Posts Tagged ‘Fat Spatula’

Christopher Nosnibor

I shouldn’t be here. This event shouldn’t be happening. No, I don’t mean there shouldn’t be a bunch of York acts performing a packed bill on a Sunday evening in front of around two hundred people, but the reason it’s happening, the circumstances meaning we need a gig for Gaza. It’s something I haven’t really written or commented on – not because I condone the genocide that’s been playing out over the last twenty-three months, but because the shock, the sheer horror of it all has resulted in some kind of paralysis. The fact that after almost two years, it’s not only ongoing, but the situation is worsening is almost beyond comprehension, and while our government hasn’t mentioned Israel’s ‘right to defend itself’ recently, it continues to supply arms to and meet with their government, and to deny both genocide and famine, preferring instead oversee the arrest hundreds of pensioners for holding placards stating their opposition to this. Since when did vandalism equal terrorism? The media still refer to the ‘war’ in Gaza, but this is not a war. It’s a decimation. It’s annihilation. It’s genocide.

It’s impossible at this point to reasonably stack a hierarchy of horror, to say ‘but what’s worse is…’, but the fact that Israel’s collapsing of buildings in Gaza city at barely any notice is only occasionally making footnotes in the news a measure of how appalling things have become. Meanwhile, the UK news is currently devoted to outpourings over the assassination of a pro-gun fascist hardly anyone had heard of until he was shot, plugging a pro-racist march arranged by jacked-up right-wing thug Stephen Yaxley-Lennon, and giving Nigel Farage so much more screen time than all of the other parties combined (who knew that The Green Party hold as many seats in Parliament as Reform, eh?), and Russia continue to pound Ukraine and extend their reach, and under the radar, Sudan is another hell on earth. Meanwhile, the world burns, and people are still in thrall to billionaires, chucking their cash at Daniel Ek to fund more war so they can stream mediocre slop while ordering some shit via Deliveroo and spending their evenings watching Love Island and shit instead of facing the fact that we’re actually entering World War 3 and the apocalypse is happening right here right now.

But here we are. I’ve written extensively about the therapeutic qualities of live music, and why grassroots venues are important., and tonight brings my entire thesis together perfectly. The Crescent Community Venue – as the name suggests – is about community. Not in the way those who have been zip-tying flags half-way up have been harping on about ‘uniting communities’ (the subtext being that they’re uniting against something – namely anything that isn’t white, straight, etc.), but in the truest sense. Everyone is welcome – just please don’t be a dick.

Tonight is the perfect representation of what community means. It’s not even really about the acts performing – although it’s a great lineup, curated by local promoter of the experimental, avant-garde, spoken word milieu, Navigator Arts, with the aid of the venue and local legend Joe Coates, who operates independently and via a regional network as Please Please You. These guys champion local acts and regional talent and live and breathe it, and the performers who’ve given their time for this event – I can only applaud them all, really.

What we have here, then, is a great lineup for a vital cause, in a great venue – I’ll say it again that The Crescent is York’s Brudenell: there are many parallels, and they’re all positive. And tonight is exemplary, because what we have here is a great lineup for a vital cause, with a brilliant vibe.

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Lara McClure

It’s an interesting mix of bands and interludes: spoken word artist Lara McClure stretches out a fantastical story over the course of the night, seamlessly – or otherwise – creating segues to the following acts, and a guy who operates under the moniker of Cast – clearly being too young to remember the 90s indie act – does some beatboxing before Knitting Circle take the stage, as a three-piece on this outing. My appreciation of Knitting Circle is strewn all over these pages. They’re a great band, and a perfect choice for this event. They’re proud and passionate lefties with a ‘don’t be a dick’ agenda of inclusivity, and songs like ‘Safe Routes’ aren’t only resonant but prove quite moving in the context of the event. They’re brilliant, as always, and I have to take a moment after their set.

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Knitting Circle

Captain Starlet are a band I’ve never really taken, to, but here’s their singer, Tom, playing a set that includes covers of songs by Love and The Incredible String Band with a Vox guitar, and her does so in a self-effacing manner. And he’s here, taking a stand against genocide and fascism, and so respect is due.

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Tom of Captain Starlet

Things take a turn when Fat Spatula hit the stage, and the volume takes a leap by at least ten per cent. The songs may be fairly mellow alt-rock in the main, but they are LOUD and played with masses of energy and enthusiasm, they’re kinetic (especially the rhythm section), electric. As a band, they seem a little uncertain of their abilities, despite the fact they’re rarely anything other than killer. But maybe that’s a part of their way of working. They put everything into their set and look to be really enjoying themselves. And it’s great.

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Fat Spatula

It takes me a while to get into Borgia, and my initial impression is of these purveyors of jazz punk is ‘jazz punk cunts in suits’ (which, I know, is a niche piece of self-referencing for the ten people familiar with my own ‘musical’ work, but, why not?). They’re decidedly more jazz than punk, and the shades are off after five minutes. But they present a pretty meaty racket with busy bass balanced by sturdy drumming and some wild parping sax. The theatrical enunciation and dramatic presentation is a bit over the top and only nearly as cool as they think, but all credit to them for putting on a performance. They’re seriously tight and go all-out to entertain.

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Borgia

The Bricks are on fire right now. Just eleven days previous they were up-close and personal in a pub on the other side of town, and looked to be relishing the intense proximity. Now, here they are in a 350-capacity venue and owning every inch of the stage. Gemma’s voice may be cracking and only just surviving with the aid of honey, but she still goes all out for the duration, and doesn’t miss a note. There aren’t many bands that seem as much at home playing large or small venues, and even fewer who bring their A-game every single time, but The Bricks are one of the few.

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The Bricks

While there were reminders of why we were here – and rightly so – tonight was as much about bringing people together and espousing true community spirit. The atmosphere was warm, genial, and safe, and in the current climate, riven with tension and hate, this felt like an oasis of nice, a much-needed balm to soothe the stress. And if you’re going to be proud of anything, be proud of local bands, local venues, be proud of generosity and kindness, not shitty flags.

The latest is that the event raised £1,500… and you can still donate… Please.

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Christopher Nosnibor

With grassroots venues closing at an alarming – and depressing – rate, there are fewer and fewer places for bands with a smaller draw, and new acts, to play. Meanwhile, particularly since the pandemic, Working Men’s Clubs have also been in decline or otherwise struggling. But as The Brudenell in Leeds and The Crescent in York have demonstrated, WMC make ideal gig venues, with a well-appointed room with a stage which is simply ideal. And so it is that the organisers of previous all-dayers in York at the now-closed Vaults have scoured the city for a new home, unveiling a brand new ‘Utterly Fuzzled’ stage banner to mark simultaneously a fresh start and a rebirth of sorts.

The advertised lineup included a number of acts who are no strangers to the York scene, or to these virtual pages – certainly solid enough to get me and plenty of others to an out-of-town venue before 4:30pm on a broiling hot Saturday afternoon.

Pete Dale, who also happens to be the guitarist in Knitting Circle, got things going with a solo set of Milky Wimpshake songs, with a couple of covers tossed in for good measure, before Fat Spatula stepped things up with the first full-band set of the occasion.

Every time I see Fat Spatula it’s like experiencing a different band, with different facets of their sound seemingly presenting themselves and pushing through to the fore. Going for a set of high-energy roustabout songs, they’re good fun, and some people dance.

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Fat Spatula

Soma Crew start slow with ‘Hey Sister’, and it’s a set that focuses on the mellower, gentler stuff. You never know what you’re going to get with Soma Crew, from lineup to set, but one thing is always assured, and that’s drummer Nick’s T-shirt. About halfway through they finally kick things up a notch with their first Motorik groove, when they come on like Hawkwind playing Sister Ray. It’s not until the last track that they pick up the tempo and let the drone diffing spin out. People don’t dance. It simply wasn’t that kind of set.

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Soma Crew

In these troubling times, Knitting Circle’s commitment to being an issues-driven band is something I find both stirring and in no small way quite moving. It shouldn’t seem like a bold thing to be staunchly anti-war and sing about it, but this is seemingly where we are now, and the fact they have some cracking tunes with two and three-way vocals and choppy Gang of Four style guitars makes seeing them an uplifting experience – and they’re consistently good, too.

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Knitting Circle

The next couple of acts aren’t local, but they are both absolutely outstanding. Glasgow’s Slime City bring energetic punky tunes, matching zipper tops, and a size nine shoe with knobs on that does something to the guitar. They have a few gimmicks, but they’re worked into the set in a way that’s knowing and humorous without being cringey. And they have TUNES. Said tunes are led by some outstanding drumming – tight, crisp, a bit disco in places. ‘Never Stop Giving Up’ goes a bit poppy, a bit Prince, but more oftentimes, they’re rather reminiscent of Future of the Left.

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Slime City

Irked take things to a whole other level: fierce, ferocious, tight, they’re blistering from beginning to end. I didn’t really take any notes during their set. But what’s to say about a band with such a fearsome frontwoman who charges about the room howling a fill-throated roar against a full-throttle twin-guitar attack interspersed with some good-natured between-song banter with a strong North-Eastern twist from the guitarist. The vitriol is real, but so is the fact they have a clear sense of humour.

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Irked

Now, the last time I saw Crumbs was a rather difficult night, when they supported Dream Nails. They were great, although their performance was rather eclipsed by subsequent events. It’s a pleasure to see them under more friendly circumstances: they’re good fun, and worthy headliners. There’s more inter-band crossover, as Jamie Wilson who does guitar / synths / vocals for Knitting Circle is also Crumbs’ bassist, and paired with Gem’s easy drumming style. with minimal kit – bass, floor tom, snare, hi-hat – they play straight-up indie that’s accessible and quite simply great fun.

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Crumbs

And ultimately, fun is what this is all about. The sense of community is heartwarming. A lot of those present are in bands – and not the bands playing – but there are also plenty of faces often seen at local gig, as well as many who aren’t, but hopefully events like this will entice them out more often. And with a decent enough range of bottled beers at £3.70 ago, and good quality sound throughout, Fulfordgate WMC has strong potential to become a more regular venue. Real credit has to go to Jo Dale, bassist with Knitting Circle, for her curation, organisation, and promotion of such an adventurous DIY event. Here’s to much more Fuzzlement in the future.

Christopher Nosnibor

One might feel that naming an event after yourself is a bit of an egofest, but when the event in question is, essentially, the organiser’s birthday party, well, fair enough. And Mr Pasky has been putting on decent gigs for a while now, boasting eclectic lineups, and if live music is your thing, is there a better way of celebrating a birthday than putting on a bunch of bands you like and opening the venue doors to see them free of charge?

With doors being at 3pm, I missed the first couple of acts, and arrived in time for Pat Butcher, who I’ve not seen in an age, and all I can remember about them is carrots. They deliver a confident set of aggressive punk rock, with angry-sounding songs about- kidney stones, IBS, and raceday wankers – relatable to anyone who resides in York. And late on, they land the comical, gimmicky ‘Carrot in a Minute’, whereby they distribute raw carrots among the audience and challenge them to eat them within the song’s minute-long duration… just for shits an’ giggles. There’s something quite uplifting and entertaining witnessing a bunch of guys getting worked up about mundane stuff like neighbours who vacuum clean at all hours.

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Pat Butcher

Fat Spatula are up next, and I find I like them more each time I see them. Did I write that about them last time, too? Quite possibly, but then it’s true. They really seems to be hitting new peaks and seem more confident, too. ‘Benefits Tourist’ goes uptempo and shoutier amidst energetic but affable US indie style. There are hints of Pixies and Pavement, and some country leanings, too. A lot of the verses are delivered rapidfire like REM It’s the End of the World as We Know It’, but later on, experimental spoken word gives way to kinetic space rock with blasting motorik drums on the penultimate song. I’’s only three or four minutes long, but with that locked-in groove, they could do a half-hour long version and it still wouldn’t be long enough.

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Fat Spatula

As I mentioned, eclectic lineups are Pasky’s thing, and OG3 are a power trio who start out like Beastie Boys circa ‘83, but the rest of the set is a melding of punk and emo and some weird hybrid efforts that are like Eminem fronting a grunge act. And then they cover ‘Fight for Your Right’… and do a top job of it. There’s a bit of nu-metal going on, too, and the overall vibe is kinda Judgement Night soundtrack. It shouldn’t work, but it actually does.

Illegal Fireworks take to the stage sporting quite spectacular gold brocade jackets… Yes, plural: the bassist, guitarist, and drummer are all decked out in these quite remarkable garments, while the singer is all the sequins. It’s a bold look, and no mistake. The trouble is, it’s not an ironic gesture, and in the first minute I find myself absolutely detesting their smug, smooth, funky jazz. Not that I’m judgemental or anything… I just detest smug, smooth, funky jazz. But then they get a bit prog, a bit post rock, and show some potential. But thereafter they stick to smug, soul-infused smooth, funky jazz. Technically, they’re faultless, objectively they’re outstanding, and they go down a storm. But subjectively, I absolutely fucking hate it all, but especially the gurning bassist. It’s the kind of thing that would have been massive in the 80s, they’d have been all over Top of the Pops with glitterballs and dry ice and balloons bobbing about, and I’d have fucking hated it then, too. I know, I know, it’s a question of taste, but seriously, they should be illegal.

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Illegal Fireworks

I have reservations about Flat Moon at first, coming on like Glasto-loving middle-class hippies with their brand of parping sax-heavy jazz space rock. But there’s something compelling about their style and the delivery. I’m reminded in some way of Gong, and that trippy, whimsical strain of psychedelia, and they’ve got some riffs, and shit. are they tight. It’s no small feat considering there are six of them. They work seriously hard and bring entertainment to the max – and ultimately this is what tonight is all about.

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Flat Moon

There will be very few who loved every band on the bill, but that’s kind of the point of a lineup like this: you’ll get to see bands you might not have otherwise gone to see, you might like some and not others, and that’s fine. For a long, long time, the best thing about York was its proximity to Leeds, but now, even while there’s a dearth of venues, the city is throwing up a remarkable number of quality acts – for all tastes. And that is something to celebrate.

Christopher Nosnibor

As was the case with the previous instalment of Blowing Up the House, an event curated by local legends Percy, the lineup on the night bears almost no resemblance to the one advertised when the event was announced, but the one we got was perhaps even better. Certainly, no-one’s complaining, and plenty of people have turned out despite the early stages of a storm bringing some heavy rain.

Tonight is a night of mixed emotions: it’s the penultimate gig hosted by The York Vaults, a grass roots venue within spitting distance of the train station with a capacity of around 100, which has hosted some great, great gigs, hosting out of town touring acts as well as local bands cutting their teeth and building fanbases. It’s also a magnificent celebration of the quality and range of acts on the York scene, the likes of whom have been mainstay features of the venue’s listings – alongside the inevitable tribute acts, who, love them or loathe them, are major draws and bring essential revenue to this type of venue.

The fact the Vaults is closing is a major blow to live music in York, and is just one more example of the painful collapse of the grassroots circuit.

Relative newcomers and homegrown talents Deathlounge, who pitch themselves as exponents of alt-rock / emo, serve up a grungy alty rocky racket, and there’s a hint of Fugazi, a dash of post-hardcore. As much as they do incorporate elements of contemporary alternative, there are times that they sound like a band you’d hear on John Peel in the early 90s. The mid-set slowie, I’m convinced, had the same chord sequence ‘Two Princes’ by The Spin Doctors. They’re far and away at their best when they’re on the attack, whacking out infectious riffs nailed to a solid rhythm section, and as openers, they’re hard to fault.

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Deathlounge

The same can’t be said in all honesty of The Sound of Glass… One man, a guitar and a machine that does the rest. Last time I saw ‘them’, back in 2010, they were a full band going simply by the name of Glass. It’s not clear what happened to the rest of the band, but Alexander King, sporting a vest, delivers some terrible posturing, some terrible lyrics, some terrible American affectations, and a terrible mix with the drums almost completely buried. Unfortunately, his chat between songs isn’t: “We are The Sound of Glass… All of us. This is a song about mad cow disease. Sing along if you know the words….” To make matters worse, some ultra-wanky guitar solos interrupt the flow of some cringe AOR cack and the occasional power ballad. It may be forgivable to an extent, and there is absolutely no questioning his technical proficiency – the guy is clearly an outstanding musician: the main issue remains that as a performer and songwriter, he’s just not nearly as good as he thinks he is.

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The Sound of Glass

Fat Spatula sit at the opposite end of the spectrum and are completely devoid of pretension. The start of their set is delayed a few minutes by a pedal malfunction, which turns out to be confusing the input and output. Their brand of US -influenced indie rock is definitely best experienced at high volume, and tonight they deliver a rambunctious set with decibels. Singer / guitarist Neil looks like he has to really concentrate to sing and play simultaneously at a hundred miles an hour, and it’s endearing to see such effort going onto a performance – and his level of effort is matched by the rest of the band, who are sounding their tightest yet. It’s indie played like it’s punk, fast and hard. A song that may or may not be called ‘Jesus in my Bed’ resembles The Vaselines’ ‘Molly’s Lips’ (as popularised by Nirvana). Bassist Presh leaps and bounces and pogos endlessly and Jamie’s drumming is so hard-hitting it takes the top off your head, and the band’s energy is infectious.

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Fat Spatula

Knitting Circle have been getting out and about further afield in recent months, and there’s a certain pride in thinking that they’re going nationwide representing York as an act of such outstanding quality. They’re still relatively new, but have everything absolutely together, and they’re straight in with jarring guitar lines and thumping bass and drums. The sparsely-arranged songs are played hard and loud. The guitar is a smash of treble, and they push a single chord to its limit. A lot of their set sounds like The Fall circa This Nation’s Saving Grace, and there’s a strong dose of Gang of Four in there, but a whole lot more besides: they sit comfortably in the milieu of math-tinged noise-rock that’s been emerging from Leeds in recent years – think Thank, perhaps.

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Knitting Circle

“Is my guitar too loud? I’ll turn it down”, says Jamie Wilson as he switches instruments. There truly is a first time for everything, and to hear a guitarist volunteering to turn their amp down is proof that Knitting Circle are a bit different. The ‘no guns, no borders’ call for peace is genuinely affecting, while the choppy angularity of ‘I Am the Fox’ brings a rush of dynamism and a tight groove.

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Knitting Circle

They really earned the calls for an encore, which they obliged with a tidy instrumental cut to round off a top night, the likes of which only happen in venues like this.

Stuck record be damned, you can pay fifty, sixty, a hundred quid – or, indeed, several hundred quid – to see a major-league artist in a massive, massive venue and watch them from afar, or perhaps on screens, but you simply cannot beat the experience of standing within feet of the band, surrounded by people who are deeply passionate about real live music, who shut up and watch the bands instead of gabbing loudly through performances, and where you’ll probably recognise a number of faces, likely some well enough to chat to between acts, and feel the warmth of community. And you cannot put a price on that.

Christopher Nosnibor

Sometimes, I get a little fixated on an idea. And the last few days, with social media and pretty much every news outlet pounding the story around the Oasis ‘dynamic pricing’ debacle, I’ve found myself viewing the gigs I attend in a slightly different light. More to the point, I’ve come to consider them in a ‘vs Oasis’ context, and so tonight, at a show presenting three local bands, where I knew a fair few people, with a few beers in me, found myself frothing enthusiastically “three bands for a fiver! And £4 pints!”. I do sometimes – often – worry about how I come across to people in social settings, but sod it. I think I’d rather be irritatingly excited than perpetually surly, and I always shut up and watch when bands are actually playing.

But enough of my social anxiety. Let’s focus on this: three bands for a fiver. £4 pints. You simply cannot go wrong. Tonight, the bands are set up on the floor in front of the stage, meaning that the 75 to 100 attendees are packed in tighter, and what could be a large space with a lot of room and not much vibe is transformed: there’s a heightened level of buzz and a real connection and intimacy in standing mere feet from the bands. If all the bands are absolute shit, you’ve paid a fiver: less than the price of a pint in many places. If one band is even halfway decent, you’re up on the deal.

Now consider forking our £150, or even £350, or even more, to see Oasis. And imagine of it isn’t the best gig of your life. You’re going to be gutted. I mean, you probably deserved it for being an Oasis fan in the first place, but I’ll keep that criticism in check for now. But imagine paying a fiver and standing close enough to the bands that you can pretty much smell them, and they’re all absolutely outstanding. So good that you think ‘I’d pay £20 for these’, and all three bands are of that standard. Imagine. We don’t all have to imagine. Sometimes, it’s possible to take a punt and be at one of those magical events. Like, imagine seeing Oasis at King Tut’s for a fiver. You’d feel like you’d won the lottery. The point is that there are little gigs like this all around the country every night of the week. And in convincing myself I should go out tonight, despite not having a stitch to wear, I found a band who really, really hit me. This is how it goes with making revelatory discoveries: you know nothing about an act, have no expectations, and are utterly blown away when they prove to be absolutely fucking awesome. But that isn’t even the best bit: the best bit is – and here’s the spoiler – that all three bands were absolutely top-drawer.

Up first were Fat Spatula, who I’ve maybe seen a couple of times and thought were decent – but tonight shows that something has happened since I last saw them. They could reasonably be described as making lively, uptempo US-influenced indie with some strong dashes of country. Their songs are infectious and fun, and. quirky, occasional nods to the sound of Pavement… But then, also a bit jazzy, a bit mathy, a bit Pixies, with sudden bursts of noise. They boast a aturdy rhythm section with 5-string bass and tight, meaty and incredibly hard-hitting drumming. The last song of the set, with its solid baseline and monster guitar-driven chorus, reminded me of DZ Deathrays. And they’re ace. And so, it proves, are Fat Spatula.

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Fat Spatula

As often happens to me, and has since I started gig-going well over thirty years ago, midway through the set, some massive bugger stands.in front of me and proceeds to rock both back and forth and side to side, occasionally adjusting his man-bun. It’s usually the tallest person in the room, but the singer from Needlework is one of the tallest bastards I’ve seen in a good while and he spends the set hunched over the mic stand, from time to time plucking percussion instruments from the floor and tinkering with them, and sometimes plonking the keyboards in a Mark E Smith kind of fashion.

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Needlework

The guitarist, meanwhile, is wearing a Big Black T-short, and is a major contributor to the band’s angular sound as they collectively crank out some truly wild and wholly unpredictable mathy discord. With clanging, trebly guitar, incongruous clarinet, and monotone semi-spoken vocals… and the guts to shush audience talking in quiet segment, they’re something else. It’s jarring, Fall-like, a bit Gallon Drunk with cymbals, shaker, cowbell all in the mix more than anything, their lurching, jolting racket reminds me of Trumans Water. No two ways about it, Needlework is the most exciting new band I’ve seen in a while. Speaking to a few people after their set, I’m by no means alone in this opinion. With the right support and exposure, some gigs further afield and all the rest, their potential is immense, and 6Music would be all over them. The world needs Needlework, and you probably heard it here first, but credit has to go to Soma Crew for putting them on.

Soma Crew – go for the slow hypnotic minimal intro, admitting afterwards they they’re a shade nervous following the previous acts. They’re honest and humble, and not in a false way: it’s clear that they’ve selected support acts who will make for a good night rather than make themselves look good – but because all three acts bring something quite different, there’s none of the awkwardness of any band blowing the others away. Besides, they very quicky get over those initial nerves, and crank it up with the big psych groove of ‘Sheltering Sky’, and in no time they’re fully in their stride. New song ‘Wastelands’ is haunting, and again – as is their way – built around a nagging repetitive guitar line and pulsating motorik groove, where drums and bass come together perfectly. The four of them conjure a massive sound. At times the bass booms and absolutely dominates, while at other points, everything meshes. Bassist Chris stands centre stage sporting a poncho that Wayne Hussey would have been proud of during his stint in The Sisters of Marcy, and once again, I find myself absolutely immersed in their performance.

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Soma Crew

So, to return to the start: three bands for a fiver. All three provided premium-quality entertainment. Sure, people go to see heritage bands in massive venues for huge sums to hear familiar songs, but it’s a dead-end street. Where does the next wave of heritage bands with familiar songs come from if no-one goes to see the acts who are playing the small venues? Do the £350 Oasis tickets provide – to do the maths – an experience that’s seventy times better, more enjoyable than a night like this? I’m not about to prove either way, because my argument is obviously rhetorical. THIS is where it’s at if you truly love live music. And I will say it again: three bands for a fiver: cheaper than a pint in most places these days. And three great bands, at that.