rock | Music Boats

Vulfmon: Vulfnik review – puts the future of Vulf into question
25
Sep

With rambling tangents and a confused mix of genres, Jack Stratton fails to deliver on an otherwise promising new identity yet again. Matthew Rowe gives a track-by-track rundown on why the latest album doesn’t live up to the potential harboured by Vulfpeck frontman.

To call Vulfmon interesting would be an understatement. Jack Stratton has always been known within Vulfpeck as a wildcard, not standing out musically like Joe Dart and his iconic basslines or Theo Katzman with his incredible vocal range but as a personality, known for doing the unorthodox. From this, you would gather any solo project of his to be very experimental and unlike most of Vulf Records, and you wouldn’t be wrong. The two albums he has released so far, Here we go Jack and the most recent, Vulfnik, do exactly this but have been quite a letdown. Unlike coherent albums where a full listen feels natural, listening to these albums often feels like you’ve hit shuffle on your liked songs, but they don’t hold up to the standard of the genres they’re exploring into.

With the announcement of Vulfnik, I didn’t feel the general excitement I had a few years ago whenever a new Vulf release was announced. Recently they have fallen short of my previous expectations of them, struggling to hit that old, funky minimalistic feel that helped them flourish (The Fearless Flyers being the exception). A while back I looked forward to their weekly releases, but the first song didn’t set my expectations high.

This was I Can’t Party, in which Jack tells us a story about getting hit on at a coffee shop and him having to turn down the offer due to the fact he can’t party. The issue with this song is that it sounds like he’s trying to make a song specifically to become popular with millennials on TikTok; looking this up, you’ll see several videos of millennials frankly embarrassing themselves. For reference, if you’ve heard “coffee shop bop”, it’s a very similar vibe. But you’ve got to give it to him: he has some serious leg strength in the music video.

In the same category of lacklustre songs in the first half, we also have Harpejji I and James Jamerson Only Used One Finger, both of which could not even be seen as songs. Harpejji I does what it says in the title, consisting of Jack playing a harpejji with a basic drum beat in the background. In comparison to the short list of artists who show off this instrument, it falls short of the standard given by artists like Jacob Collier. The latter of these two songs is three and a half minutes of Jack rambling on about Motown bassist James Jamerson. There isn’t much to say about this other than the fact that the Vulf compressor makes a seemingly random speech even worse to listen to, leaving zero replay value.

Listening to Vulfmon feels like you’ve hit shuffle on your liked songs.

There is some redemption in the first half. Louie Zong helped to make an upbeat, beautiful-game-era sounding song in UCLA, with a solid bassline, tight drum beat and fitting keyboard to serve as the hook. The music video for this is quite special since Louie Zong is involved. It’s only right he has complete control over the video, which consists of an animated bear dancing through UCLA and performing in front of a judging frog, who was impressed. With the positive tones the song gives and the good vibes from the music video, it makes for a redeeming second song in the album. This is followed by Bonnie Wait, a very solid song which reminds me of Here We Go Jack, showing Stratton’s ability as a vocalist. Lyrics in this song show both outwards melancholy towards Bonnie’s situation and internal anger and jealousy towards Bonnie’s fiancé but unfortunately this is the only strong instance of Stratton’s vocals in this album.

Unlike the first half of the album, the last 5 songs get released at the same time and during my first listen of this half it was obvious there were too many wildcard songs thrown in there, even for Vulfmon. This side of the album had its fair share of disappointing songs but does have some redeeming factors. The three songs that took me aback were Harry’s Theme (Lite Pullman), Nice to You and How Much Do You Love Me.

The ending brings celebration for getting through Vulfnik and being frankly upset with Stratton.

In the first of these, the first few minutes is a nice chill song made up of two guitars, a bass, and Jack playing the drums using his thighs, naturally. This segment of the song is reminiscent of Grandma and other older Vulfpeck songs. But this isn’t the only part of the song. Seemingly in the middle of nowhere we get Lite Pullman which would probably work as its standalone song given how out of place it is. After some research, a lite pullman is some sort of travel bag, but where is the correlation here to Harry’s theme? Nice to You follows. This is a punch to the gut and Jacob Jeffries’ only new vocal appearance on this album, and he isn’t living up to his potential. On the debut Vulfmon album, he sang How Much Do You Love Me which gave him an impressive start in Vulf. However, this song is a satirical take on the emo genre, where Jacob draws out a lot of words in an unbearable accent, which would probably work fine as a parodical YouTube video, but it doesn’t hold up on an album. As well as this, Bonnie Wait covers similar themes in a much better way.

This album is wrapped up with a new take on the Jacob Jeffries classic How Much Do You Love Me. Seeing this on the announced track list, I was excited to see what they could do with it, expecting a more fleshed-out band version of the song but was let down. I hadn’t done my research on who “Ellis” was before listening to this song and nothing could have prepared me. The song kicks off like the original before dropping into an EDM version. When this happened on my first listen, I was speechless for about 5 minutes. Afterwards, my mix of feelings was a blend of feeling like celebrating getting through Vulfnik and being frankly upset with Stratton for his choice of collaborator and song direction.

Thankfully to save this album from being a complete travesty we have some highlights in the second half. This half opens with some of Vulfpeck’s most influential collaborators – Antwaun Stanley and Joey Dosik – on Lord Will Make a Way. This duo brings much-needed revitalisation to the album and even with a tiny mic, Antwaun’s vocals shine like they usually do and gives a good improvement to the questionable vocal decisions of this album. On top of this, Joey’s sax solo is very well-fitting and brings some good jazz vibes into an otherwise jazz-free project. However, there are drawbacks to this song as, much like a lot of recent Vulf, it’s a cover and I find the Al Green version to have much more impactful instrumentals where Stratton has dulled them down significantly. Another decent song in this half is Blue, is a relatively simple jazzy/blues song. The piano, performed by Jacob Jeffries, slightly redeems his efforts in this project.

I have found that this album is successful in branching out into areas Jack would most likely be too cautious to lead Vulfpeck into. However, in these attempts they haven’t reached the levels I hoped they would, often being too satirical or going too far to fit the theme of Vulf. Comparing this to the first Vulfmon album, it also doesn’t live up to that, with the first album being much more consistent. Stratton needs to pull off a miracle to bring Vulf to its former glory.

boygenius live at the Piece Hall review – has Halifax ever seen anything like this?
3
Sep

On a first night in a glistening Piece Hall, the three individually lauded American songwriters brought almost unprecedented star power to humble old Halifax. Euphoric rock anthems and heartbreakingly fragile ballads had the superfans in raptures during a gig almost derailed by mass faintings.

For the most part, there was little remarkable about the list of boygenius’ tour dates this summer. For an act so widely popular – the trio may have only one album under the moniker boygenius but Julien Baker, Phoebe Bridgers and Lucy Dacus each have well-established solo catalogues, particularly serial Grammy nominee Bridgers – the magnitude of the supergroup’s bookings is hardly surprising. There’s a few arena stops in Denmark and Germany, a healthy contingent of A-league festivals (Paris’ Rock en Seine, Belgium’s vast Pukkelpop) and a night each at expansive open air park venues in London and Dublin. And, in the midst of it all, there’s a two night residency in… Halifax? It looks like a copy-paste typo. The fact that these bona fide global superstars have any time at all for this West Yorkshire town of 80,000 is remarkable enough, but the fact that they are staying for two nights (the only repeat billing of the entire tour) seems utterly bizarre.

The only explanation is the Piece Hall. The historic Georgian cloth hall and enduring architectural marvel was only adapted into an eye-catching summer music venue last year and its wide courtyard, nestled amongst the looming Calderdale hills, has already attracted plenty of big names including Sting, Madness, George Ezra, Noel Gallagher and Jessie Ware, who said it was like playing in Venice. It seems she may have over-egged that one for the crowd – there are no Titian masterworks to see here – but still the sense of grandeur that comes with the Piece Hall has increasingly drawn the world’s biggest artists away from the traditional arena venues in adjacent Leeds and Manchester. Now with two sold out nights from boygenius wrapping up a summer of 21 headliners on the giant, Glasto-style canopy stage, Halifax is cementing its position on the global touring map and a tempting contender for any artist’s obligatory north of England date.

Fans lined the hilly streets of Halifax long before the band took to the stage.

It wasn’t just in the diaries of boygenius trio that this Halifax concert stood out. For me too, this was clearly one of my premier gigging fixtures of the year. Besides the remarkable venue and excellent company of my friend Isaac (who, like all the best concert companions, came to Halifax just as paralytically excited as I was) there was the small matter of the band themselves who, two releases into their joint careers, simply have yet to release a bad song. I have already waxed lyrical about Phoebe Bridgers’ intimate songcraft on this blog, but in boygenius she is only one third of the appeal. Bridgers’ silky soft vocals are complemented by Lucy Dacus’ sonorous baritone that purrs like a cello. Then there’s the punky flavour of Julien Baker’s contribution, whose vocals inveriably teeter between a vulnerable whimper and an embattled roar, best served on top of a thorny mess of electric guitars. If boygenius fans come for one thing, however, it’s not the music but the words. All three band members could double as poets and deal in lyrics that are both poignant and thoughtful but strikingly specific and direct. It scarcely takes a second listen for the full emotional weight of a boygenius song to hit home, perhaps surprisingly considering how bookish the three of them are; a trip to London a day before tonight’s gig wasn’t complete without a visit to Brick Lane Bookshop, where they emerged with tote bags bulging with Tolstoy and Camus.

As Ethel Cain’s rather one-note supporting set came and went, I clearly wasn’t the only one in the venue feeling overwhelmingly excited for what was about to unfold. The first fainting happened a short distance from us in a dense area of the crowd, forcing Cain to pause and wait for the medical crew to shoulder their way into the crowd just as she was going up through the gears of showpiece epic Thoroughfare. Perhaps there was something in the air: I consider myself quite well accustomed to a touch of pre-gig hysteria, but 20 minutes before the trio finally took to the stage I was shaking so uncontrollably I genuinely wondered if I’d be the next embarrassed visitor to the medical tent. At one point during the several hours of waiting a few spots of rain threatened to become a shower. “I would be here even if it was snowing,” Isaac told me with complete conviction.

Without You Without Them worked as a sort of pre-match national anthem, every last word bellowed proudly by the thousands in attendance.

At long last, at 9:20, the “boys” took to the Piece Hall stage to the sound of deafening screams. The trio could have hardly made a better start with a capella stunner Without You Without Them, sang into a single mic and performed just behind the stage curtain with a live video of the group beamed onto a giant LED screen. It was instantly sublime, the song working perfectly as a sort of pre-match national anthem, every last word bellowed proudly by the thousands in attendance, hands on hearts. A moving hymn to ancestry, here it was repurposed as a statement of intent, with audience and performers promising each other to “give everything I’ve got”. In a brief moment of calm before the storm our eyes were glued to the screen as Baker closed her eyes in utter concentration and Bridgers rested her head on Dacus’ wide shoulders in apparent bliss. No sooner had the final notes been sung did the camera jerkily follow the three women briefly through some backstage rigging and, lo and behold, boygenius stood before us, in the flesh. They ripped straight into earthy rock banger $20, a transition that sounded electrifying enough on their recent album. In person, it made for one of the most exhilarating opening one-twos I’ve ever witnessed. A swift switch into a thunderous rendition of Satanist, another of the band’s riff-heavy rock numbers, rouned off a breathtaking opening ten minutes.

Whilst the stream of rock anthems weren’t to last, what did endure throughout the set was the undeniable and frankly adorable chemistry between the three performers. Here was a trio so close to one another that they had no qualms releasing a song squarely titled We’re In Love, and it only takes watching one hilariously aloof interview with the three of them to realise just how much they mean it. In Halifax they were wise to avoid the temptations of any sort of script between songs, instead joking casually about Halifax being the lesbian capital of Britain (“so that’s why there’s so many of you!”) and gamely allowing themselves to be mocked when the usual “YORKSHIRE!” chant didn’t quite get through (“is that like a college or a state or something?” Baker ventured).

The chat was a necessary tonic to the introspective and serious songs, which only became more emotionally draining as the night went on. Cool About It, a tasteful interpolation of Simon & Garfunkel’s The Boxer, was an early highlight, with the singers taking a verse each before finally joining in crisp harmony. Bridgers got the final and most tragic verse about taking a friend’s medication and realising just how bad things have got. “Now I have to act like I can’t read your mind,” Bridgers sang in near-whisper before being joined by a banjo and her two bandmates in a final crescendo as restrained and understated as all the secrets Bridgers seems to be struggling to hide. Emily I’m Sorry, another gentle heartbreaker with Bridgers’ songwriting fingerprints all over it, was similarly exquisite, her lilting melody ushered along by a comforting shimmer of electronic toms.

$20 made for a sensational curtain raiser

In fact, boygenius’ performances may have gotten a little too good for the obsessed fans near the front. It may have been the pristine harmonies and the countless tattoo-able lyrics that had audience members dropping like flies, or more likely the gruelling ten-plus hours of standing required for the best spots, but either way all the fainting stripped boygenius’ set of all its momentum on multiple occasions. Both Anti-Curse and breezy Souvenir had to be interrupted for several minutes, leaving awkward silences that even these three best friends struggled to smooth over with filler chat. Of course, stopping the songs at the first signs of distress is absolutely the right thing to do – post Astroworld disaster, artists can’t and mustn’t take any chances – but there was no getting away from the building disappointment for the average, adequately hydrated boygenius fan. There were unrelated sound issues too at one point when the band took a few minutes to realise their mics had suddenly cut off, and a promising up-tempo unreleased song came out muddy and thick, with vocals buried deep beneath an out of control kick drum.

Increasingly, it was a relief when a song was played in full, without incident. Mercifully, True Blue emerged unscathed, a shimmering slow burn love song led by Dacus that serenely flowed out and over the crowd like a warm summer’s breeze. The twisted indie rock of Bite the Hand also built with alluring patience. A song ostensibly about obsessive fans and the perils of parasocial relationships, it proved to be fitting for tonight’s audience and was smartly paired with live camera feeds of the front row fans passionately singing along. “I can’t love you how you want me to,” they chanted on the big screen, hanging on every word and yet not seeming aware that the song was about them.

Togetherness, connection, unbridled joy: Not Strong Enough is why I go to concerts.

A well-judged set list – although boygenius couldn’t go far wrong by playing every single song they’ve released, plus three more from their solo discographies – ramped things up as the darkness thickened over Calderdale with both the most intensely loud and quiet songs of the night. Fan favourite Me & My Dog was most definitely the former and saw Bridgers belt out some new high notes at the climax, thrillingly edging towards to the upper limit of her range in an exhilarating change from her trademark dreamlike whisper. Bridgers also led the way on that song’s far more delicate sister track Letter to an Old Poet, urging the crowd to put down their phone cameras just for one song and largely getting obeyed. It was a well timed request and helped crushing lines like “you make me feel like an equal / But I’m better than you” cut deep into the soul. With none of the glitz of flashing stage lights or a sea of paparazzi, Bridgers suddenly looked completely exposed, badly hurt but resolute in search of hope. “I can’t feel it yet, but I’m waiting,” she concluded, pausing for several seconds on that final word and leaving this delirious crowd of fainting fans in a precious stunned silence, if only for a moment.

Letter might have been the highlight of the whole show had it not been followed by Not Strong Enough, a belting, sunkissed country rock number and strong contender for song of the year. As that ecstatic chorus arrived, Isaac and I were lucky to find ourselves in a pocket of equally thrilled fans to jump up and down alongside. Suddenly it was as if we were staying still and it was the world that was bouncing along to the beat. The words had the sort of lines that we didn’t scream along with just because we knew them but because we believed in them too. The chorus’ subtly profound declaration of “I don’t know why I am the way I am” seemed to be echoed by thousands of fans all coming to the freeing realisation that not all of their flaws and idiosyncrasies have to make sense. Togetherness, understanding, unbridled joy: this is why I go to concerts.

A live audience cam was a clever addition to Bite the Hand

Perhaps at this point the three should have quit whilst they were ahead, taken a big bow and headed backstage to start planning tomorrow’s day trip to the Brontë Parsonage. There was still Salt In The Wound left to be played however, both the slowest and loudest track the three have up their immaculate matching blazer sleeves. It provided an over-the-top finish (stage smoke billowed, guitars wailed, two of the trio tried an uncomfortable looking crowdsurf) but beneath the showmanship the band seemed tired, especially Bridgers whose vocals frayed at the peak of the crescendo and who never quite gave all the gusto that a track like this demands. Still, it did the trick of unequivocally wrapping things up with smooches all round from the three performers, much to the delight of the disproportionately LGBTQ crowd.

You can imagine the designers of Halifax station didn’t have a boygenius concert in mind when they devised the narrow platform that Isaac and I soon found ourselves on along with hoardes of fans bound for Leeds and Bradford. As it happened, a slice of luck earned us two seats at the end of the next eastbound train, complete with good live entertainment of the sardine action whilst the driver lamented over the telecom that the platform was so choked with people he didn’t feel it was safe to pull away from the station. It seemed clear that – at least before the Piece Hall launched as a large venue last year – Halifax station has never seen crowds like this at quarter to 11 on an otherwise unremarkable Tuesday night. boygenius’ set had been occasionally extraordinary, but there was a sense that even better nights await for the newest musical destination in the north. Let’s hope next time these fans remember to bring plenty of water.

RNS/Włoszczowska live at Sage Gateshead review – propulsive Bartók steals the show
20
Aug

Maria Włoszczowska’s laidback approach to the combined roles of soloist and conductor gave mixed results, but the splendour of Beethoven’s Violin Concerto remained largely intact. It was Bartók’s lively Divertimento that saw the RNS at their most dynamic and engaging.

No venue makes me feel special quite the way Sage Gateshead does. An enormous, glistening bubble of curved glass on the south bank of the Tyne, my approach in the early evening sunlight on this Friday night took me over the equally impressive Tyne Bridge, which provides fantastic views not only downriver but down to the busy, historic streets below. The view from directly above the rooftops was so remarkable I almost lost control of my bike as I attempted to peer over the edge whilst riding by. Inside, the Sage feels just as special. I was greeted by a plush cafe well stocked with fluffy muffins and a range of non-alcoholic drinks that far outdoes the usual gig venue offering Coke and possibly J20. Inside the main concert hall the walls are lined with glossy wood and the balconies accented with a tasteful dash of blue lights to give the room a strikingly futuristic, sleek feel. Just like the last time I attended a classical concert, I felt unusually out of place when it came to demography – there were only a handful of faces that looked under 50. I took a second glance of my ticket to confirm the astounding prices; my bargain £5 rate was not just for students, but anyone under 30. It’s a fantastic idea – and necessary when considering the alarming long term prospects of a place like the Sage – but tonight it seemed disappointingly few youngsters had taken the opportunity.

The twenty-somethings with something better to do missed out on witnessing a violinist on the up in Warsaw native Maria Włoszczowska, who is indeed young enough to qualify for the concession tickets herself. She led an engaging and concise evening that may have convinced the handful of the classical-curious in the crowd (Undertone included) that the genre need not be slow, boring or mystifying. That said, the pared-back and solemn quartet opener Cavatina made for a strangely slow-paced start, although perhaps its early inclusion shrewdly avoided a snore-inducing rendition later in the evening. The tempo may have felt glacial, but once the four musicians had settled into the piece, Beethoven’s deep melancholy materialised beautifully. Amongst the final compositions of his life, Włoszczowska introduced the piece as “one of Beethoven’s most personal and emotional works,” and the quartet lived up to the challenge of recreating that strong feeling with sweeping dynamic movement and gently weeping vibrato. Every note rang out with such synchronised expression from the four players that at times they sounded like a single accordion, contracting and expanding with every stroke of the bow, the music breathing in synchrony. Beethoven’s Cavatina is an unflashy piece – even Włoszczowska’s score would do little to stretch the abilities an intermediate violinist – but this quartet revealed a depth and mastery of sound that requires much more creative expression than the dots and lines on a piece of paper could provide.

At times, the quartet sounded like a single accordion, contracting and expanding with every stroke of the bow.

At seven minutes, though, the Cavatina was only the night’s starter. The show began in earnest with an assured rendition of Bartók’s Divertimento, a muscular suite for string orchestra that felt every bit a main course. Perhaps tired of waiting through the Cavatina, the lower strings launched into the chugging opening notes with so much gusto that their strings slapped loudly against their fingerboards for several bars, producing an inadvertent element of percussion that was as distracting and ugly as it was genuinely exciting. Here, Włoszczowska took a relatively low profile role as principal violinist, with the emphasis instead placed on the spectacle of seeing two dozen musicians respond to one another in real time, impossibly producing one coherent work of art in the process. The tightly intertwining call and response sections were a highlight, with lead second violinist Eva Aronian proving every bit Włoszczowska’s match in playfully answering all her musical questions. The Divertimento was also an excellent choice to show off the RNS’s electrifying dynamism: one particularly discordant crescendo tumbled like a waterfall before landing on a single, decisive chord. At other moments, the razor-sharp edges of Bartók’s crunchy staccato chords landed like a bolt from the blue. It was a shame that the visceral feeling of togetherness couldn’t quite last the course, and a fiddly violin pizzicato passage towards the end was so poorly coordinated that Włoszczowska let out a rueful smile.

Tackling Divertimento, a piece written for string orchestra, without a conductor is one thing, but undertaking a full blown concerto with woodwind and percussion would be Włoszczowska’s primary self-imposed challenge for the night. She began the evening with a mission statement, arguing that it was not only possible to convert any piece into conductor-less chamber music, but that there was something to be gained from a more free-flowing, collective performance. In the end, rather than backing up her claims, this showing of Beethoven’s renowned Violin Concerto left a sense that Włoszczowska had merely got away with the gamble. Returning after the interval in a shimmering silver kimono so dazzling it wouldn’t have looked out of place at the following night’s Eurovision final, Włoszczowska was clearly there to lead the troops, although her style of leadership turned out to be surprisingly laissez-faire. Instrument sections embarking on a new phrase were largely left to cue themselves, often including Włoszczowska’s own violin section. Even in the long periods of rest from her solo violin part, Włoszczowska somewhat awkwardly just turned around and watched her colleagues do their thing, letting the group dictate the entire direction of the piece.

The third movement’s jaunty little refrain sounded catchier than most pop songs.

To some extent, the added element of live musicianship did indeed give this Beethoven an exciting new edge. Rather than looking up to a commanding conductor, the musicians’ eyes were instead on each other, coordinating the specifics of rhythm and phrasing with a focussed glance or twitch of the bow the same way jazz musicians might communicate semi-telepathically. This borderline miraculous synchronicity was most obvious in the concerto’s smooth, layered passages, but the juxtaposing loud blocky chords of the first movement impressively kept their fierce tautness without the flick of a baton.

Where a conductor may have come in handy was in the more reserved second movement, which sagged without a driving force to propel the orchestra forward. This movement’s tiredness at least provided a good foil to the bubbly third movement, with its jaunty little refrain sounding catchier than most pop songs (indeed, I overheard numerous audience members cheerily humming it to themselves as we left the auditorium). After a programme somewhat heavy with intense emotions, this finale was a chance for the RNS to show their lighter side, and the refrain felt sweeter and more delightful with every repeat – and there were many repeats; I left convinced that Beethoven’s Violin Concerto would make a good classical starter for pop fans like me who can feel a bit lost in a piece of music without the guiding compass of a really solid hook.

It should go without saying that Włoszczowska – young but already with appearances at the BBC Proms and London’s prestigious Wigmore Hall under her belt – made for a consummate soloist. She was at her most astounding when recreating the entire orchestra on her four strings during the first movement’s breathless, devilishly difficult solos, even if she was occasionally tempted by a little too much destabilising rubato. An unlikely to-and-fro solo battle with the timpani (in which the violin narrowly came out as victor) was also one of the evening’s highlights, and earned timpanist Jude Carlton a deserved dedicated round of applause at the end.

For £5 – my cheapest gig out of the scores on this blog – the evening had been such good value that any criticism of the performance seems null and void. It had been a definite bargain, but whether Włoszczowska’s decision to go it alone had paid dividends – especially when it came to the bill-topping Beethoven concerto – was less easy to determine. Indeed, I left feeling that the potential in Beethoven’s score had not quite been milked for all its worth, and that this rendition was ultimately excellent in spite of, rather than because of, Włoszczowska’s input. Sometimes, though, the imperfect concerts are the best ones. This time, on crossing the Tyne Bridge I stopped and hopped off my bike to look down onto the streets still busy with double deckers busses and ant-sized students bound for the nightclub, the cast iron ceiling of the High Level Bridge hanging not far beyond the rooftops above them. I was quite happy to stand there for five minutes, watching the world go by. Musical imperfections aside, I had nothing to complain about.

Black Country, New Road live at NUSU review – indie darlings hit a stumbling block
10
Aug

Poorly served by a dodgy soundsystem and impatient crowd, Black Country, New Road never quite found their stride on a drab night in Newcastle. Lethargic and lackadaisical, the vibrance of their first three albums seemed a world away.

They say that sometimes history repeats itself. Last May I found myself picking through crowds of jubilant Leeds United fans to the back of a winding queue outside a sunny Brudenell Social Club, bursting with anticipation of a performance from Black Country, New Road, a prospect made all the more intriguing by the fact that the band’s frontman Isaac Wood had abruptly left just three months prior. Almost exactly a year later it’s the black and white striped shirts of Newcastle United that are flowing past me towards their stadium. This time just as before, I had more important matters to attend to than football; BC,NR were back in the north. The now six-piece band continue to be the talk of the British indie rock scene, largely off the back of their massively successful 2022 masterpiece Ants From Up There, which contains some of my most treasured pieces of music. Last time I attended the Newcastle University’s unappealing gigging venue for Cassia last October I arrived at peak times but nonetheless had to resort to the help of the Co-op security guard to locate the entrance. There were no such issues this time: the long line of young, mostly male students snaking around campus was testament to BC,NR’s ever-growing cult following. Me and friends Ewan and Ben weren’t particularly late, but the crowd inside NUSU was already dense as we queued up for Coke. We considered ourselves lucky with a spot to the extreme front left of the audience, even if it meant half of the band would be entirely hidden from view by a set of speakers.

To some extent, I knew exactly what I was in for as the concert started up. The band’s promising set of completely unreleased material last year in Leeds has since been tweaked and released as an enjoyable live album, and this performance promised repeat renditions of those nine songs. However, releasing an album changes it. This was immediately obvious in raucous, feel-good opening number Up Song. Where in Leeds the joy had been in the element of surprise and the spontaneous audience reactions (indeed, the screams of elation audible when the wall of sound first hit at the start of the song remains one of my most memorably exhilarating gigging experiences), in Newcastle we had an opportunity to sing along to the now familiar lyrics. In particular, the earnest, adorable line “Look at what we did together / BC,NR friends forever!” was aptly belted out by everyone in the room in a wonderful moment of togetherness. The sense of collective support for the band continued through cheers over Lewis Evans’ squeaky sax part, but I’ll admit I found myself missing Leeds’ element of surprise. The listening experience certainly wasn’t helped by worryingly lacklustre execution. Singing bassist Tyler Hyde looked particularly weary and unenthused, which was perhaps understandable after, crushingly, her microphone failed to work during the crucial first few lines of the song. Even as the song hit its heaviest patches of danceable rock, most band members kept their eyes steadily locked to the floor in front of them, seemingly wishing this whole affair to be over already. The ongoing tour to promote their live album does indeed seem rigorous (the drive to Newcastle from Leeds came via Dublin, and this week they head to Manchester via Glasgow), and in NUSU there was plenty of evidence that all the hard work is getting to them. Releasing an album changes the band, too.

Most band members kept their eyes steadily locked to the floor in front of them, seemingly wishing this whole affair to be over already.

A limp Up Song set the tone for a distinctly disappointing evening, albeit largely for reasons out of BC,NR’s control. The greatest flaw was the sound design. I already knew NUSU was a poxy venue, but it was shocking just how completely an off night from the sound guy eliminated any hopes of getting lost in the music. The band must have experienced this before – the complex mix of violin, saxophone, flute and multiple lead vocal mics must be a headache for even the most capable audio engineer, and indeed their set in Leeds last year was not without its niggles – but this performance seemed exceptional. Some supporting instruments were rendered inaudible at some point in almost every song and crucial moments were blotted by ear-bleeding microphone feedback.

Half of Black Country, New Road at NUSU, with Hyde playing bowed bass and Evans having switched from saxophone to flute.

I Won’t Always Love You was one of the songs that suffered most. It had a promising start, with Hyde wisely swapping out a slightly tedious stop-start rubato intro for a searching tapestry of guitar plucking, but one expansive crescendo later and the mix had become muddier than a soggy afternoon at Glastonbury. Evans’ screaming sax lines, searing on the official live album, were amongst the several components lost to the din. It was a similar story for 10-minute epic and prior fan favourite Turbines/Pigs. May Kershaw’s graceful piano melodies remained spellbinding, but as the ambitious climax arrived, the NUSU speakers proved utterly incapable of handling Hyde’s sinister bowed bass guitar. For a song all about the patient build towards a gut-wrenching finale, this failing was one of the night’s most tragic.

Perhaps the poor sound quality was also to blame for a notably rowdy and disinterested crowd, even if the venue was undoubtedly sold out. Invariably, BC,NR’s quiet instrumental moments were rudely talked over. Evans was measured in his response, repeatedly offering gentle requests of “hush now, people of Newcastle,” before, a few songs later, giving a more exasperated “you’re too loud, Newcastle.” Tellingly, some of the more witless audience members only whooped back at him, assuming it was a compliment. Evans and his bandmates looked more defeated than vexed, and the passages of music not lost to soundsystem screeches were lost to a hubbub of chatter instead. Feeling ignored, it’s no wonder their performance sagged as a result.

Was that a dissonant note choice or simply a mistake? As a tepid applause rolled in, I decided it was probably the latter.

A few new songs thrown into the set list were essential to beef out the live album’s fleeting 47 minute runtime, but the fresh material turned out to be far more inconsistent than what BC,NR fans have become accustomed to. Early on, Evans led an unreleased song that felt clumpy and unsettled, and both the iffy tuning of Hyde’s guitar and questionable note choices from violinist Georgia Ellery warranted brows furrowed in suspicion. Was that a consciously dissonant note choice or simply a mistake borne out of mid-tour fatigue and unease? As the song reached a wimpering fade out and a tepid applause rolled in, I decided it was probably the latter. By far the best of the new songs came towards the end of the set and saw drummer Charlie Wayne thrillingly take hold of a banjo (and, even better, play it quite competently). The intricate, light-footed experimental folk tune that followed sounded uniquely vibrant, and gave a hint of the group’s outstanding musicianship that had been so apparent on the turbulent jazz cuts of their debut album. Ellery – the transfixing voice behind radical electronic duo Jockstrap – also provided strong lead vocals at one point, in a well-overdue first for BC,NR.

It was an indication of the band’s general tiredness that it was only as the gig’s finish line came into view that they finally found their stride. Up Song‘s new reprise was the biggest innovation on the band’s live material since their trip to the Brudenell, and attempted to wrap the neat bow of a cyclical narrative on the show’s disparate collection of jaded performances. Somehow, it worked. Hyde’s vocals sounded even more piercing and achingly vulnerable than usual, and Kershaw’s twinkling, pensive piano playing felt strangely moving after witnessing six people drag themselves through what must have been an unpleasant 80 minutes on stage. For a tantalising, undulating few minutes, we were gifted a glimpse of just how beautiful BC,NR’s music can be, given the right circumstances. The speaker feedback had stopped and the impolite crowd had been silenced, apparently in repect of this breathtaking flash of artistry. Minutes before they were to disappear unceremoniously backstage (an encore was out of the question), Black Country, New Road had rediscovered what makes them such special, singular talents. On a better night, this would be the time to let the tears roll and succumb to the urge to giddily bash out a five-star review the next morning. Tonight, it was a case of too little too late.

Prince Daddy & the Hyena live at the Key Club review – a hit and run blast of mayhem
1
Jul

Straightjacketed into a fleeting 45 minute set, this performance from the New York emo rockers was agonisingly defined by all the great songs they neglected. At least the berserk crowd didn’t seem to mind.

Standing in line outside the Key Club, it felt almost as if the pandemic never happened. Just like we did in 2019, me and my friend Ewan were discussing the latest developments of curiously named New York emo rock band Prince Daddy & the Hyena ahead of their performance a few hours later, shivering a little in the queue outside Merrion Street’s KFC. Seeing so many fellow fans of one of our favourite niche bands was still a thrill, as was the fact that Kory Gregory, a loveable frontman worth rooting for, was once again awaiting us somewhere deep within the building we stood next to. If it weren’t for my new Prince Daddy t-shirt or Ewan’s new hairdo it might have looked like nothing had changed at all in the intervening four years.

The Key Club brought a nice familiarity for us (we’d even both played an early Ewy gig on the Key Club stage) but it would perhaps be less welcome to Prince Daddy themselves, who have evidently made little forward progress in terms of popularity across the pond in recent years. Cosmic Thrill Seekers, a somewhat overambitious but nonetheless hugely rewarding concept album, felt like the talk of the town back in 2019 but in reality it struggled when it came to streaming numbers, perhaps due to the inaccessibility of an album made up of three through-composed opuses, each confusingly assigned three different names. Last year’s self-titled album was somewhat better received but the hard truth is that this band remains confined to the cosy Key Club, a suitably all-black underground dungeon of indie rock, with ceiling pipes low enough for crowd surfers to hang off during the most raucous performances. Even more humblingly, just as in 2019 Prince Daddy are still reduced to a split-billing for this evening’s show, this time playing second fiddle to labelmates Origami Angel (who haven’t even toured the UK before!).

(C’mon & Smoke Me Up )concluded with a deeply satisfying thump à la Beethoven.

A notably more excitable crowd than the group’s last visit to Leeds seemed to be the extent of their career progress. “You guys weren’t like this last time; I love it!” frontman Kory Gregory giggled early on. His surprise was understandable – the crowd this evening was remarkable. Virtually every song incited a riot: think limbs flying, mosh pits swirling, sweaty heads thrashing about in ecstacy. Even the slower songs gave fans the urge to climb up onto stage (refreshingly free of overscrupulous security guards) and leap outwards onto the hands of their comrades. At one point a mosh circle formed before Gregory had even started a song, before hilariously deflating when the song in question turned out to be the only slow ballad of the night. Plus, of course, there were plenty of garbled chants of “Yorkshire!”, seemingly shouted as much from Leeds tribalism as an attempt to confuse Americans for the fun of it (Jeff Rosenstock and cleopatrick have been similarly baffled on previous visits to the great city).

A boot to the head seemed the most likely injury during Prince Daddy’s blistering set.

Unfortunately for the average spectator, the main consequence of Prince Daddy’s recent mediocre self-titled album is that the big hits of their early albums are now spread few and far between in their live set. Ewan and I should have been worried when a fellow fan showed us the rumoured set list before the show: material from that latest album formed the bulk of a set, including several of the less remarkable corners of the Prince Daddy discography. Do we really need the forgettable, broad brush indie rock of Shoelaces or Jesus Fucking Christ? Did the utterly limp 90-second non-song Something Special really deserve a look in to an already selective set list? Sweeping ballad Curly Q was an inevitable inclusion but no less underwhelming, with a sickly sweet chorus so whiny and uninspiring it almost pacified the rabid crowd in the Key Club. Keep Up That Talk was the exception to the rule, boasting a whiplash-inducing finale that surely marks the most thrilling 40 seconds of guitar music Gregory has penned to date. It was that riff-filled rush that compelled me back amongst the moshers at the front after spending more songs than I would have liked waiting at the sidelines for a worthwhile banger to come along. Bouncing up and down in and embracing the chaos seemed the only way to properly enjoy a song that felt like hitting maximum velocity on a rollercoaster.

The problem for Prince Daddy wasn’t just that their set included so many middling songs, but that so many great songs were left unplayed. Only three songs from their debut album, I Thought You Didn’t Even Like Leaving, made the cut despite the fact virtually any song from that record could have maximised the bedlam in the Key Club. Expansive showpiece ballad Really? was featured somewhat grudgingly in abridged form, leading to palpable disappointment in the audience when the band swiftly moved on to another boilerplate cut from the latest album. I Forgot To Take My Meds Today still bites hard, but equally venomous sister tracks like Clever Girl, Pop Song or the delightfully named I Wish I Could Ctrl+alt+del My Life all were left neglected.

It had been barely 45 minutes, but the sweat-drenched faces in attendance resembled a few hours in the Amazon rainforest.

If anyone shared my disappointment in the room it didn’t show. It was lift off from song one, perhaps powered by the knowledge that the band would likely be gone for another several years in well under an hour. Enveloped in the mayhem, most of us were too busy to catch the detail of smartly constructed thrasher Klonopin or the even neater C’mon & Smoke Me Up, which concluded with a deeply satisfying instrumental cadence that landed with a thump à la Beethoven. El Dorado, lead single and obvious standout from the self-titled, was always destined to be compelling live, yet in Leeds the relatively sedate tempo – and awkward placement right at the end of the set – meant the crowd failed to ignite to Gregory’s punchy chorus. For a band with plenty of fiery candidates for closing number (not least two awe-inspiring album closers in Really? and Wacky Misadventures of the Passenger), this was a poor choice that left the crowd desperate for a proper finale that never came, regardless of how well executed El Dorado‘s breakdown was.

Virtually every song was greeted with stage divers.

By the time we had reached that muted end it had been barely 45 minutes, but the sweat-drenched faces in attendance resembled a few hours in the Amazon rainforest. To discuss exclusively the performance of the band is to ignore half of the experience – and probably the most important half. To a large extent, the crowd was the main spectacle at this gig. Stage invasions got so frequent that Origami Angel had to halt their subsequent set to instruct the fans towards an open space on stage so people would stop treading on Ryland Heagy’s guitar pedals.

What was most clear throughout was the kindness in the crowd running just beneath the surface. Rock naysayers looking in from the outside may see it as a brutal, angry mess of primal emotion. To some extent it may be, but the act of collectively lifting a stranger above your head feels more obviously an act of communal human love. Over the course of the night, fans of all shapes, sizes and genders found themselves surfing the waves of hands, each one of them eventually lowered down with care to the ground wherever they ended up and often congratulated by the strangers around them with broad smiles and enthusiastic hand horns. Even when simply jumping into each other in the pit, the first rule of moshing is to immediately lift up anyone around you who falls over – an intervention urgently required on a few occasions this evening.

It’s difficult to know what might have unfolded had Prince Daddy been at their propulsive best. Gregory may well have concluded in advance that the rip-roaring, deafening metal of the brilliant Hollow As You Figured would have likely led to some sort of structural damage to the Key Club foundations. That said, the disparity between the band’s humble billing and the eagerness of the crowd was baffling. With a fanbase like this, could the New Yorkers really not fill out this smallish basement on their own with a more comprehensive 90 minute set? It may well be another four years before we find out.

Bellowhead live at O2 City Hall review – somehow still dancing
24
Mar

Bellowhead’s golden years as spearheads of an English folk revival may be well past them, but the strength of their blockbuster renderings of centuries-old tunes remained for an evening coloured by the recent passing of a founding member, Paul Sartin.

The farewell tour began in 2015. After 11 years as part of folk phenomenon Bellowhead, frontman Jon Boden had decided to call time on the project, wrapping up with a grand double tour of the country, culminating in an intimate return to Oxford Town Hall, where it all started for the band. Aged 13, I caught them in Harrogate alongside my mum on what would probably be my first and last gig in the provincial town, having been introduced to the band by a primary school teacher. I remember it was a lively one for such a grand and formal setting, but my residing memory was getting doused in red wine by a lady next to me whose hand-eye coordination was muddled by a combination of a little too much alcohol and one too many of Bellowhead’s stomping sea shanties. A one-off, final reunion came four years later and, like so many concerts that year, was limited to the form of a pay-to-watch video recording, which I lapped up nonetheless.

And yet, another two years later, the inimitable 11-piece are back for a final, very last, definitely-just-a-one-off reunion tour to mark the tenth anniversary of one of their most popular albums, Broadside. The band’s gradual demise seemed so drawn out that at last seeing them appear onstage more or less the same as they’ve always been was something of a shock. Settling down in the cramped folding seats was bearable given the promise of a final few numbers that would undoubtedly raise the audience out of their seats, even if the demographic seemed markedly older than the sort that might turn up at the City Hall to see Sigrid or Declan McKenna. Bellowhead’s music includes almost exclusively traditional tunes that have been passed down through many generations, and when it comes to danceable crowd pleasers it is only the real firecrackers that have passed the test of time. In the words of outstanding fiddle player and support act Sam Sweeney, “if you still have a jumper on after we’ve finished… you’re crazy.”

11-strong Bellowhead’s ability to stir up a crowd remains formidable

That said, the first half was naturally reserved for a selection of Bellowhead’s slightly more laid back tunes, even if it did start with a sequin-suited Sweeney performing a piercing bagpipe solo from atop a plinth. Stormy Byker Hill was a fitting opener with its references to the original coal mining days of Newcastle’s east end, but it along with a handful of other early numbers was severely limited by poor mixing which found Pete Flood’s booming kick drum drowning out a weak-sounding woodwind section. Things improved for Jack Lintel, a surprising but worthy inclusion in the set, with a scintillating three-way fiddle showdown rightly stirring up the crowd. Unapologetically pop-ish Betsy Baker remained one of the band’s finest numbers. A mawkish and clichéd love song it may be, but quite how the various accompanying melodies in the strings and woodwind overlap one another beneath the charming melody is undeniably very pretty indeed. Boden seemed to revel in that not-so-faint whiff of cheese, proudly professing his feelings for dear Betsy with hands held high and head tilted towards the sky before taking a seat in admiration of a particularly delightful instrumental section.

The evening’s main drawback was the fact this was a Broadside concert, and the material within the album in question had its limits. Increasingly I longed for more from Hedonism, Broadside‘s superior, best-selling predecessor (and an integral member of my mum’s modest car CD collection). That said, some of Broadside‘s deep cuts stood out, namely Black Beetle Pies, which might have been forgotten had Benji Fitzpatrick not appeared with a wearable xylophone, with Boden now belting the vocals through a loudspeaker. Thousands Or More was much more tender, and its well-delivered group vocals were one of the night’s most heart-warming moments. Elsewhere there were more questionable setlist decisions. Deservedly obscure Fine Sally over Desert Island Disc-worthy zinger Parson’s Farewell? Fakenham Fair over their disturbing, rousing take on Amsterdam? Cross-eyed and Chinless, a Hedonism standout as fun and memorable as its title was the most surprising and disappointing omission.

Personal gripes about setlist choices were totally irrelevant for the song at the heart of the evening, which was a tribute to one of the band’s most recognisable and founding members, Paul Sartin, who died suddenly in September. After a minute’s silence, Boden introduced a devastating recording of Sartin singing Brisk Lad alone, his baritone vocals stunningly clear and intimate, his words (“I am a brisk lad though my fortune is bad”) heavy with newly implied meaning. After a few verses the band joined with a tasteful accompaniment, ending united in unison a cappella. The entire assured performance of a song sang through many generations of the Sartin family was deeply moving. The spontaneous standing ovation continued well into the next song.

The audience stood throughout the show stopping finale

The transition almost immediately into merry fiddle-led jigs like Dockside Rant / Sailing on the Tide at first felt uneasy after such a heartfelt tribute, but as the crowd pleasers kept coming it became very difficult not to get swept away in the ensuing joy. It all culminated with a raucous one-two of old favourites New York Girls and a triumphant Frogs’ Legs and Dragons’ Teeth, by which point virtually the entire audience had been up off their seats and clapping along for a good 20 minutes. It would have been an even more joyous atmosphere had stewards not tightly policed the aisles, approaching revelers that were having too much fun dancing down the aisles. Quite why dancing was forbidden – surely an essential aspect of this form of old-fashioned dance music – was beyond me. Fortunately no such rules applied to the performers, and Sam Sweeney was particularly energetic, at one stage jumping around the pirate ship set with such enthusiasm he fell face first onto the deck, impressively only missing a few bars of fiddle playing. Lindsey Stirling would be impressed.

A dozen undoubtedly exhausting back-to-back shows into their tour and as many years playing the same set of uptempo winners, it was reassuring to see that Bellowhead still have the ability to ignite a frenzied ceilidh wherever they go (jobsworth stewards aside). Decades may have passed since their inception in Oxford, but there’s still no clear contender to fill their space in the English folk scene, and it seems likely to stay that way. Bellowhead, with their daring and vivid reinventions of old songs and their unusually large number of instrumentalists, are a one-of-a-kind, and the English folk resurgence they spawned alongside the likes of Kate Rusby and Laura Marling is already dwindling without them. Whether this tour really is a final reunion is now anyone’s guess, but in Newcastle Boden left us with a tantalising tease. “Perhaps we’ll see you again sometime,” he smirked, before hoisting up his fiddle one last time for a roof-raising final refrain. Whatever happens next to this wonderful band, I’m still not ready to see them go.

Parcels live at O2 Ritz review – reaching for nightclub nirvana
28
Nov

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.

Skylights live at Whelan’s review – lads on tour have the place bouncing
24
Oct

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.

Black Country, New Road live at Brudenell Social Club review – a sublime resurrection
27
May

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.

Dua Lipa live at first direct Arena review – a flamboyant new queen of British pop
20
May

No expense was spared on the Leeds leg of Dua Lipa’s victorious world tour, after 2020’s Future Nostalgia changed the face of modern pop. With slick transitions and memorable visuals, this was a performance dense with bona fide pop smashes and jaw-droppingly theatrical highlights.

Rocking up in central Leeds in a group of five friends poorly dressed to spend any significant period of time outside on a disappointingly cold Easter Monday, there was a moment on approaching a T-junction in paths that we had no idea exactly in which direction Dua Lipa was gearing up for an arena concert. Already beginning to shiver, we decided we might as well pick a stranger and follow them through a nearby underpass. Soon enough, the stream of punters became a river and then a torrent, with crowds in the 100 metre viscinity of the first direct Arena more akin to what I’d expect ten minutes after a gig, rather than 3 hours before it. It may have only been half past six, but we wasted no time grabbing drinks and finding a spot amongst a crowd buzzing with anticipation.

The truth is, that night it would have been a challenge to find someone walking through that northern corner of Leeds that didn’t have 70-odd quid’s worth of arena ticketing stashed in their wallet. An antithesis to Jeff Rosenstock in every way, Dua Lipa has been vying for chart-topping mainstream appeal for years now, and she’s frequently been granted her wish, garnering millions of fans worldwide. Her latest album, Future Nostalgia, is packed full of the sort of hits that manage to infiltrate the consciousness of virtually everyone in society. Even if you think you don’t know mind-blowingly successful smashes like Don’t Start Now or Levitating, trust me, you do.

What was new with Future Nostalgia was the wave of critical acclaim that came with the endless radio play. The album was bold in its unapologetic support of what I like to call the ’20s disco revival; a stylistic shift towards retro styles in contemporary pop music that is generally deemed to be a result of the dancefloor-yearning brought on by the pandemic. Giant names like The Weeknd, Doja Cat and even Kylie Minogue are all in on it, although whether the new world of modern disco-pop will survive now the society is opening back up again remains to be seen. Nevertheless, Lipa continues to position herself as the movement’s flagbearer, adopting an 80s-inspired public image whilst digging deep into the realm of slap bass lines and superfluous glitterballs.

To that end, me and my friends Emma and Hattie had to crane our heads towards the distant roof of the arena on entering to tot up the evening’s glitterball count: a somewhat underwhelming three (and, once they had been lowered during the performance, they turned out to be more like cheap-looking shiny balloons). The no-doubt immense budget for the Future Nostalgia Tour had clearly been utilised in other aspects of the show, not least a dozen-stong dance troupe that bounced and boogied their way around Lipa all night. Lipa is of course a great dancer in her own right, and the sheer amount of moves and she memorised and pulled off for the performance was impressive. For her, it was mostly a case of ticking off all the things arena-sized pop divas are supposed to do: we got Dua playing with a sparkly cane or Dua throwing poses behind a morphing wall of umbrellas or Dua being carried face-up across the stage in the middle of a verse, singing all the while. She may lack some choreographic originality, but that’s not to say she wasn’t convincing. The astounded crowd around me fumbled for their iPhone cameras whenever Lipa so much as flicked a gloved finger in our direction. On occasions when Lipa responded to the cameras and flashlights with a brief smile, the screams almost drowned out the music.

Physical, Lipa’s gleefully self-aware pastiche of Olivia Newton-John’s 1981 hit of the same name, was an excellent choice of opener and a statement of intent, with lines like “baby, keep on dancing like we ain’t got a choice” finding a match with zumba class-ready dance moves. An early onslaught of Future Nostalgia bangers ensued, finding a highlight in Break My Heart, Lipa’s most whole-heartedly disco number. The glitterballs remained dormant, but instead a dense web of tiny spheres descended above Lipa and her dance crew, pulsing with colour in time with the shimmering rhythm guitar and chest-rattling bass line. Then there was the unbelievably funky Pretty Please, plus groovy midtempo hit Cool, during which Lipa was joined by a pair of dancers on rollerskates, each encircling her and beaming from ear to ear. They got one of the loudest applauses of the night when they stole Lipa’s spotlight for a moment to perform a few somersaults and headstands on the well-implemented satellite stage.

If the rollerskaters weren’t Eurovision enough, We’re Good – a dubious inclusion at the best of times – featured a cameo from a giant inflatable lobster for reasons that never quite became clear. It seems that money to spare can occasionally work out as a hindrance rather than a benefit for shows like these. Early hit IDGAF, here demoted to We’re Good‘s introduction as a 30-second snippet, would have been both much more sensible and much more effective, with or without a lobster.

Somewhat trite strings ballad Boys Will Be Boys gave the night some necessary breathing space, although I’ll admit I was relieved when Lipa got seemingly impatient and threw in synths and a thumping electronic kick drum two choruses in. A slew of Lipa’s biggest dance hits followed and, having reserved all my excitement for Lipa’s pop and disco songs, I was pleasantly surprised at just how compelling the segment turned out to be. It helped that Lipa and her troupe had ventured out onto the satellite stage once more, surrounded by the crowd and seemingly caged up thanks to clever lighting and a metal rig that had descended from the ceiling. The claustrophobia suited songs like Electricity and One Kiss, which now sounded perfect for a gloomy, body-filled nightclub. Extended remixes allowed for more dancing, more energy and more outfit changes, with Lipa switching from one glitzy leotard to another just as one global number one hit blended seemlessly with the next global number one hit. I could have danced to that handful of songs long into the night.

A lighting rig descended for an intimate dance music segment

I spent a majority of the night in giddy anticipation of awarding Undertone‘s second ever five-star gig rating, so I was a little disappointed when Lipa eventually started to lose her momentum in the final third of the concert. Future Nostalgia bonus track Fever was a poor set list choice over Blow Your Mind (Mwah), particularly becuase it entailed a pre-recorded feature from Belgian popstar Angèle on the big screen. Elton John was similarly featured on tribute track Cold Heart, but I remained unconvinced by the song’s lack of fresh ideas whilst Lipa and the troupe attempted a tear-jerking end-of-gig group hug.

Electrifying Levitating and Don’t Start Now – surely two of the most monumental (and musically flawless) pop songs of the decade – were rightly saved for the encore, before confetti cannons cued Lipa’s theatrical disappearance into the stage, mid-pout. Lipa aptly took to a platform and floated around the arena for Levitating, leaning against the railings and waving down at the adoring crowd in a third, figure-hugging catsuit. Now unavoidably, we had been reduced to peasants bowing down to our queen of pop as she purveyed her subjects. She had every right to, after all: no popstar in Britain today quite has the global reach or the dense catalogue of hits currently in Lipa’s possession. With all the flabbergasting showbiz glitz and glamour of the Future Nostalgia Tour, she has ensured a firm grip on the crown for many years to come.