Monthly Archives: October 2019

10.29.19
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Ralph Pelleymounter and Charlotte Carpenter – The MOTH club – October 20th 2019

I have to move out of my property guardianship this week. I’m sad although I can’t pretend that I didn’t know the risks. In exchange for cheap rents and communal living in London’s zone one, you learn to put up with the uncertain length of stay, the chance that you might be turfed out with a months notice. I have somewhere else to go but it’s not yet ready. 

That’s why Sunday was largely spent emptying my room of big and bulky items, transporting them to storage for temporary safe-keeping. It looks like I’ll be back in AirBNB’s for a while.

After a day of such heavy lifting, I was glad to have an evening gig to go to. I’ve mentioned once or twice on these pages before but Hackney’s MOTH club really is the bees knees – and the chance to see Ralph Pelleymounter, frontman from To Kill A King, is too good an opportunity to turn down.

It’s not as if I’m a To Kill A King fan though. They’re one of those many bands that exist on the periphery of my vision. I think I’ve seen them before at festivals and been vaguely impressed by their twisted alignment to your standard Mumford and Sons fare. That’s probably harsh. Ralph’s fan base gathered here would certainly think so. They know his material, love his beard and sing along to all of the words. “The most under-rated songwriter operating in British music at the moment”, says one fan to me in a moments break from the music. 

We’ve already been treated to a set from Charlotte Carpenter. In all my years living in Leicester and writing about music there, it’s inconceivable to imagine that our paths have not crossed before. I’ve seen Charlotte’s name on bills up at the Cookie and The Musician and must have missed her by minutes. But no bells are rung when she takes to the stage solo. She’s a talent with a rich, sweet voice and a bluesy Americana about her storytelling. She’s bereft at the loss of her Nan and has songs about the long drive through Germany on hearing of her passing. ‘Follow You Down’ adds to the overall cathartic experience. Later, Charlotte joins Ralph on stage to offer select backing vocals. She sings Ralph’s praises. He’s a fine man to tour with by all accounts.

 

And it is hard not to warm to Ralph. He’s got a full band on stage with him tonight’s final gig of this tour. The rest of the tour has been more acoustic and solo. Perhaps this is why tonight’s stronger numbers are the slower, more stripped-back offerings. They’ve had more time to settle over the past month as the tour progresses. 

  As Ralph observes early on, these are songs about anxiety and feeling powerless. There are waltzes about heartbreak and soulful Americana offerings about loving somebody most when hungover, tunes about being with a desperately drunken lover. Ralph introduces latest single, AWOL, by saying it’s about liking your partner but finding people in your workplace frustrating. Lots of Amens are said in response by the Sunday evening crowd. 

Ultimately, it’s a pretty uplifting experience. ‘Get Drunk, Get High’ is saved until the end of the set. It strikes me that this could be the best funeral song ever. I probably need to cheer up a bit for work tomorrow and worry less about domestic situations over which I have no control. 

10.09.19
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Jade Jackson & Laky – The Old Blue Last – October 1st 2019

Will this guy ever shut up? A super-stalker of a fan has placed himself at the front of Old Blue Last’s stage and is using every opportunity, every break between songs, to tell Jade Jackson, the emerging Californian Americana star, that he loves her. He probably doesn’t realise quite how disruptive his over-the-top obsession is and mostly Jade is able to steer the attention away from him and back towards her. “Oh, you can play every song of mine on guitar can you?“, Jade observes. “Good to know should I get tired.”

I go to a lot of gigs at the Old Blue Last and it’s fair to say that I’ve never seen the average gig-goer so advanced in age. Perhaps that’s a direct consequence of the music on offer; the timeless bar-room spit of cool Country is never going to seem relevant to the grime-fuelled  popsters who  typically frequent this place. And they’re missing out. 

Laky, support for the evening, is probably the youngest in here. She takes to the stage armed just with an acoustic guitar. The beanie she wears gives her folk credibility; her confident chat and well-composed songs the air of a protest singer who’s not quite settled upon a cause. The heckler at the front auditions for the main event by also directing far too much between-song adulation towards Laky. She’s clearly not quite sure how to deal with such unrequited love and so offers up a bit of Country. “Whoops, Americana I mean”, she says, correcting herself quickly.

When Jade Jackson last visited London, she gigged at The Slaughtered Lamb. Jade’s proud that she’s now playing a larger venue and few would bet against that ascendancy continuing when she returns again – for tonight Jade’s composed, languid songwriting really does entice those watching. When it’s good, this is a very special talent indeed. 

Jade reveals that she almost chose never to play set highlight, Tonight, live. Initially cautious of baring too much, this autobiographical maelstrom is a hard-hitting exercise in cathartic release. “Tonight I’m confused but that don’t take away my right to refuse”, Jade sings, whilst retelling an all-too-familiar tale of predatory behaviour. 

Jade’s band of Devin, Tyler and Julian, seriously talented sessioners, back her to the hilt. They can all play but Julian on guitar particularly stands out. Here’s a man who can make his instrument sing and is given plenty of opportunity to do so with solos a feature of most tunes. 

“Give this man a microphone”, says Jade before launching into a cover of Elvis’ ‘Burning Love’. Most of the crowd are in no doubt though – they want more of the act on stage and no encore from the talkative twat. 

 

10.02.19
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Slurp, Attawalpa and Gladboy – The Shacklewell Arms – September 30th 2019

I realise that a mistake has been made. I’m standing here at a venue (which shall remain nameless) watching the second band of the evening. Two songs in and it’s clear that they’re slightly better than the first act but only marginally so. The first band were a sub-standard Biffy Clyro specialising in that dull, tuneless and turgid, exasperating Rock thing that tends to take itself far too seriously. I might be a glutton for punishment but this is simply foolish. 

A quick check on my phone reveals that there’s a free gig of interest on up at the Shacklewell Arms. It’s a taxi ride away at the best of times but tonight with the rain bucketing down that Uber is a necessity. On arrival, I immediately know that I’ve made a wise choice to abort on the first gig. 

Gladboy are playing. I only find out that they’re Gladboy after the event and only catch three of their songs but it’s enough to realise that this young bunch from Norwich are worthy of further attention. Mixing a punkish energy with a psychedelic and woozy doo-wop, they’ve got tunes and guile. The guitarist-vocalist takes drumming duty for the final tune whilst the fab backing singer stands centre stage, deliberately nonchalant in a red leather skirt. The crowd appreciate Gladboy’s efforts and you can see why. 

Attawalpa are up next. They take an age to get ready with front man, Luis (Attawalpa) hiding himself away in the toilet when the all-clear is given from the sound desk. I guess nervousness is a funny thing. Luis is engaging to watch, over-the-top black mascara highlighting the frustration and creativity at the sets core. Things start with a skewed nod to Pink Floyd before moving into a Brit Pop space. Luis’ lyrics excite and are conveyed with a mix of Cocker and Walker. He jumps out into the crowd loosely acknowledging friends and family who are looking on. Tall women, in all likelihood models, take to the floor to dance energetically. There’s a lot to take in and Attawalpa deserves further attention.

There’s some confusion over the name of tonight’s headliner. Advertised on the poster as Dragon’s Daughter, it would appear that this all-girl trio from France have now renamed themselves Slurp. CDs at the merch stall have the original name crossed out and the new name scrawled over in black marker. Slurp confess that they don’t speak much English but then proceed to introduce each song with fine diction. Jangly, bubblegum punk-pop is a genre of choice for Sonic Breakfast so this was always going to appeal but the lively delivery just adds to the pleasure. The songs might sound like three-minute throwaways but lyrically they’re taking on bigger issues; these women are hard, independent and not to be messed with.  I want to see more – and it appears that Slurp have more to play – but we pass 11 and I guess that Monday evening licence regulations mean that an abrupt halt ensues. 

September will shortly be over for another year. The rain still pours down. Shops begin to fill with Christmas stock; lights shimmer in the residue of drizzle. One constant remains – every night in this town, some fine bands will be playing (and some shit ones as well).