Christopher Nosnibor
It’s easy to become complacent about the stream of bad news of endless pub and music venue closures, until it happens on your back door, in a way that directly impacts your social life. It’s been a really bad couple of weeks when it comes to establishments in York: first, we learned that the property owners of The Victoria Vaults have decided to close a pub of 130 years standing in order to flog it off, presumably to be converted into flats, and The Maltings, a city centre pub of national renown, is to be converted to an Irish Bar following the retirement of the previous owners who had run it for over thirty years. This follows on the heels of the revelations that The Roman Bath, another city-centre pub popular for live music, is to be rebranded as a sports bar. And on top of all this, there’s the result of the American election to digest. Right now, I can’t really contemplate, let alone dwell on, this.
We all have our ways of dealing with bad news. Me, I like to immerse myself in the experience of live music. For some, uplifting tunes in the form of buoyant pop or something singalong and anthemic is the remedy. Personally, I simply find joy in the experience, immersing myself in the moment and revelling in music that’s good. The Bricks being dependable, as I’ve reported an almost embarrassing number of times in the last couple of years, meets that criteria.
The fact that tonight’s show is being hosted at Lendal Cellars is also encouraging in the face of the aforementioned bad news about venues. It’s an interesting venue – a remarkable space, really, a city centre pub that’s by the river – and prone to issues with the toilets due to the frequent flooding in York – in a series of fairly low-ceilinged vaulted rooms – cellars, as the name suggests. I used to frequent it often in my early office days, back in the late 90s, but haven’t been in over twenty years, and I’ve never once I attended a gig here. There are reasons for this, one being that I don’t recall the place hosting bands, and another one being that in recent years I’ve been avoiding Greene King establishments on account of their business model when it comes to buying up breweries and shutting them down. I’ve also tended to avoid venturing into the city centre on weekend nights – especially racedays – because as a magnet for stag and hen parties and twats in general, not to mention recent reports of gangs of youths harassing and even attacking random strangers, York city centre has become less appealing as a destination for me. But this is a source of optimism, in that there may be potential for another pub venue, albeit of incredibly limited capacity, to step up and plug a gap.
“It’s very Cavern in here,” says the bleach-blonde with sunbed orange skin and sports gear on her lower half and a red crop-top on her upper, who’s celebrating her birthday and inviting random strangers to guess her age, to her mum as they quaff prosecco during the soundcheck. I suppose it is, and it’s also very incongruous – to the extent that I’m reminded of the night I saw Sunn O))) at The Sage in Gateshead, and was queuing to enter the venue, on the same night an X-Factor performer was performing in the lobby.
I’m here first and foremost for The Bricks. I’m not ashamed to say I absolutely bloody love this band because they’re absolutely brilliant. Having seen them in gig venues on abundant occasions, it’s a test of their mettle to be placed in this setting, and for those out for a regular Saturday bevvy with their mates, decked out in their nicely-ironed shirts and fancy dresses, hearing them is likely to come as a shock. Perhaps not as loud, or, initially, as assured on some previous outings, they’re still solid and hit like a spiky post-punk punch in the face. The band as a whole, are powerful, but Gemma, when she’s singing, at least, is absolutely fucking terrifying. Between songs and offstage, she’s meek, self-effacing, even apologetic, but when she steps onto the songs there’s a switch that flicks and she blasts out every line like a woman possessed. The slower, bluesy stroll of ‘Snake’ afforded the weekenders the opportunity to scurry for the exit without the full assault of the PA on the way out. There are a few sound issues early on, particularly with the mic feeding back and not being loud enough, but by the last couple of songs they really are firing on all cylinders.
The Bricks
This leaves me pondering between sets over the crisis facing live music at a grassroots level, startup acts and even those who have been going a while but are very much pub and small-venue circuit acts. As the number of dedicated grassroots venues diminishes, perhaps this is the future: to put live music right there in people’s unsuspecting faces. A lot will shit themselves and leave, but perhaps enough, after a few drinks, will come to appreciate hearing – and seeing – something different.
My contemplations are curtailed by the arrival of DDK Soundsystem. If The Bricks revived the spirit of the early 80s, DDK’s take on dance rock is unapologetically rooted in the 90s. They are, ultimately, a covers band, but they’re a lot of fun.
DDK Soundsystem
They kick off with a stomping rendition of ‘Open Your Mind’ by U.S.U.R.A., and in some respects, the treatment isn’t a million miles off Utah Saints, in that they present as much as a rock act as a dance act, and fuse the elements together: there are live vocals and guitar and bass, samples and backing tracks and sequenced drums all firing in synchronicity. Sure, there’s an element of middle-aged men doing rock posturing to dance tunes and some mum-disco 90s dance vibes, but they’re clearly enjoying themselves, and it is all well done.
Mid-set they really rock out, sending more lanky bozos with bumfluff moustaches and fake eyesh-sporting girls scurrying for the door. It’s at this point the gig hits proper volume, too. There’s no chatting idly over this. Overdriven, flanged guitars – and it’s been too long since I heard such epic swirling flange – blast out on a storming cover of Kylie’s ‘Can’t Get You Out of My Head’, before they drop ‘Encore d’un Fois’, a song I’d forgotten about, but an undeniable banger, and ‘Hey Boy, Hey Girl’ also lands near the end of the set. While one could readily contend that it’s corny and cheesier than a bowl of nachos, it’s also massive fun.
Saliva Birds were solid when I caught them low on the bill at an all-dayer back in April last year, and they’re solid again on this outing, turning out a set of sturdy, kick-ass US-style rock ‘n’ roll. The guitarist, in baseball cap, plaid flannel shirt, and faded blue jeans encapsulates their sound visually. It’s hard to get really excited about them, given that there have been band around sounding like this for at least the last thirty years, and they don’t really bring anything new, but to describe them as ‘workmanlike’ is by no means a criticism. They’re good at what they do, and they didn’t clear the room.
AA
Saliva Birds
And if an eclectic lineup like this can keep enough punters unaccustomed to live music that isn’t straight covers or tribute acts, then perhaps there’s some mileage in shows like this. It seems like a back-to-basics approach, like how in the 70s and 80s bands used to play working men’s clubs and club nights to audiences who weren’t fussed at best, and were more into playing pool and getting booze down their necks than anything else. But given the choice between jostling with baffled townies slopping their lager and cocktails to see bands, and not seeing bands because there are no bands playing anywhere, I know what I’d pick every time.
Aural Aggravation 