05.21.19
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Grimm Twins, Bird Shoes and Lavde – Sebright Arms – May 20th 2019

The London gigs I’ve been to since January have mostly had decent turn-outs. Even on the stay-in nights early in a week, venues have been throbbing with numbers. Thus, I’m surprised and a little thrown to find myself watching a Monday night support act at the Sebright pretty much as the sole member of the audience.

And it’s not as if Lavde, the band in question, are so bad that they’re deserving of the low turn-out. Refreshingly (and despite being acutely aware of the sparseness), this three piece still put on a show. If they’re going through the motions it sure don’t show. Their thing is classic rock; the beardy bass player wears a Slayer T-shirt openly promoting his influence. With some soaring vocals and elaborate almost proggy solos, things go a bit Muse-like for a while before getting back on track with songs that draw upon AC/DC and Led Zep chord structures. There’s rock postures, awkward (given the numbers present) crowd invasions and down-on-yer-knees histrionics. All told, quite enjoyable. 

 

A few more have turned up for main support Bird Shoes but the Sebright is by no means packed. “Hello Wembley, it’s an honour to be here. Thanks for having us”, says the singer of this indie-punk duo who draw obvious numerical comparisons with the likes of Slaves and Royal Blood. They’ve travelled up from Bournemouth, ‘the crack-addict capital of the country’ and pound through their set as if they’re in a hurry to get back. “Thanks for coming out tonight when you could have been at home watching Antiques Roadshow”, says the singer, temporarily forgetting that it’s a Monday night. ‘Door’ is introduced, a song in which they appear as clowns in the accompanying video before all gives way to a megaphone tirade whilst swigging on a can of Stella. 

 

Grimm Twins are worthy headliners. There’s more than a dash of the Buzzcocks about this punk band from Macclesfield. Like Pete Shelley, they’ve got some killer rhyming couplets (“We are Generation Zed, we take our I-phones to bed.”) and the singer has more than a passing resemblance. But Grimm Twins embellish this with a Gallagher sneer and swagger. It’s nihilistic and nonchalant, recent release ‘I don’t care’ full of the existential crisis of youth. “We’re all working tomorrow so wish us luck on the long trek home”, says the singer before launching into their closing number. 

I hope they’ve had fun. Nights like this are great. Three bands, not all to my taste, have battled gamely amidst a challenging atmosphere. And for that they deserve nothing but praise.

05.21.19
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Club Kuru, Ttrruuces and The Rodeo – Hackney Oslo – May 15th 2019

The Great Escape down in Brighton the weekend before last was an absolute blast. I’ve cobbled together my review for eFestivals and it’s now been published here. 

It didn’t temper my enthusiasm for going out to gigs last week whilst in London though. Bands that travelled far distances to get to The Great Escape extended their holidays by gigging in London. Nice Biscuit, the Aussie theatrical and futuristic psych-pop band, were great at the Sebright on Monday and the Chilean Music party, packed out with ex-pats, was every bit the experience it sounds at Paper Dress Vintage on Tuesday. 

It was nice to get out to Hackney’s Oslo on Wednesday for a good, old-fashioned album launch. Club Kuru were the act. I didn’t know much about them but the press release sounded like it’d be right up my street. 

I’ve been to Oslo once before (here). Somewhat strangely, it’s yet to feature on my 2019 gig travels. I like it though. The beer options are decent and the atmosphere generally friendly. 

I arrived just in time for The Rodeo who travelled all the way from Paris for this show. Initially, I wondered if their take on Britpop might need a bit of work but it’d be uncharitable to describe the whole negatively. A bit Echobelly, a tad Catalonia and a whole lot of The Cardigans is what you get here. And I’ve found another French act in 2019 to find out more about. 

Main support Ttrruuces were my act of the night. I chat to a chap at the bar before they take to the stage who gives me the lowdown. This is the new vehicle of Natalie Findlay (aka Findlay), an act that’s had a fair smattering of success as a solo artist. But now she’s in a band with a Phil Lynott lookalike. It might only be their second show (their first being at The Great Escape apparently) but this psychedelic folk-rock is pretty polished. Surrounded by fiddle and keyboards, beret-wielding Findlay plays the tambourine and dips into kazoo solos. When they move away from the rockier stuff, it’s as if Sandie Shaw is on a comeback trail and has employed The Go Team to help her. The shoe fits and the sensation you get from Ttrruuces is s cool one. 

I wanted to like Club Kuru more than I did. Perhaps I should write this one off as gig fatigue on my part. The songs are clearly well put together; a mix of west coast Americana and stoner funk. The heavy bass drills into my eardrums in the initial numbers and I beat a retreat to stand further back in the hall. I look around and people are chattering, catching up with mates and barely listening to what’s going on. New stuff is announced and it’s a bit like the Flaming Lips without any sense of live show.This should be my thing but I’m getting little out of standing here, it’s just not connecting and so I leave for my train back to Walthamstow. 

I resolve to listen to Club Kuru’s record in my own space. I suspect I’ll get more from that. 

05.09.19
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Alexandra Streliski – Kings Place – May 7th 2019

Curiosity might have killed the cat. But it’s what keeps me alive. Later this week I’ll be heading to Brighton for my first festival of 2019, The Great Escape. That’ll be a frenetic rush around Brighton trying hard to get a glimpse of the next big thing. I’ll be a child in a sweet shop. 

So, in advance of the anticipated headiness of the next few days, tonight I opt for classical Canadian calm. 

As it happens, Alexandra Stréliski also plays The Great Escape. And, should I want a retreat from the rush, I might well check her out again on the coast. Her set at Kings Place, the multi-use space up by St Pancras, has chill by the bucketloads. This is one show that demands that you drift into a dreamland of your own making. 

Alexandra takes to the stage – a mass of curly brown hair hiding a slightly awkward yet utterly charming manner. She sits by a Steinway grand piano and proceeds to play. Smoke machines provide haze on the proceedings; they obscure Alexandra’s eccentricities. We just about spy her swoops and flourishes. 

Some of the instrumental pieces she plays, always ripe with melody, are accompanied with graphics appearing on a black curtain behind her. Art appears to aid exploration; an old video tape of a joyful Alexandra as a child playing her first keyboard is introduced and we all ponder for a moment on our own lost innocence.

Alexandra’s happy to be in London. She was last here as a fifteen year old and learnt one of life’s lessons when she drank too much alcohol and was hideously ill. This is her minor redemption. She tells all that she’s living a very specific dream by touring her music around the world, no longer a slave to the TV and film companies for whom she used to compose.

It’s meditative in tone; the piano, when played well, can take you away to imaginary places. And in this darkened room I suspect that most of us are shutting our eyes, dreaming our dreams  and focusing on a better future. That a gig can elicit such positivity is no bad thing. 

I add another to my Brighton longlist.. 

05.08.19
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L’Imperatrice – Heaven – May 2nd 2019

This is how it must feel to be waking up from a coma after five years out of action – or stepping into a parallel universe. 

I consider myself pretty well informed about this world of popular music. So, how can I possibly have been unaware for so long of the French disco phenomenon that is L’Imperatrice? The 1,600 within this sold-out Thursday night at the iconic Heaven know. They mock my ignorance from afar. Or, maybe they’re just mocking my suit. I’ve had to rush straight from a work function. 

L’Imperatrice descend from space to join us under the arches of Charing Cross Station. With their backs initially to the crowd, their opener draws on space travel imagery. Dressed in white with star-trek stripes, you’re immediately aware that this is going to be a spectacle. Lights draw you in. You recall your favourite time ever had in a festival field and observe the similarity to this. Daft Punk might not play live right now but here we have a ready-made alternative. Seriously, it’s that good. 

“Maybe tonight is the night to figure out if you’re in heaven”, asks Flore, L’Imperattice’s impeccable singer. Many don’t need to be asked for we already know. It’s impossible not to beam from ear to ear with the joy being created here.

The incredible graphics are playing a part. Disco balls of light and strobe, the earth spins whilst hands are clapped in tune with the beat. And when L’Imperatrice play ‘Vanille Fraise’ we have a summer scene of tennis umpires, clay courts and dodgy moustaches. Sweat-laden headbands spin like golden rings as tennis racquets swipe in time with the beat. God, this is glorious- a show that doffs its cap to retro 70’s sound and imagery whilst still managing to be entirely modern. 

 

The music is timeless; tunes that have forever been part of your life even though the truth is that this is the first time that you’ve heard them tonight. The groove heads down tried and tested paths; funk, jazz, pop, disco and happy house – a nostalgic soundtrack to your happiest summer ever.

And the images keep on giving. Here we have a grainy collection from when Zidane lifted the World Cup for France. The vocal appears to repeat the mantra that this is your last chance to love. The ascension is glorious as we all proceed to the inevitable lifting of the trophy. Jacques Cousteau gets in on the action; we’re now diving in an underwater world, searching for lost treasures whilst sharks swim in synchronised fashion all around us. It all beats the day job for sure.

I return to earlier thoughts. L’Imperatrice are ready-made headliners of your boutique festival. This would be euphoric in a field as the stars glisten above. Beat-Herder should book them. They’d be a magical fit.  L’Imperatrice – previously unknown in these quarters will not now be overlooked.

05.05.19
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Gazel & Gurl – Paper Dress Vintage – May 1st 2019

Wednesday night in the city – and it’s a hat-trick of new venues visited by Sonic Breakfast. Paper Dress Vintage is my favourite of the three. 

It’s a really friendly welcome I get when I venture over the threshold of this cool space in Hackney that’s a vintage clothing shop by day and a venue by night. Shirts and jackets hang around the walls of the upstairs, fashion statements from a range of yesterday’s subcultures. A soundtrack blasts out reminders of female-fronted indie twee pop bands that I’d long since forgotten about but love all the same. (Mikabomb, The Primitives and Darling Buds anyone?).

I’m here to see Gazel. This British/Turkish songwriter and producer has seen her stock rising in these parts with the recent release of single, ‘You’re Not Funny’. It precedes an album release later this year. But before I see Gazel, in an odd turn of events wholly appropriate for a ‘vintage’ store, Sonic Breakfast meets her Mum. We chat briefly, before the support band take to the stage, about homelessness, architecture and proud parenting. Gazel’s Mum has every right to feel proud.

Gurl are the handpicked support travelling all the way from Bristol to do the honours. The four-piece huddle tightly in the limited space they have on stage whilst running through a set that touches lots of bases and bounces around genres. From souped-up trip hop they head into guitar rock solos before a cover of ‘It’s a Man’s World’ shows of their vocalist’s powerful and soulful range. At times, they veer into sounding a tad Rag ‘n’ Bone Man before calling on the ghost of Bowie’s early to mid 80’s output. As Gurl’s set draws to a close in funk-prog excess, I reflect how much I’ve enjoyed their show. I’d see them again for sure.

 

Gazel looks the part. With sparkly gold trousers, a mass of hair and round Lennon-glasses, she imitates a 1970’s folk singer who’s taking her first steps to embrace disco. Impressive video visuals behind her band tell an intriguing story as the venue’s heart of glass starts to slowly turn. 

This is high concept arty stuff always managing to remain on the right side of pompous. Gazel’s forthcoming album, Book Of Souls, takes us on a conscious/sub-conscious trip encountering a variety of souls who dwell within. An elderly widow sits in a desert obsessed with the fear of going outside (even though she is). The night concierge occupies that space in our lives between being awake and dreaming. And this one is all about the process of becoming a zen master. 

Whilst some of the ideas might not completely connect with this old cynic, the show remains fresh and engaging throughout. Standard dance beats give way to more middle Eastern rhythms. Belly dancing moves are exotically thrown into the mix before electronic drum pads are beaten and a violin stroked. As the lights dim, a mock gas lamp is lit; Gazel is an adventurer striding confidently into a hidden cave armed with a spell of spoken word prose.

Gazel gets us all to sit down during a slower number. I’m reminded just how ‘vintage’ these bones are as I attempt to cross my legs. There’s theatre oozing out of this set. I imagine it’s the sort of show that a young Kate Bush would have put on; in fact, it’s probably not far removed from a show that Kate Bush would put on now if she had an appetite for live performance. 

Always attracted to the drama within gigs, there was surely never any doubt that I’d enjoy the multi-media assault on the senses that’s frothing within a Gazel show. I’ll return to both act and venue before 2019 is done for sure. 

 

 
05.02.19
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A night at the Lucky Pig Cocktail Bar – April 30th 2019

It had to happen I suppose. I’ve had so many great nights out in London now that I’ve almost forgotten what a bad one feels like. A Tuesday night that fails to reach any sort of height brings me down to earth with a bump. 

It’s not that the constituent parts give me any clue about the less-than-satisfactory whole. On entry into The Lucky Pig cocktail bar, the overall impression is a positive one. Hidden away down in a basement in Fitzrovia, this is speakeasy  charm and decadence. Friendly and informed bar-staff help you to focus on a cocktail of choice whilst you take in the stylish surrounds and listen to the light, often French, jazz that spins from faux gramophone players. 

And each of the musical acts on the bill, acoustic players probably sourced from the open-mic circuit, play reasonably enjoyable sets that on a different night might add to the ambience. 

The simple problem I have is the extreme level of drunken chatter from punters in the bar, mostly female fixtures courting a series of impressionable suited suitors. Such is the volume of noise that they make that the night becomes all about them. Nobody has the balls to shut them up as they get increasingly louder. I’ve never been one of those killjoys who expects hushed silence when watching live music but neither am I the sort of person who can show limited respect for acts that have the strength to share their wares. It’s plain and simple rude.

From what I can tell, the Lucky Pig has these acoustic nights a couple of evenings a week. Up first is The King JP. He’s an amiable chap with a sweet soul voice. It’s background music but King JP deserves credit for playing original songs when covers might resonate more. At times, he dips into the political , a lightweight, less-compelling  Marvin Gaye.

Ella Winter takes to the stage and sits on a stool next to her guitarist, Jacob. Her pop voice has husks of country-soul within. Her original material has choruses that you think you’ve heard before – always a good sign unless you have actually heard them before and you’re watching a plagiarist. I don’t think that Ella is though. She does a cover of a Basement Jaxx tune after asking the crowd if they know of the duo. Few seem to and I suddenly feel very old. 

Jacob, the guitarist, plays a couple of songs before George Balkwill takes to the stage for his twenty minutes in the limelight. I really want to like George because, off stage, he has done everything right. Knowing that I’d be showing up to the Lucky Pig, I had liked, in advance, a FB group that George has established to promote the gig. Total stranger that I am, he made the time and effort to chat with me before his set knowing my name, thanking me for coming along and being generally engaging. He sits attentively watching the other acts as he plays and praises the venue at every opportunity. 

It’s a damn good thing that George is good. He has songs about toxic relationships and being addicted to love but his voice is more indie Sting than Robert Palmer. At his best, his travelling troubadour style even gets the loud elements of the crowd to stop and listen for some temporary respite. He’s a nice lad and his manner will take him far. 

The final act of the night, EPONINE, starts with a gentle jazz cover. This young lad can clearly play but the noise from the pissed-up patrons has got too much for me and I leave to cross town.  

The Lucky Pig is a fine place to have a cocktail but not a fine place to watch music it would seems

04.30.19
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Bernardo – The Waiting Room – April 29th 2019

It’s a Monday evening and this week’s Airbnb is south of the river. I’m tempted to stay here and chill for it is quite a trek north to Stoke Newington’s Waiting Room. I’ve been meaning to get there for some time but gigs I’ve been keen on have clashed with others; there’s rarely a shortage in this town. 

Tonight though Bernardo plays a free show at The Waiting Room in celebration of the release of her Panic Prayers EP. The EP has come out on cassette format. For a fiver, it clearly represents something of a bargain even if I’m pretty sure that I no longer have the technology on which to play it. 

Bernardo’s on-line profile is growing if not fully-formed. I’m guessing that Bernardo is a surname; searches suggest that the confident, enticing individual who takes to the stage in a ‘Betahoven’ T-shirt with a Fender Jaguar guitar to play a jazz-pop opener is called Sonia. “The band have decided to sit this one out”, she declares.

Bernardo’s band duly join her from the next number; there’s four of them (five if you include Alfie, the excellent trumpet player who joins a couple of songs later). They’re a confident bunch, clearly well versed in jazz and funk progressions. In the ‘brand new one’ which might well be called ‘Almost A Mother’, they’re given space to wig out with solo endeavour. Bernardo is impressed. “I often just play alone and it’s great to have this band“, she acknowledges.

It’s hard to get away from Winehouse comparisons. Bernardo’s vocal occupies a similar space and the songs appear to toy with heartbreak and the darker side of love. Bernardo is compelling to watch on the stage. She rolls her eyes , the lids of which are painted in a pinky red shadow, towards her hairline in playful pose whilst smiling and connecting with her crowd. “We’re going to jazz it up a bit now“, says Bernardo before launching into a version of ‘One Inch Punch’. Truth is that proceedings had already been a tad jazzy prior to that.

Just as this short show began with a solo song from Bernardo so it ends in similar fashion. The band leave the stage and two stripped-back tunes bring things to a close. ‘Sunday heartbreak matinee’ stands out, a chilled comedown of a track after a more urgent weekend.

There’s little doubt that Bernardo is one to watch – and I’m glad I made the effort to head north to do so. 

04.29.19
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Le SuperHomard – Institut Francais – April 25th 2019

London has so much to offer. It’d be easy to keep venturing out to the tried and trusted venues for my gig action but I’m keen to remain curious and to keep digging beneath the surface of this sprawling metropolis. Thus, I find myself on a pleasant Thursday evening in a stunning library surrounded by the very best French books.

This is not any library. The Denis Saurat Reading room at the Institut Francais is an architectural wonder; a dome at one end letting in stained and colourful shards of light . Ladders and wooden steps guide you to a book-laden balcony that runs around the outside of the room. I choose to sit down in one of the comfy modern pieces of furniture, a chair in beanbag shape. 

I’m here to see Le SuperHomard play a stripped-back set. This baroque pop is right up my street; their 60’s influenced bossa-nova tunes reconnect me with those days when I solely listened to Gainsbourg, St. Etienne, The Clientele and Air whilst dreaming of the life-changing romance that I was convinced was just around the corner. 

The romance never came and the cynical punk came out. But tonight it’s good to reminisce.

This gig is part of a monthly initiative, Music Rendezvous, within the Institut Francais, an effort to share the best of emerging French music with the British public and French ex-pats. But many of us here have already heard of Le SuperHomard. 6 Music DJs have picked up on some of the brilliance within their debut album, Meadow Lane Park, and have been urgently spinning key tracks. The fact that the record is released on the seminal indie-pop label, Elefant Records, evidently helps aa well. 

Typically a five piece, the library setting dictates the stream-lining. It’s SuperHomard first outing as a three-piece but you wouldn’t know by listening. Through a mix of electronica, acoustic guitar and sweet chanson action, the trio of Christophe, Julie and Benoit captivate all for 45 minutes with their Gallic pop. Dressed in a mix of denim, mod excess and blue and white striped fisherman shirts, the look screams twee and gorgeous cinematic hip. 

The music is dreamlike for the romantic poets gathered, a soundtrack to every holiday romance we’ve ever yearned for. It screams of sunny days in the park, misspent youth and nostalgic longing. When Julie dances with her arms locked behind her back we’re transported back to those days when indie disco had something to say, perhaps fittingly for an act named after a nightclub from a 1966 film.

We learn about the origins of the name (and all manner of other stuff) in a Q&A that follows the set. The trio are civilly interviewed; it’s polite, informative and engaging. Christophe is the main songwriter and Benoit the gifted producer who uses analog and digital methods of production to conjure up the fresh sound from a studio and music shop in Avignon. The lyrics are written by two of Christophe’s English-speaking friends because he wants to avoid any sense of Franglais. Julie’s voice is pretty English-sounding we all agree. Meadow Lane Park is (rather disappointingly) not an homage to Notts County, the oldest football team in the world, but rather a reference to a children’s park in the USA.

I make a note of Le SuperHomard impending date in Brighton for The Great Escape and add their set to my growing list of must-sees. “It’ll be livelier as a five piece”, promises Christophe to an audience that has already been converted. 

 

 
04.26.19
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Malena Zavala & Wovoka Gentle – The MOTH Club – April 24th 2019

So enamoured am I by Wovoka Gentle, I can hardly pass up the opportunity to see them at the fine MOTH club in Hackney. They’re supporting Malena Zavala and both acts are on the quite stupendous Yucatan records roster. A cheeky E-mail to the label and they’re happy to add me to a guest list. What is not to like? 

I wondered pre-gig if I might have used up the extent of my vocabulary of superlatives on previous posts about Wovoka Gentle (here and here). But I needn’t worry. There’s so much that goes on within their half hour set that you can’t help but observe new variations. The set list might be the same but the experience isn’t. 

The trio take to the stage in shades of pastel-white tonight. Lights at the Moth Club are set to full-beam. It’s got the ambience of a tanning shop in the build up to a British summer (not that I’d really know what that ambience is) yet the brightness simply succeeds in bringing more pleasure. This is joyful, euphoric stuff akin to watching a trimmed down Polyphonic Spree at their peak. ‘1000 opera singers working in Starbucks’ particularly dazzles in the headlights, the harmonies and dynamics within the tune coming to the fore and making it impossible to do much more than broadly smile. Despite it being early evening, we’re taken to a place where we’re basking in hot afternoon sun.

 

From tight acapella to quiet and loud loops and layers, Wovoka Gentle really are the folk-electronica band you must see this year. With their first album up for release imminently, few will be betting against bigger live venues beckoning. Go and see them at The Great Escape or Dot to Dot should you get the chance. I’ll see you there. 

Malena Zavala has a tough act to follow. But this European tour is a few dates in now and Malena’s no slouch in the live stakes either. From Argentina but having grown up in London, Malena’s music has world vision and urban cool, tropical rhythms born out of grimy smog.

Whilst Wovoka Gentle’s support set shimmered in sunlight, Malena and her top-notch band treat us to a much more languid, sun-going-down set. Early on, Malena makes a request for the over-powering lights to be switched to something more moody. It’s needed; many of Malena’s songs hold an inbuilt yearning. That longing to be held close, swathed in a reliable moonlight and to not be broken by the complexity of relationships is never far from the surface.

That’s not to say that this is a ‘slit your wrists’ show. There are enough upbeat moments and generous smiles to avoid such spiralling to the depths. Indeed, when the members of Wovoka Gentle are invited back to the stage, Latin rhythms come to the fore and Malena presides over a dance party. “I was so excited about that that I forgot to play this song first“, confesses Malena before launching into Moon Song. 

There are moments of real beauty at play; emotionally intelligent songs of the utmost quality. I take to shutting my eyes and allowing the crisp guitar solos and the clean tones to wash over me. It’s a stance that yields benefits. 

Malena Zavala makes live music designed to aid escape from the day to day hustle and bustle. Grab the chance and relax. 

 

 

 

 

 

04.25.19
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Peeping Drexels, H0nkies, Luxury Apartments and deep tan – The Old Blue Last – April 23rd 2019

Much as I adored my Easter break in Spain, I couldn’t help but pine a little for the gig scene I was missing back home. Feeling completely refreshed, it’s quite lovely to end a humid day returning to the day job with a sweaty night at the Old Blue Last. 

I drank far too much wine in Spain. It’s this that convinces me that a few weeks of lime and soda will do me right. I wasn’t taking into account my weak will and lily-liveried determination though, especially when faced with a sign that announces free cans of Old Blue Last lager between half eight and half nine. I succumb. It’s a tasty lager and a more-than-welcome freebie on this balmy evening.

Saxon Zine and Cool Brother have joined together to curate a trio of Tuesday night residencies at the Old Blue Last. Not being one of the cool kids, I have little idea what Saxon Zine and Cool Brother are. But I pick up an art-laden, well-produced fanzine from the merch desk The typeset demands reading glasses but Cool Brother certainly appears to have its finger on the pulse. I’m sure that Saxon Zine is the same. And it’s nothing short of lovely to witness a world of independent music/art writing and thinking in print form.

There’s four bands on tonight. It’s the headliner, Peeping Drexels, that had piqued my initial attention. Our paths have almost crossed before and, based on the few tracks I’d heard, it seemed right to do a reccy in advance of The Great Escape in a few weeks. 

They don’t disappoint. Younger than I’d imagined, this South London post-punk thing is all the rage right now. With obvious nods to the all-pervading influence of the Fat Whites, Peeping Drexels stumble around the stage as if the free beer has taken too much of a toll. Lead singer, Dylan Coates, can hardly keep his eyes open but that doesn’t stop him from nonchalantly lurching whilst angrily and angularly posing. He’s a bit yobby and a tad gobby; less spit than Joe Talbot and skinnier than Shaun Ryder but positioning himself somewhere between the two all the same. It’s thoroughly engaging stuff.

The band might adopt a shambolic stance but their playing is anything but. Tight as fuck they manoeuvre out of their post-punk comfort zone into Bhangra-based spaghetti western spaces. When they really funk things up, I’m reminded of a ‘Bummed’ era Happy Mondays. Kind of exhilarating.

 

As much as I enjoy Peeping Drexels, they’re not my night highlight. That accolade goes towards penultimate band, h0nkies. On paper it probably shouldn’t work. This five piece look the part and are hard to take your eyes off. Specialising in a skewed-psych Americana, I’d be completely showing my age if I said that there’s more than a passing resemblance to those legends from the late 1980’s, the Colorblind James Experience. I reminisce about considering a move to Memphis whilst the guys on stage playfully let off steam with their cowpunk skiffle. It might be laden with irony but it brings a smile to my face and for that I’m happy.

 

Luxury Apartments have great T-shirts. I spy this when I pick up the fanzine at the merch desk. On stage, they’re not appalling but rarely appealing. A traditional punk all-male three piece, they stick to tried and tested paths. Their manner is almost apologetic as the set is nervously delivered. Vocally, there are tinges of the late, great Pete Shelley if it wasn’t all so unintelligible. With a bit more stage nous and a desire to project their art, Luxury Apartments could be selling a lot more T-shirts. 

 

The evening is opened by deep tan. Another three piece and as a whole I like them. Projecting a Kenneth Anger film whilst they play (Inauguration of the pleasure dome for anyone interested), the occult and magick imagery goes well with their moody, light psychedelic throwback. Some tunes might arguably lack depth and progression but when deep tan’s stride is found there’s more than enough by way of tune and chorus to satisfy. 

 

Free beer, free fanzines and a free gig with four interesting acts. Oh London, I’ve missed you.