, which continues in much the same vain as Esperanza.
17.Victory Dance
from Where I’m Meant To Be by Ezra Collective (latin jazz)
UK jazz frontrunners Ezra Collective have been flirting with latin jazz for a while, but they took the plunge spectacularly earlier this year with raucous samba track Victory Dance. Beyond Ife Ogunjobi’s radiant trumpet solo, it’s pianist Joe Armon-Jones who steals the show by providing one of the performances of his career, charging up and down the keys with characteristically spiky cluster chords. It culminates, as all good piano solos should, with multiple glissandos and passages so mind-blowingly rapid at one point the solo threatens to unravel completely. Armon-Jones just about stays on top of it all in time for a nut-tight horns hook to see the song out. Ezra Collective remain at the peak of their powers no matter what genre that have a crack at (2020’s hip hop-styled Dark Side Riddim was equally brilliant), and as a contemporary British jazz keyboardist, Armon-Jones is virtually unmatched.
Also listen: Ego Killah, Siesta
16.Dream Girl Evil
from Dance Fever by Florence + The Machine (rock)
Choosing a song from Florence Welch’s sixth and quite possibly best album was one of the harder decisions I’ve had to make for this list. For now, I’ll go for brooding Fleetwood Mac stomper Dream Girl Evil. Here, Welch’s sheer power both as a vocalist and lyricist are at their clearest. “At least you’ll sanctify me when I’m dead,” she wails to cue an army of female backing singers that contribute to the song’s snowballing menace. The formidable “I am nobody’s moral centre!” – accompanied a magnificent bass fill – is perhaps the most spine-tingling ten seconds of the whole album.
Also listen: subtle opener King concludes with musical fireworks; instant dance-pop classic My Love always seemed destined to be Dance Fever‘s biggest commmercial hit, and rightly so.
15.Concrete Over Water
from I Love You Jennifer B by Jockstrap (electronic)
Duo Jockstrap achieved the most uncategorisable album of the year with the dauntingly multifaceted I Love You Jennifer B, a feverish collection of bizarre musical beasts that delivered a sonic gut punch when I saw them live on a memorable autumn night. Concrete Over Water is as good a representative as any for the work, and exposes why even a label as vague as ‘electronic’ doesn’t quite fit here: a lo-fi acoustic piano bridge is intensely personal and Georgia Ellery’s impressionistic lyrics are some of the most strikingly beautiful I’ve heard all year. It culminates in a strange stomp of stuttering snares and Taylor Skye’s ethereal synth arpeggios, soon joined by an equally extraterrestrial violin melody. In the end, it’s nigh on impossible to distill everything that makes Concrete Over Water so brilliantly unique into a handful of sentences. Like the rest of this terrific debut album, this is a song that must be heard to be believed.
Also listen: Greatest Hits and What’s It All About could so easily be good, simple pop and folk songs respectively, but instead Jockstrap’s idiosyncratic electronic manipulations lift them to a higher artistic level. Hellish Debra and 50/50 are only for those familiar with what they’re letting themselves in for.
14.Just a Game from Lucky Me by Phoebe Green (pop)
It’s been a big year for indie pop upstart Phoebe Green, who’s daringly original debut album Lucky Me earned deserved critical acclaim. In the middle of it all, Just A Game crashes into gear with a thump of cymbals and cowbell, and continues with much the same conviction. The two-part vocal harmonies are effortlessly pulled off and Green is just as on the money in spoken, confessional interludes. Just A Game manages to sound both deeply personal yet expansive and inescapably moving. “I don’t want to be in love until I know it’s worth my time,” Green tells us amongst a swirl of soaring synths. It’s this flash self-confidence – by no means abundant in the rest of the album – that helps Just A Game shine higher than anything else Green has produced to date.
Also listen: Crying in the Club
13.Blame It on the Water
from Sir Woman by Sir Woman (pop, soul)
Everything about Sir Woman’s Blame It on the Water oozes quality modern soul music, from the tasteful backing vocals to the squirty synths and deliciously funky bass. Kelsey Wilson may have just transitioned away from the world of folk and county as part of Glorietta, but she seems to have no qualms leading the charge for a large and varied band on this number. Underpinning it all is, of course, faultless songwriting, plus a titular hook so intuitive you can practically sing it as soon as you’ve read the song name. A piano-led breakdown in the bridge ensures Sir Woman sticks the landing.
Also listen: Party City is similarly easy to love.
12.This Is Why by Paramore (rock, post punk)
The return of much-loved, now rather nostalgic pop punk favourites Paramore was always bound to be a much talked-about event, but the sheer quality of this comeback single, This Is Why, triggered giddy mania amongst the many thousands of Paramore superfans around the world. Delightfully, the sound of This Is Why is quite clearly distinct from the band’s previous hits. Gone is the now dated pop punk (essentially anthemic pop songs but faster and louder) in favour of the trendier post punk: slinky, minimalist grooves and smarter, sharper choruses. This Is Why‘s chorus in particular packs one hell of a punch, with Hayley Williams’ gang vocals slotting in between a choppy guitar riff like a jigaw piece. There’s a few signs of the Paramore of old: a playful synth shimmer towards the end harks back to Hard Times, and Williams impassioned vocals are no less potent than on old classics such as Misery Business or Still into You. But make no mistake, this is not the Paramore of the 2000s. The big hits may be great, but what lies on the horizon for Paramore may be even better.
Also listen: The News
11.Angel from Palomino by First Aid Kit (folk rock)
First Aid Kit was one of the many bands I discovered whilst glued to my TV on a glorious Glastonbury weekend. It was good timing ahead of their fifth album, which wasn’t short of highlights: the anthemic bliss of Out of My Head, the unmissable narrative three-chord country romp A Feeling That Never Came; charming folk chugger Turning Onto You. It was lead single Angel, that resonated with me the most. Featuring a gorgeous melody perfect for sunset drives home across the countryside, in Angel Swedish sisters Johanna and Klara Söderberg solidified themselves as queens of the two-part vocal harmony, their voices blending with an ease only siblings can pull off. The song comes off as a bittersweet but ultimately liberating admission of unrequieted love. “I love you, even if you don’t love me,” Johanna sings plaintively before a quite glorious trumpet solo takes over. There’s a strong undercurrent of melancholy throughout Angel but in the end this song is an unavoidably joyful piece of self-expression.
Also listen: A Feeling That Never Came, Out of My Head, Turning Onto You
10.CUFF IT from RENAISSANCE by Beyoncé (pop, soul)
As the album of the year lists keep coming its becoming increasingly difficult to find something new to say about Beyoncé’s seventh high-budget, chart-storming studio album. It was arguably the biggest cultural moment in pop this year, and the name recognition of Beyoncé wasn’t the only reason behind the clamour this album generated. A bold change in direction towards the world of dance music in all its forms, RENAISSANCE‘s tracks wove into one another brilliantly, Beyoncé serving up EDM, house and even hyperpop with equal mastery. Exhilarating hit CUFF IT was the album’s soul offering and had my hairs standing on end with excitement when I heard it on a first listen through of the album on a long, jet-lagged night in Bangkok last summer. Principally CUFF IT is home to a glut of superb funk bass lines which only grow more emphatic as the song develops. Beyoncé’s vocals – as world class as ever – ensure momentum is never lost, and every little addition (sublime group backing vocals, a gleeful horns section, a squelchy rhythm guitar) is mixed in with the precision of an artist of unmatched pop pedigree. A perfectly good chorus is ditched after just two outings, but the riveting funk jam that arrives in its place makes such reckless regard to traditional pop song structure more than excusable. CUFF IT, along with it’s eye-watering 300 million streams, has repositioned Beyoncé at the very top of modern pop. She’s never sounded funkier.
Also listen: PLASTIC OFF THE SOFA, VIRGO’S GROOVE, BREAK MY SOUL
9.Still Feeling You from COUCH by Couch (pop)
If writing a good pop song was a box ticking exercise, then Couch have all their bases covered with Still Feeling You. The band are fresh out of various music colleges across the US, and it’s a song that has all the hallmarks of being written by an enthusiastic, very capable student of music. There’s a contrasting pre-chorus, trendy anti-chorus, clever harmonic shifts and even a strikingly knotty big band-led bridge. The ingredients of success are all there, but Tema Siegel still holds nothing back vocally, in particular by belting out a phenomenal high note after the bridge that still sounds spine-tingling on the hundredth listen. It’s a challenge to find anything to fault here. Still Feeling You is ambitious in its relative complexity, but the execution couldn’t have been more nailed.
Also listen: Saturday
8.Leader of the Pack
from Cub by Wunderhorse (rock)
Within five seconds of hearing Wunderhorse’s Leader of the Pack last October I knew I had a top ten contender on my hands. The song opens with the grittiest guitar hook I’ve heard all year; the sort of hook so simple yet brilliant it makes you wonder why no one has written it before. Newquay-based Jacob Slater gets stuck in with an growling, distorted vocal performance good enough to launch his career towards the mainstream. Slater can’t resist the temptation to throw in a screaming, old school classic rock guitar solo towards the end, and the end result is a spectacular piece of loud, dirty, crowd-pleasing rock ‘n’ roll.
Also listen: Teal
7.When You Know You Know
from Expert In A Dying Field by The Beths (rock)
Standing in front of the Beths in a underfilled Brudenell Social Club in Leeds, I heard their soon-to-be-released A Real Thing and got worried. It was their first big misfire in a while, including an ungainly, awkwardly choppy chorus that simply didn’t work. As a first taste of an upcoming third album, it was disappointing. By the time September had rolled around, however, a Kiwi indie rock miracle was upon us. With A Real Thing apparently ditched from the tracklist, Expert In A Dying Field was unquestionably the best album the Beths have released to date: packed with cracking singalong choruses, versatile and hooky songwriting and more face-melting guitar solos than you could shake a Brudenell homemade pasty at. Pleasingly straightforward hit When You Know You Know was my pick with its clever melodies often accompanied by silky backing vocals. Jonathan Pearce’s concise guitar solo is also a joy before Elizabeth Stokes charges another rollicking chorus. Almost right under our noses – and annoyingly right after I saw their middling live show – the Beths have reinvented themselves. My tickets for their next UK tour have already been bought, and with material as strong as When You Know You Know now at their disposal they are bound to tear the roof off.
Also listen: thrashing A Passing Rain has the Beths’ punkiest chorus to date; Knees Deep, Head In The Clouds, Your Side and I Told You That I Was Afraid all feature Stokes at the peak of her songwriting powers.
6.The Loneliest Time from The Loneliest Time by Carly Rae Jepsen feat. Rufus Wainwright (pop, disco)
While Carly Rae Jepsen has never been doubted by the critics, a long time have passed since genuinely iconic hit Call Me Maybe, her first and arguably only global hit. That finally changed in 2022 with the pitch perfect disco track The Loneliest Time. The magic’s in the sprightly strings parts (incidentally arranged by former Cory Wong collaborator Cody Fry), as well as the irrestible vocal chemistry between Jepsen and fellow Canadian Rufus Wainwright. That’s not to mention the TikTok viral bridge, which is enormous fun and will no doubt be screamed by the superfans (myself included) when Jepsen rocks up to Leeds Academy in a little over a month. “And in the morning sun hits the water / Is this nirvana?” they sing in harmony to mark a stunningly beautiful coda. Carly Rae Jepsen’s latest pop smash may not amount to spiritual enlightenment, but it’s not far off.
Also listen: Talking to Yourself, Beach House
5.FAMILY VAN from BUMMER by cleopatrick (rock)
FAMILY VAN is a rock song not for the faint of heart. Heard in its natural habitat from a sweaty mosh pit in Leeds last March, it sounded apocalyptic. Genius production has a big part to play here: there’s only one guitar, but the deafening bridge sounds like an army of rockstars, and Ian Fraser’s kick drum is never anything but chest-poundingly explosive. Frontman Luke Gruntz channels his rage through heavy vocal distortion, at one point his vocals so angry he can hardly finish an expletive ridden sentence before the cacophony engulfs him. FAMILY VAN isn’t just raw noise either. Gruntz’s lurching opening riff is nicely repurposed throughout, most effectively in an awesomely triumphant finale. Fraser is shrewd behind the drum kit, saving his earth-shattering fills for the big moments and delivering an impressive whirlwind of cymbals in that remarkable bridge. Music can be a vessel for all emotions, and FAMILY VAN is unequivocal about which one it attempts to recreate: this is pure, unadulterated fury, delivered in its most potent form.
Also listen: GOOD GRIEF, OK
4.They Gave Me A Lamp
from Every Valley by Public Service Broadcasting feat. Haiku Salut (art rock)
I was lucky enough to come across intriguing Derbyshire ambient trio Haiku Salut at a small venue in York last May, and since then I’ve been hooked on the delightful They Gave Me A Lamp. It’s a song helmed by Public Service Broadcasting, a band that have made a name for themselves by setting evocative historial soundbites to music. Fascinating album Every Valley covers the rise and fall of the Welsh mining industry, and They Gave Me A Lamp specifically looks at the issue from a feminist slant, following one woman who describes being undervalued in the jobs she is assigned. It’s an incredibly niche premise for a song, but even if you let the moving interview recordings wash over you, there’s something unmistakbly powerful about the musical accompaniment. Trumpets, guitars and glockenspiel weave around one another, rising and falling in sync before a chugging bass guitar heralds an inspiring fanfare finale. With the endearing vocals on top of it all, They Gave Me A Lamp makes for a spellbinging artistic package.
Also listen: All Out covers the miners’ strikes, and sounds about as brutal and earthy as you could hope for.
3.I’m Happy You’re Here
by Ugly (alt rock)
Coming in at just over eight minutes, I’m Happy You’re Here is a song that rewards patience. For the most part, tension is built slowly and carefully. Samuel Goater’s vocals are nervy and introspective, and over an unsettled chord progression and ghostly backing vocals his baritone is a commanding presence. “I’ve come a long way to destroy you,” he warbles at one point like an anime character preparing for the final boss as electric guitars threaten to cut loose. The set up is exquisite, but the payoff is even more so: an electrifying new hook, rapid, stuttering drums and an unbelievable saxophone solo that tails off into the stratosphere.
Fresh Cambridge alt rock outfit Ugly have only just embarked on their careers, but I’m Happy You’re Here is an inimitable piece of art and a quite staggering achievement for a band that only have an EP of jangly punk three-minuters to their name. The song provides an instrumental depth that’s not supposed to come from a ragtag-looking bunch of university students whose gigging tours are yet to head much further north than Bedford. The verses are imbued with all sorts of sonic wonders: an eery, distant honky tonk piano, an unnervingly sudden intake of breath, a wispy high-frequency synth, some sort of exotic bird call. In the end it’s all pulled together in a denoument that evokes a grand Shakespearean tragedy. Like Hamlet, I’m Happy You’re Here may takes its time to reach a conclusion, but embrace the undercurrent of strangeness and stick with it. I promise the final act makes it all worthwhile.
Also listen: spiritual followup single Sha is a much less experimental chamber rock track, but just as effective in getting its hook lodged in your head.
2.Hold Me Closer
by Cornelia Jakobs (pop)
Cornelia Jakobs may have finished a disappointing fourth in the 2022 Eurovision Song Contest, but her song deserved so much more. Hold Me Closer is a devastating reflection on doomed love, with Jakob’s pained, smoky vocals an ideal match for lines as heartbreaking as “I found the right one at the wrong time, but until the sunrise, hold tight”. Critics at the time said Hold Me Closer was too much a typical Swedish pop entry, lacking in any ambition to extend beyond the familiar constraints of the commercial middle-of-the-road crowdpleaser. Sure, Hold Me Closer is not lacking in traditional pop tropes, but every single one is executed with undeniable perfection. Synths may fill out the choruses, but they sound not tacky but propulsive, creating a swell of emotion behind Jakobs. The bridge is concise enough to comply with the ESC’s three minute constraints, but still provides a precipituous crescendo to get the confetti cannons firing in earnest. On paper the lyrics are trite and saccharine, but sung with the passion and heartbreak that exudes Jakobs, every word is crushingly believable. I have no qualms saying Hold Me Closer musically trumps Ukraine’s victorious Stefania and even the UK’s high-scoring Space Man in virtually every category, but alas Cornelia didn’t quite land the biggest crown in European music. Perhaps inevitably, it seems a case of the right song at the wrong time.
Also listen: Fine is a just as emotional but more intimate and intiguing ballad; Late Night Stories was the best I could find from Jakobs’ back catalogue.
1.Concorde
from Ants From Up There by Black Country, New Road (chamber rock)
“I was made to love you, can’t you tell?!” Isaac Wood begs at one point during Concorde. It’s a lyric that neatly sums up Black Country, New Road‘s masterpiece in Ants From Up There, an album that runs like a contemporary Tennyson’s Maud as an analysis of one man’s doomed and completely unreciprocated obsession with a woman, all told from the perspective of the unreliable narrator. The February release has since become my very own obsession. Not one song on Ants From Up There from the Cambridge septet fails to pack a punch, and the outstanding musicianship (Lewis Evans and Georgia Ellery make for a memorable partnership on saxophone and violin respectively) plus Wood’s deeply personal and often bizarre lyrical style had me returning to Ants From Up There again and again and again throughout the year. For this list the difficulty was not in whether a song from Ants From Up There would be a winner, but which one.
I’ve settled for Concorde, which seems as good a representative as any for the album, with the title one of the album’s most memorable recurring metaphors. Concorde is an ever-shifting composition, with Luke Mark’s reassuring guitar riff leading the way. The choruses build and fall and build again like waves, coloured by a plucking mandolin and Evans’ evocative rising saxophone melody. The final build into an extraordinary instrumental section – starting with the hum of Tyler Skye’s lone bass guitar – is as stupendous as they get. “Concorde and I die free this time!” Wood yells with deluded triumph, rounding off a lyric sheet that would quite easily be dived into and mined for nuggets of metaphorical insight by any enthusiastic student of literature. Now in the knowledge of Wood’s abrupt departure from the band in the days before the album’s release, it’s a line that makes for uneasy, but gripping, listening. Perhaps Wood simply put too much of himself into his music. Perhaps such frank and poetic outpouring of emotion became too much for him. With a song as formidable as this one, who could blame him?
Also listen: Good Will Hunting is almost a normal rock song (and one of the few songs barely under five minutes), and a brilliant rock song at that; beautiful, lilting The Place Where He Inserted the Blade also deserved top spot; mind-blowing art rock epic Basketball Shoes‘ reputation preceeds itself – whatever you do, cherish that first listen.
It’s time once more to run through Undertone’s 40 favourite songs of the year. As ever, it’s a list that’s been meticulously – almost obsessively – curated over the course of 2022, with each song’s position chosen by a combination of rigid methodology (in this case, dozens of randomised one-to-one comparisons with other songs) and subjective emotional pull; the top songs are invariably the ones that resonated with me for reasons music and lyrics alone can’t explain. The rules are the same as before: no covers or live performances and strictly one song per album, even if chosing the best song on certain albums can trigger a week of lost sleep. Unlike more professional lists from critics, this collection of songs reflects my personal consumption of music this last year and I have made no attempt to identify the best music globally released in 2022, since I simply don’t have the time or patience to digest the vast amount of new music there is to enjoy in any given year. Instead this list simply reflects the best music I’ve become aware of this past year. Most, but not all, songs in this list were released in 2022.
This post covers positions 40 to 21. Check back on the blog next Friday for my favourite 20 songs of 2022.
40.About Damn Time
from Special by Lizzo (pop, disco)
With its throbbing bass line and a second verse smooth enough to send TikTok into a frenzy, Lizzo’s most recent pop smash made a strong case for 2022’s song of the summer. She may have tipped her toe into the enticing waters of the new disco zeitgeist with unavoidable 2019 breakout hit Juice, but About Damn Time was Lizzo going all in. Virtually every box on the disco bingo card is checked – a Nile Rodgers rhythm guitar, a purring slap bass, a titular vocal hook so simple a two-year-old could sing it back after hearing it once. There’s plenty of fun beyond the box ticking too, namely in a silly but effective flute hook undoubtedly performed by Lizzo herself. About Damn Time is a song that will be lighting up dancefloors the world over for many years to come.
Also listen: 2 Be Loved (Am I Ready)
39.Carta
from Marchita by Silvana Estrada (folk, singer-songwriter)
Silvana Estrada’s beautiful Marchita is the sort of album that deserves to be sat down with on a quiet Sunday afternoon and given your full attention. The Mexican songstress’s earthy, strikingly delicate sophomore release is beautiful from start to finish, her pristine acoustic compositions sounding as delicate as finely-crafted origami. It’s an album not short on solemn, introspective moments (album closer La Enfermedad Del Siglo constitutes a quite breathtaking trombone solo), but lilting, uptempo number Carta is perhaps Estrada shining at her brightest. Her exceptional vocals as clear and refreshing as sunshine, Estrada performance is a joy to behold over a charming accompaniment of acoustic guitar and double bass, plus the occasional lyrical cello intermission. Endearingly understated, Carta may not demand your attention like the big rock tracks in this list, but within the quietness is a beauty few artists can conjure.
Also listen: La Enfermedad Del Siglo, Sabré Olvidar
38.Prosecco
by Rachel Maria Cox (pop)
It’s a shame Aussie alt-pop singer Rachel Maria Cox has yet to find her followup hit after this sure-footed disco-pop number that came out back in 2019. A big, big song helped by an uninhibited vocal performance, it’s difficult to fault Cox’s bold chorus hook, and the competing forces of cowbell, synth, bass and guitar in the verses are well managed. Topped by a phenomenally effective bridge, the hope is that Cox’s career will progress one day to decent-sized gigs where this dance track will surely find a receptive audience.
37.Hold U
from Any Shape You Take by Indigo De Souza (indie pop)
Listening to Indigo De Souza’s enjoyably gritty alt rock album Any Shape You Take late last year, there must have been a part of me that stopped listening by the time I reached Hold U at track eight. It was summer 2022 by the time I gave Hold U another chance to discover it was like nothing else on the album. De Souza’s vocals, previously ragged with intense emotion, were softened for one track only, allowing for an enticing indie pop track imbued with intricate guitar lines and the gentle hum of an electric organ. The song deserves its place on this list for the ingenious mid-chorus groove entry alone, but beyond that point momentum is never lost. “It’s gonna be alright,” she reminds us with refreshing chipperness, before unleashing a series of exquisite high notes in an expansive finale. It’s such an effective genre switch that it makes you wonder why De Souza chose to make a name for herself with jangly guitar chords and yelped vocals about death. With a song like Hold U, however, I won’t be complaining.
Also listen: Pretty Pictures, Die/Cry
36.Sidelines
by Phoebe Bridgers (indie pop)
After releasing one of the albums of 2020 with the mult-faceted masterwork Punisher, Phoebe Bridgers returned in style this year with Sidelines, which sees her as subtly brilliant as ever. A downcast melody meets a gently muffled drum machine halfway through, and the tasteful strings throughout complement Bridgers’ pristine vocals perfectly. It’s a song in no hurry to reach a firm conclusion, instead choosing to languish in melancholy and give Bridgers’ gorgeous lyrics room to breathe. There’s a depth of emotion here that Bridgers is a real specialist in tapping into. “Nothing makes me cry,” she tells us at one point, seemingly wishing she had more emotion. Many listening to a song as affecting as this may well feel the opposite.
Also listen: Bridgers’ most recent addition to a series of charming Christmas songs, So Much Wine
35.Rock Bottom
by Mathilda Homer (indie pop)
Rock Bottom is the best song of Londoner Mathilda Homer’s still-blossoming career so far. It’s in that memorable chorus where Homer’s smoky vocals are at their strongest, the melody stretching into her upper range and allowing for an outburst of emotion that propels the track forward. The gradual inclusion of a spacey lead guitar and shimmering synth add some pathos to this self-assured pop track, and by the final minute the feeling of catharsis is palpable. Surely even bigger hits await for Homer.
34.Law Hill
from Forest Floor by Fergus McCreadie (jazz)
Highland-born jazz pianist burst onto the scene this year with Forest Floor, a dazzling jazz trio debut that landed him a spot on the Mercury Prize shortlist. Infused with the immediacy of folk melodies but still providing plenty for seekers of wild, extended improvised solos, Forest Floor is an engaging listen and restless opener Law Hill is perhaps the most interesting track of the bunch. It features an outstanding performance from McCreadie, who launches into a blistering solo, somehow staying on top of the rapid, ever-shifting groove provided by David Bowden and Stephen Henderson on bass and drums. The track concludes spectacularly with a stuttering, Snarky-Puppy-esque riff that gives Henderson the freedom to whip up an enthralling storm of drums and cymbals. It’s an ambitious way to open your debut album, but this risk has marvelously paid off.
Also listen: The Unforrowed Field, Glade
33.After All
from God Save the Animals by Alex G (singer-songwriter, pop)
Now deeply experienced singer-songwriter Alex G came out with perhaps the album of his career in 2022 with God Save the Animals, and After All is a good introduction to his haunting blend of vocal manipulation and electronics with a more traditional band set up. An understated but expertly composed and produced track, Alex G shifts up a gear for a soaring chorus melody in which his squeaky, echoing vocals manage to highlight the strength of the melody rather than serve as a distraction. Like the album that follows, After All is a curious piece, but one that reveal more and more of its magic with every listen.
Also listen: Runner, Forgive
32.BASEMENT
from MAYBE IN ANOTHER LIFE… by easy life (pop)
After years of pumping out consistently catchy pop numbers and delivering memorable performances at festivals up and down the country, Leicester five-piece easy life now find themselves firmly in the position of one of Gen Z’s most beloved boy bands. Heavy funk party-starter BASEMENT was my pick from a strong batch of songs from the most recent album. Murray Matravers’ coolly under-sung vocals are a fitting match for a song with this much menace, and a wonderful choice of squirty synth for the chorus hook sounds like something pulled straight out of the Doctor Who theme. It’s songs like this that fuel my excitement to see them live next February: surely that bass line belting out of the bulky O2 City Hall speaker system will be electrifying.
Also listen: CALLING IN SICK, OTT, MORAL SUPPORT
31.Party Trick
from Marginalia by ella jane (pop)
ella jane realised her full potential with Marginalia, in particular with Party Trick, which shows her creative approach to modern pop at its finest. A retro-leaning synth chugs away like a idling motorbike in the chorus, providing some interesting texture underneath a hooky chorus. A bridge topped by a simple but effective drum fill seals the deal nicely. Pop songs that follow the same outline as Party Trick have undoubtedly been written before, but rarely are they delivered with this much creative flair.
Also listen: Time On, I Wanna
30.Cure For Me
from The Gods We Can Touch by AURORA (pop)
During a lovely evening with AURORA at Leeds’ O2 Academy in April, Cure For Me was the most successful performance of the night, and predictably so. No AURORA song distills her infectious sense of fun quite so clearly. A slightly silly three-note synth riff leads the charge for a rowdy chorus packed with plenty enough percussion to get any concert hall of fans bouncing along enthusiastically. The message – who you are is not something that needs to be fixed or ‘cured’ – is simple and effective, and the a big dramatic crescendo in the bridge somehow manages to intensify the joy even further.
Also listen: A Temporary High, Blood In The Wine
29.Las Panteras
from Let the Festivities Begin! by Los Bitchos (cumbia)
One-of-a-kind cumbia four-piece Los Bitchos delivered one of my favourite gigs of the year when they visited Newcastle in September with a set stuffed to bursting with irrestibly danceable grooves and exquisite guitar hooks that sounded more anthemic with every repeat. Las Panteras tore the roof off on the night and that energy is well-bottled in its studio cut, which features an exhilarating build after a tempo change half way through. It’s not overly complicated, nor – like all of Los Bitchos’ music – does it have any lyrics to muddy the picture. Las Panteras is simply a joy from start to finish. These days listening to it takes me right back to that wonderful night.
Also listen: The Link Is About to Die, Pista (Fresh Start)
28.KEEP IT UP
from WHO CARES? by Rex Orange County (pop)
Mentioning anything about Alex O’Connor is not as striaghtforward as it once was. In October it emerged that the immensely popular British songwriter, who had gained himself an image of the winsome, endearingly introverted indie lad, had been accused of six counts of sexual assault, provoking intense discussion about the state of his career and the familiar conundrum of whether the music of a disgraced star still deserves to be listened to. Seemingly much less talked-about was the dropping of all these charges just this week, and so fortunately appreciating his pop is no longer so controversial. It’s just as well because it had been such a promising year for the star with the release of his fourth album, which marked a huge improvement from the decidedly lackluster Pony. Lead single KEEP IT UP was his finest three minutes of the year, an endearingly understated little pop track with a gorgeous strings hook and cheery chorus about persisting through difficulty. The business-as-usual bumbling bass (a wonderful melody in itself) and chirpy upright piano make for an uncomfortable juxtaposition for the storms ahead for O’Connor in the second half of the year, but KEEP IT UP deserves to be heard above the media frenzy of the allegations, simply by being such a classy pop song.
Also listen: OPEN A WINDOW, AMAZING
27.Mistress America
from This Is Really Going To Hurt by Flyte (folk, pop)
Listening to Flyte’s Mistress America, it’s difficult to believe that the alternative folk band are actually from London. Everything about this song screams America, from Will Taylor’s pensive croon to the relaxed, country-leaning guitars and loose drumming. Lyrically, there’s even some smart, dark satire of present day America (“Mistress America / I’m gonna get a gun and learn the words to all your songs”) which finds a nice home over a wistful descending chord progression that seems to yearn for the semi-mythical ‘great’ America of long ago. The standout performer is Nick Hill on a prominent picked bass, who unleashes a genius bass line in the chorus that McCartney would surely be proud of. The American twang running throughout Mistress America may be artificial, but the poginancy of this track remains perfectly untainted.
Also hear: Losing You
26.Disco Living
from Discover Effortless Living by Bull (rock, pop)
I’ll try not to speak with too much bias when I say local York favourites Bull have a cracking song in Disco Living. Positioned at the end of a consistently great debut album, Disco Living has all the ragged triumph of a live set closer, complete with somewhat gratuitous key changes, multiple scratchy guitar solos and the most anthemic chorus (and verse, for that matter) they’ve ever written. They even throw in an extensive outro and yet another guitar solo for good measure, milking that good old fashioned four chord loop for all its worth. With a tune as glorious as this, who could blame them?
Also listen: Bedroom Floor, Eugene, Green
25.Kerosene
by Biig Piig (electronic)
2020 was an unfortunate time for incomporable Irish artist Biig Piig to come up with a dancefloor primed funk pop banger in Feels Right, but now she’s finally able to give the song the airing it deserves alongside a promising batch of new singles. Choppy and wildly inventive Kerosene is more adventurous than Feels Right but no less groovy. Jessica Smyth’s vocals are sliced and repitched to remarkable effect in a striking chorus, but the basics of a strong pulse and reverberating synth bass line are all there too. There’s a change in musical direction every eight bars or so, with every corner of the two and a half minutes packed with a new piece of production magic. No one in the pop world seems able to create like music quite like this: fresh, exciting and punchy. Kerosene‘s christening on Biig Piig’s UK tour next spring will no doubt be explosive.
Also listen: This Is What They Meant
24.mememe
by 100 gecs (hyperpop, punk)
The Gecs are back, and their music is as radical and raucous as ever. It’s been a few years now since they popularised the brand new genre of ‘hyperpop’; that is, pop taken to its logical extreme with intensely processed vocals, ramped up tempos and instruments turned up so loud their sound ends up mangled in distortion. mememe is arguably their most straightforward earworm to date: a short, looping hook and an even shorter chord loop, plus a chorus that dives headfirst into the wild world of uninhibited punk music. It’s an utterly lethal track, made more potent by its volatility. Nothing quite makes sense; the punk chorus (nostalgically led by a 8-bit synth as if from a retro video game) gives way suddenly to a relatively tame ska verse, and there’s even the appearance of a deceptively harmless baroque fugue take on the hook at one point. Of course, the genius of 100 gecs is that their ideas are so outlandish no one has dared to try them out in a song before. Instead, the duo stand out on their own on pop’s wild side, with mememe their most reliable mosh pit igniter.
Also listen: Torture Me, Runaway
23.Dead Inside Shuffle
from Quality Over Opinion by Louis Cole (funk)
This year also saw the return of immensely talented jazz and funk musician with a mammoth 20-song fourth album that struck a balance between crude funk silliness (Park Your Car on My Face was a genuine highlight) with more earnest personal confessions. Dead Inside Shuffle is a bit of both, with Cole’s general weariness of the world played off like a self-deprecating joke behind a sticky swing drum groove and a quite outrageously funky clavinet. This is Louis Cole at the peak of his powers, offering up not just an unforgettable groove but an impactful lyric sheet to match.
Also listen: I’m Tight, Failing in a Cool Way, Park Your Car on My Face
22.the dealer
from PAINLESS by Nilüfer Yanya (alt rock)
Whilst much of London indie upstart Nilüfer Yanya’s critically-acclaimed third album felt frustratingly restrained, piercing, no nonsense alt rock opener the dealer felt anything but. The jittery drum groove and Yanya’s ominously wispy vocals are both great, but it’s the sparingly used bass guitar that steals the limelight here, ripping into the first chorus with an spectacular melody that charges up and down the octaves. Every time it gets reintroduced feels monumental. the dealer‘s biggest strength is in how it ends up sounding so nasty desipte so little raw material to work with: Yanya, a guitar, bass and drums are all there is to it. Lead singles to blockbuster albums like this one hardly come more resourceful.
Also listen: stabilise, belong with you
21.ceilings
from Five Seconds Flat by Lizzy McAlpine (singer-songwriter, folk)
ceilings is a song that’s been waiting for Lizzy McAlpine to write it. Such is the assuredness of the warm acoustic guitar and lilting melodies, the track almost comes across as a cover of some famed country rock standard from decades ago. But no, this is all McAlpine’s, and it’s all brilliant. Her crystal clear vocals cut through to the soul thanks to a movingly romantic set of lyrics that include a soul-crushing plot twist right as the song reaches its emotional apex. Beyond that acoustic guitar, the instrumental backing is tastefully restrained, with a woody bass landing with aplomb in the second verse. With only two choruses, ceilings comes and goes in a flash but perhaps that’s intentional; the song ends up with an ethereal quality, as if soundtracking an intimate moment briefly frozen in time.
Leaning heavily into the world of nightclub-ready dance music, a constantly evolving Parcels gave plenty of reason to dance the night away for an eager Manchester crowd. As a live act, they’re only getting better and better.
It was brisk autumnal night in November 2018, and I’d just been offered Haribos by the stranger sat next to me in Brudenell Social Club‘s newly established Community Room. Parcels were about to take to the stage backed by shimmering strips of glittery foil, and I was about to take in the spectacle of a proper live pop gig for the very first time. I found myself stood right at Noah Hill’s feet, enjoying the boom of his bass and watching in astonishment as the normal-seeming crowd around me began dancing as if they could hardly control their limbs, with no care as to how silly they looked. In fact, I felt like the silly one standing almost stationary for most of the night, at least until the wait for the band’s big hit, Tieduprightnow, was over. In truth, I had got my generous parents to give me a lift to and from Leeds mostly just so I could hear that one song.
Four formative years later, and I wish I’d paid closer attention to the musical genius that was in front of me. Parcels have only grown since then – O2 Ritz is certainly several leagues above BSC in size; little old Leeds has fallen off a tour itinerary packed with big name European destinations – and my love for the band has grown with them. Their easily digestible falsetto funk-pop has been a companion of mine ever since that first gig, and the release of an ambitious and (mostly) fantastic double album, Day/Night, last year only cemented my infatuation. Nowadays Parcels spend much of their time thrilling audiences with grand tours across Europe where they have a devoted following, particularly in their base of Berlin. A far cry from the fledgling five-piece I saw in Leeds, Parcels are now an incredibly tight-knit group (their second album was recorded with the whole band living together at a Parisian recording studio) and also kings of fashion, having secured a brand deal with Gucci in 2020.
The band’s use of stage lights was interesting throughout the night
Whilst not nearly as glamorous, my situation has changed dramatically too, and I now faced a much longer traverse of northern England to see the five popstars than before. I arrived in Manchester after a late departure – clothes still damp from an earlier downpour and jeans stained from the aftermath of a mismanaged Greggs steak bake – only to find I’d mixed up my Ritzes and Apollos, but an Uber nonetheless managed to transfer me to the correct venue ten minutes before the band took to the stage. My view was of course poor and the usual pint of Coke had to be forgone, but being there for the opening number was what mattered most.
Faces hidden in darkness, the five men took to the stage and gradually pieced together a groove amidst strobe lights, that all-important crowd pleasing kick drum only unleashed after a few minutes of teasing. Eventually Lightenup came into view (a suprising replacement for beguiling album opener LIGHT), and soon the groove settled into one of the band’s most straightforwardly catchy choruses. Sinister Gamesofluck followed seamlessly and was exictingly pumped up to club tempo, although some of the original’s menace was lost in the attempt to get the crowd frugging right from the beginning. It was an opening that would indicate how dynamic the evening’s performance would be; band members often started and ended songs in different locations (occasionally requiring carefully orchestrated intervention from stagehands to move the various keyboards) and Parcels played for long stretches of non-stop music, one song morphing into another with the skill of a talented DJ. Several tracks were redesigned (and some cases miraculously reinvented) for the modern dancefloor. Anatole Serret’s kick drum, settling on a largely unwavering 120 beats ber minute, boomed heavier than ever under every intricate guitar groove, accompanied by Noah Hill’s dexterous basslines which only became more compelling with each repetition (and there were many repetitions).
Lordhenry, the greatest weakness of the band’s latest release, got the biggest facelift from the band’s stylistic change in direction, with a lumpy middle section mostly scrapped, with emphasis instead on the nut tight opening disco groove. An inspired use of spotlights had the band’s shadows stuttering and shifting behind them in time to the music, the silhouettes so crisp I had to take a moment check whether the background wasn’t just a pre-recorded video.
A band grouped together at the front for an a cappella moment
The best songs, of course, required little tinkering and Parcels were wise in mostly leaving them alone. Shimmering Comingback, with its exciting build and one of Serret’s finest drum parts, was an early unchanged crowdpleaser. Tieduprightnow was also rightly let loose early on – these days the band has plenty of valid replacements for the song as set closer – and the essence of the breakout hit was well maintained. Effortlessly light and catchy, the song is still quintessential Parcels, with silky smooth group falsetto finding a perfect match in Hill’s wonderfully agile bassline. Witnessing the opening riff belted out by the sizable crowd around me with such passion was a joy; I’ve not crunched the numbers, but Tieduprightnow may be my most listened-to song of all time. It was a small shame that extraordinary disco hit Famous wasn’t quite so successful in the flesh, partly down to the lack of punchy strings that propel the original recording. That said, Parcels’ commitment to keeping the show 100% live and authentic was admirable.
If Parcels faltered at any point at the Ritz, it was during the quieter numbers. Perhaps I was stood too close to the bar, but sleepy folk-country outlier Once seemed to go largely ignored by the crowd. Jules Crommelin’s directionless, somewhat dreary melody didn’t offer much reason to listen, either, and by the end there was a feeling a precious slot in the setlist had been wasted. Nuanced Theworstthing also didn’t quite translate to the stage despite some lovely solo guitar work from Crommelin, and the song began to feel tired after a minute or two.
The night’s biggest successes tended to involve grooves good enough for the five of them to wallow in for many minutes at a time without any sign of tiring. A perfect example of this was a surprise rendition of Spiller and Sophie Ellis-Bextor’s underappreciated 2000 hit Groovejet, which triggered one of the biggest crowd responses of the night, with hands flailing in the air and lungs roaring out the wonderfully apt lyric “if this ain’t love, why does it feel so good?”. “We’ve played this song in four European cities,” Patrick Hetherington told us mid-song, “and usually no one really sings along”. Cue even louder singing. In truth it was probably all because Groovejet hit number 1 in the UK but not in mainland Europe, but it was nice to have the feeling we were providing something special for the band, at least until they moved onto their next dates in Glasgow and London.
It was one of the band’s earliest singles, however, the provided the most blissful disco groove of the night. Hideout, reworked for 2019’s breathtaking live cut Elude, came to Manchester transformed once more, faster, busier and even more viscerally thrilling to witness. Now dark figures amongst a sea of dazzling strobe lights, Parcels became the masterminds of what every disco act must yearn for – one riff and four chords that simply never get old. With such a strong blueprint, the details of song structure seemed irrelevant, but big build-ups and the euphoric drops at the end of them only cemented a state of dancefloor nirvana. For those few minutes nothing else seemed to matter, and as the intensity peaked with every musician clearly giving their heart and soul to the music, Parcels seemed untouchable. A remarkable percussion break followed, with Serret driving it all with one ludicrous drum fill after another. It capped a breathless ten minutes of five Aussies at the peak of their powers.
Somethinggreater followed and struggled in the shadow of such a great number, although it remains a strong singalong track, and bassist Hill provided a joyous cameo as lead vocalist. Free was a slightly odd choice of closer but is nonetheless a compelling song, its exuberant piano riff only getting punchier with the eventual addition of a backbeat from Serret. The band ended the night at the front of the stage, singing in the glorious dense harmonies that they’ve become known for. The set had been well paced, and opting out of a contrived encore was shrewd.
In truth, by the time Free started up I was far too tired from my earlier adventures to truly drink in the moment. A headache lingered, as did my niggling worries about the long drive home, which turned out to be a mental battle to stay awake. The gig – and the three hour journey to get there – may have taken a greater toll on me than usual, but it had been worth it, and I could still say with confidence that Parcels’ show had been objectively outstanding, and even better than that unforgettable night at the Brudenell four years ago. I can only hope when Parcels return in another four years time I’ll live a little closer to the venue.
Carried by a wave of support from a large and boozy entourage of travelling fans, Leeds locals Skylights seemed to be having the time of their lives on a one-off night in Dublin. Who cares if their music wasn’t very good?
Iknew I was out of my depth as soon as I asked for a drink at one of the many bars in the gloomy upstairs quarters of Whelan’s, one of Dublin’s most renowned drinking and live music establishments. “J2O? What’s J2O?” the bartender replied, appearing genuinely baffled by my request. “And first of all, have you got a ticket?” he followed, pointing at the visibly annoyed ticket steward behind me that I had just unknowingly sauntered past. I apologised and awkwardly loaded up the ticket on my phone. Back at the bar, I settled for a Coke (not available by the tap, but a few bottles in stock), relieved that at least this beverage did indeed exist on this side of the Irish Sea.
A general feeling of discomfort stayed with me for the whole night. I had spontaneously taken a cheap flight out of Leeds Bradford Airport that morning, embarking on my first ever trip outside the UK alone mostly for a thrilling but comfortingly short new adventure, although there’s surely no more familiar and pleasant foreign destination for a Brit than Ireland. Standing alone in a dark corner of Whelan’s cradling my glass of Coke, I began to feel my age as the Guinness flowed around me, the drinkers invariably twice my age.
Yet, I waited in Whelan’s with the credentials of one of the main act’s ultra fans. Skylights are Acomb, York lads after all (although their allegiance these days lies much more strongly with Leeds, and Leeds United football club in particular), and I even found myself falsely telling Belfast support band Brand New Friend (after an exceptional performance) that I had travelled abroad just for my beloved Skylights, just like the many men around me who were already warming up with chants of “Leeds! Leeds! Leeds!”. The chants only grew louder and the men more lairy, culminating in a roar as the four Skylights lads appeared from the side of the crowd. Raised beers replaced the raised iPhone cameras I had become used to seeing at the bigger gigs I had attended back in England.
The four-piece wasted no time bashing out their hits, endearingly excited and pumped up for their first ever gig outside of the UK and a rare outing beyond the realm of Leeds’ vibrant indie music scene. Particularly with so many football fans around me, the gig felt bizarrely like an exciting non-league cup tie – Whelan’s is hardly Wembley, but this was still the beloved hometown heroes making the journey to the big, unfamiliar city, kept company by their most loyal followers. Skylights are certainly non-league musicians; bassist Jonny Scarisbrick works at a building society during the day, guitarist Turnbull Smith is an electrician. The surreal thrill of travelling to a different country and playing your homemade songs for a modest but enthusiastic crowd of 100 was evident on the musicians’ faces, not least Smith, who seemed to spend the entire gig beaming from ear to ear. Frontman Rob Scarisbrick was the most outwardly nonchalant of the group, only releasing a smile on the many occasions a tipsy man emerged from the crowd to give him a fist bump mid-song.
Amongst all the boozy fervour for the band in that cramped room in south Dublin, it would have been easy to overlook all the musical flaws had I not been standing aside from the main action in the crowd, arms crossed with my 330ml of Coke. The truth is, Smith only really seems to have one guitar riff up his sleeve: a sort of washed out, Oasis rip-off that felt tired from about ten minutes into the set. Scarisbrick was hardly charismatic as a frontman, often taking breaks in vocals to stand well back from the mic and stare blankly into the mid-distance, waiting for his next cue and extinguishing all the on-stage energy in the process. It was a relief on the occasion he picked up a tambourine and gave it a bash to keep himself occupied in the breaks. Drummer Myles Soley was undoubtedly the most technically accomplished member of the group, but got into a habit of overplaying just to prove it: too loud, too many fills and not enough solid groove to bring out the best from the three men in front of him.
And yet, of course, no one seemed to care, and excitement amongst the crowd built steadily through the band’s catchier numbers like Enemies and What You Are, culminating in a glorious finale of dancing and beer sloshing. I’ve never witnessed an atmosphere at a gig quite so merry; this is what indie venues like Whelan’s live for. The band’s debut single YRA in particular tore the roof off, and for once I could begin to understand why. With a bit more mainstream attention, Scraisbrick’s straightforward, instantly unforgettable hook could quite easily find its way into the chanting repertoire at Elland Road, and Whelan’s was certainly packed with fans who had already learnt all the words by heart. A simple song structure and even simpler three chord loop leant the song the same appeal as a cheesy but loveable Eurovision entry – everything in me said I should dismiss it like all the other forgettable Britpop songs in the set, but I found myself soon getting swept up in the mindless joy of the music. YRA would certainly flop in the professional jury vote but dominate the televote, and I wasn’t complaining when the band decided to milk the adoration of the crowd and reprise the song for the end of the show, in probably the first genuinely unrehearsed encore I’ve ever seen.
With the gig wrapped up, Skylights headed for backstage via the audience right in front of me (it was that sort of venue) and I had time to give them a quick pat on the back, ditch my empty glass at the bar and swiftly take the next bus back to my hostel, keen to spend no longer than necessary in the uncomfortable surroundings of people in their forties getting plastered (Scarisbrick promised a long night of partying ahead as he left the stage). It hadn’t been an altogether brilliant night – I tended to watch all the action rather than attempt to get involved in the mayhem as I would usually do with familiar company in more familiar venues – but, as my solo adventures tend to be, it was a great way to make new memories and venture a little out of my comfort zone. I may not be the Skylights superfan I professed to be but, as the band’s following continues to grow, I’ll still be proud to say that I was there the night our York lads played Dublin.
On a night of covers that could have easily flopped, Postmodern Jukebox rightly leaned into the inevitable cheese with ample vintage glamour. In the end it was impossible not to be won over by the sheer joy of the performances, all held together by a top-notch batch of touring musicians.
For me, some gigs feel like once-in-a-lifetime events to be anticipated feverishly. Take Dua Lipa (a popstar in her world-beating prime) or dodie (a debut tour performance, and incidentally a masterpiece) or even North Americans like Jeff Rosenstock or cleopatrick rarely seen on this side of the Atlantic. Other times, I buy a ticket just because I can. It took about five minutes between my friend Thomas mentioning retro jazz tribute band Postmodern Jukebox in conversation and snapping up our own tickets for the Leeds show a few days later. A golden rule I’ve learnt from my endless stream of recent gigs is that seeing professional musicians in the flesh always brings the potential for something special, even when I’m slightly reluctant to make the effort.
It was fitting, then, that there was little of the usual excruciating wait in the venue for the musicians to arrive; Thomas and I had only just snuck our way into the second row by the time the evening’s compère Casey Abrams bounded onto stage just before 19:30. With the band’s mastermind Scott Bradlee mysteriously absent (an unaddressed elephant in the room for the entire night), it was Casey who was assigned as a zany Master of Ceremonies for the evening, billing it enthusiastically as a “journey through time” and “classic jazz spectacle”. Since 2014, Postmodern Jukebox – a broad and largely undefined collective of New York-based musicians – have established themselves as reliable producers of high-quality pop covers invariably repurposed with a retro flair that often favours swing and early vocal jazz music. The musical arrangements are crucially only one part of the PMJ appeal: the band puts almost as much effort into costuming and visual aethetics for their countless YouTube videos, landing themselves a fair few viral sensations in the process. Whilst I’d never quite been sold by the entire concept – is it all just one, eight-year long gimmick? – I came to the O2 Academy with expections of a glamorous feast for the eyes, complete with Charleston choreo, ridiculous hairdos and surplus peacock feathers.
The band moved to the front of the stage at one point during I’m Not The Only One
I wasn’t to be disappointed. In fact, the feathers were out in full force the opening number, Panic! At The Disco’s relatively unknown Roaring 20s. As mildly annoying as the source material may be, it gave a good opportunity to dig into Brendon Urie’s nods to early dancehall jazz, this time with a real clarinet and trombone parping along. A top-hatted Therese Curatolo was undoubtedly the right woman for the job, fully embracing the role of unhinged pantomime villain over the choppy drums and rattling double bass.
The following first act was packed full of impressive performances, with each of the cast of vocalists keen to make an impactful first impression. Towering Robyn Adele Anderson gave an engrossing performance of Oops!… I Did It Again, before Maris had a joyful uptempo blast through Are You Gonna Be My Girl, more than capable of holding her own when the band dropped out for the big a capella moments. On that song it was Tom Abbott who stole the show, however, stepping out from behind his music stand and blasting out a phenomenal, Parker-referencing tenor sax solo just as the backing band reached full pelt. Even his fellow touring musicians looked surprised by how flawless it was.
Maris was a standout performer
Casey Abrams – one of several American Idol finalists in the collective – made his vocal debut of the night for Sam Smith’s I’m Not The Only One, an excellent singalong choice that seemed strangely suited to PMJ’s plonking walking bass and shuffling snare drum. A breakdown section, with drums swapped for a washboard and piano swapped for a melodica, was one of the show’s many silly highlights. Abrams’ boundless, screechy enthusiasm was mostly contained by the soaring melody, although in later performances he was to cross the line into tipsy-uncle-at-wedding-afterparty territory (an overcooked rendition of Africa to close act one was about as wobbly as you’d expect).
Demi Remick was a pocket-sized powerhouse, ever-smiling as she gracefully leaped around each performer, occasionally taking to the wooden board to the right of stage to deliver one barely believeable tap dance solo after another. A fabulous solo medley in the middle of the first act – with music spanning from Glenn Miller to Stevie Wonder to Darude – was her crowning moment. Less successful was Act Two’s Super Mario medley. With Remick dressed in a slightly half-hearted attempt at Mario’s blue and red boiler suit, the joke wore off quickly and, on a night not short on superficial musical gags, this one stood out like a sore thumb.
PMJ wrap things up in Leeds
For the most part, though, I couldn’t help but get swept up in the self-aware silliness of it all. A pepped-up Bad Romance was slick, with Remick skipping away at her most eye-wateringly fast tempo yet, and Maris embraced the opportunity to perfom Paramore’s Still Into You, taking breaks to flirt flamboyantly with the pianist, bassist or a handful of front-row audience members. Wannabe arrived laden with “doo-wops” as the trio of female vocalists delivered their finger-clicks with choreographed sheen. It was Rogelio Douglas Jr. who was the most convincing vocalist of all, however, belting through a showstopping performance of Radioactive and an exhilarating 60s R&B take on U2’s I Still Haven’t Found What I’m Looking For, a cover that wouldn’t sound out of place amongst the grand showpieces of the Hairspray soundtrack. Legendary joke song Stacy’s Mom (a match made in heaven for increasingly giddy Abrams) and Meghan Trainor’s All About That Bass wrapped up the set in proper singalong fashion, with each of the outstanding cast members bouncing about on stage together wearing various ridiculous outfits. It was a suitably chaotic end for a band that seemed perfectly happy simply to perform music for the sake of music. PMJ’s covers were well made but hardly innovative and thought provoking lyrics were out of the question, but something about the sight of Abrams skipping around onstage in a feather-clad suit and ludicrous Lennon-esque sunglasses whilst singing about his affections for Stacy’s mother made my usual music critic scrutiny seem comically irrelevant. These were just good musicians having good old fashioned fun, and the crowd around me – peppered with vintage hairdos and ancient-looking three-piece suits – lapped it up.
Only once, towards the end of the night, were we hit with what felt like a surprise sucker punch of sincerity. Wedged between two glitzy all-singing-and-dancing showstoppers, Douglas Jr.’s take on Use Somebody opened with a refreshingly simple, soulful piano accompaniment. There was instant chills when the band entered for the second verse, Douglas Jr. closing his eyes and leaning back into the warm accompaniment as the song gained momentum. For the first time, I could feel the intensely vulnerable weight of the lyrics as uplifting group backing vocals punctuated Douglas Jr.’s mellifluous baritone. “I’m ready now / For someone like you” he begged over and over again, a seemingly desperate admission of loneliness or devastatingly weak attempt at hope that cut deeper with every repeat. It was almost a disappointment when a teary-eyed Douglas Jr. left the stage to give way to a hollow Spice Girls cover. Even so, for those four minutes alone, I knew the night had been well worth the effort.
On a memorable warm summer’s night in Vienne, Herbie Hancock found himself a spectacular venue to deliver one remarkable rendition of his famous compositions after another. Jazz’s answer to Paul McCartney, the 82-year-old remains the unparalleled titan of his genre.
There was little to see onstage after Thomas de Pourquery wrapped up an impressive (if overly long) support slot, but the roar through Vienne’s magnificent Roman ampitheatre was as if a gladiator had just landed a fatal blow. An outlier in the multitude of paper airplanes had just been chucked stageward by the crowd from the upper reaches of the stands and was miraculously floating closer and closer to the stage, eventually plonking itself in front of a giant speaker stack before being scuttled away by a busy stagehand a few seconds later. It was a moment that ignited the match-ready buzz of anticipation in the crowd minutes before the great Herbie Hancock took to the stage, a man who can now quite reasonably claim to be the great living jazz musician on the planet. I had travelled to Vienne, near Lyon, with three friends and had already enjoyed one night of the festival (an improved, well-contained Cory Wong; a somewhat tired, cheese-laden George Benson). Tonight, however, was clearly the apex of the whole holiday – a reason for Fionn and I to crack out fresh, specially-bought shirts and douse ourselves in cologne for no particular reason other than “it’s for Herbie”. Now well informed about the dangers of sitting for two hours of more on unforgiving stone steps, I made my way uphill through Vienne carrying a pillow from our Airbnb, itself dressed in a fading Rex Orange County t-shirt to avoid stains. As we got comfortable in a spot high up in the ampitheatre – hardly a detraction as the view of the sunset over Vienne was remarkable – there was already a sense that nothing could ruin this night.
The sky had turned sapphire blue by the time Hancock strolled onto stage. “This place feels like home, I’ve been here so many times,” he told us as another paper airplane rudely made its way towards Hancock’s feet. It’s a phrase that may have sound like a boast from any other artist – the sheer number of people perched on the steep, curved stone steps around him was staggering – but from the mouth of Hancock it felt natural. Why should a man with such harmonic genius and jazz history (he was a crucial component of the Miles Davis Quintet, of course) ever feel overwhelmed by the occasion? A long opening medley – a bewildering tour of Hancock’s extensive discography including a journey through Textures performed with impressive attack and physicality considering Hancock’s old age – cemented the idea that Hancock has the ample experience required to play at the very highest standard in any venue he likes.
The nightly scene at Vienne’s Théâtre Antique during the festival
It helped that Hancock had populated his band with a cast of esteemed unsung heroes of the American jazz world. Guitarist Lionel Loueke was the easy standout performer, almost stealing the show on several occasions with dazzling solo works of wizardry, switching from gritty roar to silky smooth cantabile seemingly with the flick of a plectrum. His technically dazzling introduction to a somewhat disappointingly lightfooted Chameleon early on in the set was masterful. Trumpeter Terrence Blanchard, another extraordinary musician who could quite easily produce his very own sellout show of hits, took the spotlight for his own arrangement of the popular standard Footprints. Choppier than the original yet retaining the sense of nuanced constraint and control, the rendition was one of the many exquisite highlights of the night, not least thanks to Blanchard’s trumpet solo that soared up towards the highest ramparts of the Théâtre Antique like glorious morning birdsong.
It was hard to take in the occasion as, one by one, favourite tunes that me and my friends had played time and time again in youth jazz bands throughout our childhood were checked off. Cantaloupe Island, a song about as crowd pleasing as jazz gets, was one such moment with Hancock’s unforgettable chugging blues riff providing the first reason to those around me to get off their feet and get dancing. The rapid fusion of Actual Proof felt even more piercing when positioned directly after the relatively serene Footprints. The agitated basslines of James Genus found the perfect match in Justin Tyson’s dazzlingly busy and precise drumming, although the spontaneous harmonic whirlwind flowing out of Hancock’s Fender Rhodes inevitably, and deservedly, dominated proceedings. Oftentimes Hancock’s soloing felt like the stuff of legend, deserving to be plastered across YouTube as a viral video clip with a breathless, all-caps video title extolling Hancock’s general godliness. The extended, often wildly adventurous solos seemed to come and go distressingly quickly. It wasn’t that Hancock’s set was too short, but that his live, unrepeatable pianistic feats were simply too remarkable to hear once.
Dusk falls behind Herbie Hancock and his band
Hancock did well to resist the tempation to pack the setlist with somewhat overplayed greatest hits. Sublimely soulful deep cut Come Running to Me was an inspired song choice as dusk became nighttime and an excellent excuse for Hancock to take to the vocoder, an instrument he popularised singlehandedly during his period of technological boundary-pushing in the 1970s. A detour late on saw Hancock left entirely alone with his vocoder, repeating the crushing line “I’m not happy without you” through a cloud of dense, shape-shifting cluster chords. In a night of predictable, well-worn hits, it was a moment of striking sincerity and without doubt the evening’s emotive crux. Quite what emotion Hancock was unleashing was up to interpretation; an enlightening epiphany that could pave the way to happiness, or a grief-stricken realisation of love’s darkest consequences? The beauty of it all was the effortlessness in which Hancock moved from despair to hope and back again, each carefully chosen chord moving the piece forward in unexpected ways.
The absence of a proper, funky Chameleon aside, it had been a flawless evening. Thousands of raised hands clapped and cheered below us as the band took their bows, the time fast approaching midnight. The giddy feeling of being within eyeshot of such an indisputable living legend had not left me all night and 82-year-old Hancock was still triumphant and energetic as he made a final wave to the crowd following a blistering two hour set.
The roar continued right through to the encore, only stopping as Hancock arrived at the mic to speak. “Oh, one more thing,” he told us with a grin and faux nonchalence. Cue Chameleon once more, now with keytar and that stonking, immortal bassline. Hancock’s playing was stupendous: crunchy and risky synth slaps squashed up against virtuosic runs before fading almost to nothing in preparation for one last, showstopping buildup. With the pretty orange glow of the Rhône valley in view behind the stage and twinkling constellations now clearly in view, it felt like there was surely no better place in the world to be for those five minutes. If there was any doubt that Hancock could produce a set of music to live up to his staggering career in jazz, it had been well and truly put to bed. Who could possibly ask for more?
On a rainy summers’ night in central London, a competent and faithful reproduction of one of classical music’s most recognised crowd-pleasers hardly pushed the envelope, but that’s besides the point; this was a night destined to be unforgettable due to everything except the music itself.
Iwas only a little annoyed to find the Circle line from Aldgate East station closed after I’d left my hostel on a drizzly evening in July. Three days into my daunting first solo trip to the capital, I was starting to feel naively at ease with the inner mechanisms of the big city. Not to worry, I thought, I’ll just catch a bus, which was just as exciting and novel as the tube with all its double-decker glory. Happy to find a spot at the front of the first floor, I settled in and watched the city flash red, white and green through a frame of raindrop-speccled glass. I was thrilled for my trip’s big finale to take place, kitted out in the most formal outfit I could bother to squeeze into my suitcase a few days earlier: black jeans rather than blue, a lightweight outer shirt unusually buttoned up. Tonight wasn’t just any gig – this was a classical concert in the pretty (yet relatively modest) church at St. Martin in the Fields, which also happened to be the only affordable venue offering concerts for the dates I’d be in town.
For starters, I knew nothing about the night’s performers. The Trafalgar Sinfonia, regular showcasers of Vivaldi at St. Martin, could be replaced with any dozen-strong chamber group from around the country for all I cared. Then there was the repertoire, which centred around a piece so painfully obvious and commercialised over the centuries that only non-committal classical fans like me would feel the urge to see it live when I’m sure there’s much more newer material to explore rather than drilling out the old favourites. For a little while I worried I was the only such fan in town as I ate a pre-concert bag of crisps beside the bronze lions, looking out for any signs of a queue forming at the firmly closed church doors. In the end it turned out there were perhaps 100 or so concertgoers who, like me, haven’t quite listened to enough classical music to dismiss Vivaldi’s great concerto as overplayed or overrated. By 8pm the pews were three-quarters full, although there was hardly a feeling of anticipation in the air. This was, after all, one of several identical ‘Four Seasons By Candlelight’ performances the Sinfonia were churning out over the course of several months.
“Candlelight” was a term used on the tickets and programming with a degree of creative freedom. A few coloured LED lights at the back and some garish fire exit indicators were enough to make the pair of candelabras seem little more than a decorative afterthought. Much more striking was the huge chandelier hung over the centre of the pews like a giant, draping spiders’ web, paired with a similarly netted front window pane which was eyecatching with its warped, spiralling lines, if somewhat bizarre in the context of a 16th century church.
The imitation of birdsong in Spring was remarkable, with each stroke of the bow summoning up a new thrush like a magician produces doves from a hat.
It had gone 8.15pm by the time the troops took their positions in front of us, with first violinist Richard Milone taking a prominent position at the front of the pack. He was to be a confident (perhaps too much so) and capable compère for the evening, kicking off well by pointing out that St. Martin was built in the same year that The Four Seasons were composed, prompting a polite and semi-interested hum of approval from the audience. Milone not only introduced each season with the lines of anonymous poetry that initially inspired Vivaldi, but took the role of frontman during the numerous violin solos, often embracing the opportunity to wonder around the performance area and slightly into the crowd as he played. He invariably played every solo wearing an enormous smug smile and overplayed so much that his dramatic movements became a key component of the performance. His jaunts – bending the knees and leaning forward for the louder and more demanding sections, rocking back onto his heels and throwing his head back during the seemingly blissful quiter passages – bordered interpretive dance and were instantly distracting, although I did come to appreciate and respect his clear adoration for the concerto as the night progressed. What was more clear was just how good a violinist he was. The famous imitation of birdsong in Spring was remarkable, with each stroke of the bow summoning up a new thrush like a magician produces doves from a hat.
Elsewhere, the spectacle of seeing a fairly large group of strings players perform together was a rare treat for me. (A harpsichordist was barely present, begrudgingly plonked at the back of the group and therefore rather quiet and seperate from the action. The night was really all about violins, violas and cellos.) I love the synchronised dance of the bows, how the players dig into the strings for the louder sections or effortlessly allow the strings to sing for the famous melodies that open Spring. The viola passage that imitates a barking dog was helpfully pointed out by Milone ahead of time, and added some much needed humour and narrative for someone like me who can find songs without words difficult to interpret into something meaningful. Of course, that’s not to say that there aren’t long sections of The Four Seasons that are powerful in their immediacy and vivid storytelling. Summer‘s Adagio and Presto are the most striking examples, with the bows furiously quivering and switching direction in the tempest of their own creation. Vivaldi makes the contrast between the sleeping farmer and incoming storm almost patronisingly obvious, but the movement’s big finale was without doubt one of the most captivating moments of the night.
Winter was electrifying… the closest I think baroque has ever got to heavy metal.
With its placement just after the fairly dozy pieces constituting Autumn (one movement’s relevant poem is literally called The Sleeping Drunkard), the furious Winter was nothing short of electrifying and undoubtedly where the great masterpiece reaches its acme. The opening Allegro not only gave Milone a chance to give us his virtuosic best, but had the entire Sinfonia frantically sawing away at their instruments for that famous refrain, which is uniquely catchy and cathartic; it’s the closest I think baroque has ever got to heavy metal. I could sense the accumulating feeling of awe in the room as the events of Winter unfolded, and the dramatic end to the first movement was enough to prompt an immediate and fervent applause from a crowd clearly not well versed in the poor ettiquette of mid-concerto clapping. A few people took a standing ovation at the end, and although I thought Milone and his crew were impressive, I can’t say I joined in with the over-the-top adoration. That said, it was certainly a relief when I finally got off the back-breakingly uncomfortable pews – as the tickets ominously had the need to make me aware ahead of time, “pillow hire is not available”.
Satisfied, if a little creaky, I wondered back out into the music of the big city: sirens mostly, with pauses on occasion to give way to footsteps and raindrops. The front seat of the double-decker was occupied this time, so I sat a few rows back and tried to avoid eye-contact with the passionate anti-vaxxer that had already begun to pester the poor young parents sat in masks beside me. I managed to escape to Tower Hill before the argument escalated and the man spotted that I too had covered my face. With the iconic Winter refrain still ringing in my ears, I bedded down in the relative safety of the hostel feeling proud of myself for having completed the big London challenge that I had set myself. Nothing about the night’s music or its performers had been groundbreaking – even if Milone’s punchable smirk suggested otherwise – but that wasn’t to say the experience itself was a vital and unforgettable one for me personally. Vivaldi’s timeless magnum opus may be fantastic, but as far as I’m concerned the biggest triumph of the night was getting home in one piece.
Charming, effervescent and incomparably brilliant at every instrument he can get his hands on, Jacob Collier’s performance was a treat to witness in the beautiful surroundings of the Apollo, even if his catalogue of genuinely great original songs remains frustratingly slim.
Pacing through Ardwick Green at high speed on a mild June evening, my phone hardly stopped buzzing. I had not seen any of the three friends I had planned to meet during my long and somewhat stressful journey into Manchester (a certain Mr. Ed Sheeran turned out to be responsible for packing out every car park within a 10 mile radius of the Etihad), but we were minutes from meeting at Apollo, having each travelled from various cities in the north of England. It was a relief to spot frequent gig buddy Emma in the fast-flowing queue and even more of a relief to survive the scrum at the bar and take our place inside the magnificent theatre (still the best venue I’ve set foot in, although my experiences of last time I visited may have coloured my opinion.) The pair of us worked hard to convince one another that our spot towards the back wasn’t a bad one (the Apollo’s sloped floor worked wonders), although friends Fionn and Matt were rightly smug with VIP tickets and a front row spot.
Regardless of our location, we could all feel the excitement in the air. Manchester was stop 47 for British jazz superstar Jacob Collier on a mammoth world tour, calling at everywhere from Bogota to Bangkok, Stockholm to Seoul. Tickets were sold a year in advance, and Collier is yet to get around to arranging an end date for his vast calendar of upcoming shows. For those familiar with his music, the massive scale of the Collier tour should come as no surprise. Since getting his break on Youtube as a teenager posting intricate, harmonically advanced a capella covers of jazz standards, Collier has become known for his musical maximalism, trying a hand at every genre and every instrument under the sun and yet never coming close to sounding out of his depth. Often it seems like Collier just doesn’t know where to stop; a 2019 cover of Moon River (a remarkable career highlight) involved roughly 5,000 different takes of Collier’s voice.
It’s Collier’s unparalleled command of musical harmony, however, that has created an enthusiastic fan base full of fellow musicians evangelising over his boundary-pushing use of microtonal voice leading or application of brainy theoretical concepts such as negative harmony. Emma and I stood agog as the man himself burst onto stage – inexplicably full of energy after performing the same show over and over for several months – before exploding into opener With The Love In My Heart, a headlong dive into Collier’s idiosyncratic world of sonic surprises and unstoppable creativity. As with much of Collier’s music, it threatened to become overwhelming – dancing in polymetre is hard – but Collier’s infectious vivacity and restless stage presence just about held the hot mess of a song together. At one point Collier acquired a tambourine and rushed to the front of the stage, freed by his Broadway-style headset microphone, his hands a blur of tiny cymbals and his ever present beaming smile perhaps even more dazzling.
Thankfully, Collier’s urge to pack evidence of his musical knowledge and ability into every last song is sometimes contained in subtleties. Feel was a sublime, quiet RnB moment, performed with a sort of precise sloppiness, with every rumble of the bass played ever so slightly late to owe the song a remarkably deep, instrinsic sense of groove. On the night Emily Elbert was a great selection as lead vocalist, delving into the gentle vibrato with breathtaking poise. Refreshingly straightforward folk song The Sun Is In Your Eyes was another clear highlight of the night, with Collier restricting himself to a single acoustic guitar. The result, with its intricate instrumental flutters and equally delightful melody and lyrics, was simply beautiful.
The quieter moments helped big, dense numbers like Saviour and In My Bones feel more manageable in their smaller chunks. Saviour in particular was enormous fun, with Collier flexing his piano and keyboard muscles over a meaty jazz fusion groove. A staggering, if a little long-winded, drum battle between Collier and Christian Euman ensued, with Collier eventually calling it a day and lobbing a drumstick at the gong hung high above his head at the back of the stage. He hit it squarely and perfectly in time with the end of the song; of course he did, he’s Jacob Collier.
Evocative folk tune Hideaway, an early hit for Collier and still his strongest melody by far, was unleashed early in the set. A sprawling, squiggly synth solo thrown into the middle was a discombobulating thrill, and the final payoff into a reassuringly familiar verse was immense. Hideaway‘s magnificence and charm unfortunately highlighted the lack of similar compositional magic in the rest of Collier’s discography. The special ingredient of the best musical compositions isn’t dense harmonic knowledge or technical proficiency; there’s beauty in honest simplicity too, and so far Collier has only fully realised this once.
With the concert drawing to a close, Collier took it upon himself to introduce his band between songs. This was of course fair enough, but patience began to wear thin when a heartfelt cascade of compliments for each of his five members was followed by yet more heartfelt compliments for the members of Collier’s extensive touring crew, each of whom were invariably “the best blank on the face of the planet”. The applause for each and every hard-working member of the team (the Spanish assistant manager, the Italian lighting engineer) grew weaker, and at one point a man behind us blurted out “get on with it!”. It was rude, but we could see where he was coming from.
Eventually, and with all momentum lost, somewhat incoherent pop track Sleeping On My Dreams got things back underway to start the big finale. Collier’s form returned for the encore, which finished with a remarkable moment of crowd participation. Emma and I found ourselves performers of a stirring three-part choral piece, with each part moving note by note according to Collier’s onstage gesturing. The musically literate crowd certainly helped Collier pull it off, but the stirring sound of the 4,000-strong crowd nonetheless made for perhaps Collier’s most accomplished performance of the whole night. There was something genuinely moving about the way the three melodies rose and fell in turn, the audience suddenly becoming the act, Collier our genius puppet master. A proud final applause was for ourselves as much as it was for the man on stage.
There was a hectic few minutes in the aftermath of the concert as Emma and I found our way to Fionn and Matt, stumbling across several music friends and friends-of-friends along the way. Collier’s visit to Manchester had given rise to a great gathering of the north’s young jazz musicians, and I was amongst several large groups of young people strolling back to Picadilly, frantically discussing the highlights of the show. This wasn’t just a gig but a social event to be cherished, and it’s hard to think of a musician – even within the UK’s thriving jazz scene – that can excite such a large pool of young jazz fans the same way Jacob Collier does. As Collier may say himself (although he’d be too humble to admit it), there’s no musician on the face of the planet quite like him.
When frontman Isaac Wood left Black Country, New Road just days before the release of what may become one of the best albums of the decade, the survival of the band looked far from guaranteed. The now six-piece chamber rock outfit return just months later for an intimate UK tour with a remarkable set of unreleased music, regrouped, revitalised and ready to take on the world once more.
Of all the places to be in the UK in the early evening of Sunday 22 May 2022, the beer garden of Brudenell Social Club must surely have been one of the most thrilling. The entire city, in fact, was in party mode with the news of Leeds United’s dramatic and successful finish to the season, and as I walked to meet my friend Joe at the train station, cheering boozy blokes and chants of “we are staying up!” outnumbered the usual motorbike revs and ambulance sirens. The atmosphere outside the Brudenell – a universally adored Leeds institution and the beating heart in the student-filled Hyde Park area – was doubly electrifying: Black Country, New Road were in town for one night only.
What made this gig in particular so exciting was the feeling that BC,NR seem capable of much bigger venues. Their debut album For the first time rapidly earned them a passionate core following of on the pulse young post punk and jazz fans, and the acclaim only grew with February’s unbelievable and more radio friendly Ants From Up There, an album venerated by just about every music critic in the land. Take your pick of any national newspaper, the chances are they gave Ants From Up There all five stars, and deservedly so. It was seemingly all going so smoothly for the Cambridge band until days before that album’s release, when frontman Isaac Wood abruptly left the band, citing mental health difficulties. Just as they were reaching their all time high, it looked like it might all come crashing down on BC,NR. Every song that they had built their career on so far was rendered unperformable in the absence their idiosyncratic lead vocalist. Ants From Up There is a devastating listen as it is, but the fact that such a popular masterpiece will never reach the stage added a piercing undercurrent of tragedy. Planned shows – including several gigs in the US plus a visit to Leeds – were suddenly cancelled, Covid-style. Announced last month, this modest UK tour was billed as an intimate warm-up to a summer of festivals across Europe, and an opportunity for the band to regroup and road test an hour long set of completely new music before taking it to the continent and eventually the recording studio. Joe and I may have been disappointed about missing out on hearing material from the albums we both so loved (I’m convinced Basketball Shoes would have been nothing short of life-changing live), but instead the gig at the Brudenell offered an almost as riveting showcase of what might come next for BC,NR.
May Kershaw, on piano, accordion and lead vocals, was a standout performer
The applause from the packed crowd (tickets sold out in a few hours) was long and enthusiastic when the six remaining members of BC,NR took to the stage. When cheers subsided, Lewis Evans opened with some quiet saxophone, soon joined by singing bassist Tyler Hyde (a candidate for new lead vocalist easily predicted by the most well-informed BC,NR superfans). Suddenly, with no warning whatsoever, all six musicians kicked into gear with startling synchronicity, with May Kershaw’s hands bouncing high on the piano and Nina Lim’s violin bow already beginning to fray under the weight of the heavy rock groove. The distant yelps of giddy fans could be heard over the cacophony. It all felt like beautiful confirmation of what we had all hoped; their frontman may have gone, but the unmatched creativity and exhilarating volatility of BC,NR’s music isn’t going anywhere.
One key silver lining was that, in Wood’s absence, several band members were finally given a voice. Hyde led the way, her passionate and often pained lead vocals one of the night’s many highlights. Underrated pianist Kershaw and her pristine, silky smooth voice was perhaps even better, and a nice change of pace from Wood’s abrasive sprechgasang. She was well appointed for the night’s quieter moments, impressing with an ambitious episodic folk piece early in the set which saw her play both accordion and piano at the same time. The most surprising lead vocalist of the night was Evans who, plonked front and centre of stage, often looked and sounded worryingly diffident, invariably clutching the mic stand beside him for support. It may take time for Evans’ wobbly vocals to shore up, but his songs seemed strong. “In my dream you came running to me / Can’t you fall back into my arms?” was one particularly touching moment, Evans’ introversion highlighting the song’s pained vulnerability. Drums swelled at the end of the track and chaos briefly ensued and as Evans quietly put the mic back on its stand and picked up his flute, the impulse was to hug him and tell him he’s doing great.
Tyler Hyde’s bowed bass guitar gave added menace in the crucial moments
Stylistic suprises were to be expected, and BC,NR didn’t disappoint. Beyond Kershaw’s accordion shanty, there were occasional splashes of classical music, including Tyler conducting her own ensemble of flute, violin and piano at one point. The saxophone/violin combo continues to be an intoxicating one (see the stunningly quiet opening minutes of Basketball Shoes, or the closing passages of Mark’s Theme), and Evans blended beautifully with Lim, who stood in for Georgia Ellery on the night as she embarks on her own UK tour with popular electronic duo Jockstrap. It was a shame that technical issues and incessant screeches from mic feedback tainted these quieter, acoustic moments in the first half of the set.
Pianist May Kershaw is classically-trained, and it’s not difficult to tell. She was the star of the penultimate song, a sublime piece that stood head and shoulders above the evening’s other excellent compositions. The rest of the band sat and listened intently as she played and sang on her own, her delicate, deliberate piano playing a marvel throughout. Later, the other five returned to their instruments to support Kershaw as the song swelled and sighed, before building once more in a final, monumental climax. “I’m only a pig,” Kershaw sang over and over, the final word spat out with increasingly bitter vehemence as the dense orchestration materialised around her. Hyde’s bowed bass guitar underpinned it all brilliantly, generating a mighty, floor-shaking rumble that propelled Kershaw’s subtle little piano ballad to new heights. The long wait to hear a studio verson of this “pigs” song begins now.
A gig like this was never going to be about the songs alone, and BC,NR set out to prove that they could still shine even without Wood. They did so magnificently in a show that revealed new aspects of a band bursting with ideas – to come up with such a strong 60-minutes of material just three months after releasing an album is an astonishing feat. The whole night was summed up best during the opening song, when the rollicking power pop paused for a moment of group vocals. “Look at what we did together / BC,NR, friends forever,” they sang in unison. It was an adorably earnest and perhaps cheesy moment that neatly put into words the unmistakable bond of this talented group of friends. After all the uncertainty of the spring, there’s nothing that can get in the way of BC,NR now. Let the good times roll.
