Posts Tagged ‘grassroots’

Christopher Nosnibor

Two of the bands on tonight’s bill are fairly regular features here on Aural Aggravation: Knitting Circle have established themselves as solid staples of the York scene as exponents of pissed-off, political post-punk, while WENCH! originally from Hull but now a Leeds band on account of two-thirds of their members having relocated, are always worth making the effort to turn out for whenever they’re in the locale. But what’s particularly noteworthy about tonight’s lineup is that not only do we have three female-fronted acts, but more women on stage than men. This matters, because female representation is a topic which has been cycling in discussion for a few years now, and becomes particularly prominent when festival lineups are announced. There’s no shortage of women in music, either in bands or as solo performers, so why are so many gigs, and festivals in particular, so male-dominated? That’s perhaps a rhetorical question, but still. What’s more, it’s becoming increasingly apparent that women often rock harder than men. Perhaps it’s because they feel they have more to prove. Perhaps it’s because they’ve more to be angry about. There’s a lot to be angry about right now, of course, and that’s a dissertation in itself. I’m angry, as are most people I know. But as a white, middle class, and (reluctantly) middle-aged male, I recognise I don’t have centuries of patriarchal oppression and daily sexism and misogyny to push back on.

Up first, Knitting Circle open with ‘Where’s the Culture?’, which sets the tone in terms of the conversation sand the musical form – catchy, scratchy, and challenging the (patriarchal) status quo. ‘I am the Fox’ (a song against fox-hunting, told from the perspective of the fox) is particularly tense and bristly, part of its guitar line leaning heavily on ‘Not Great Men’ by Gang of Four. The fact that Pete Dale can actually play cutty, trebly guitar lines which are of a standard which puts him in the same frame as Andy Gill is testament to his guitar mastery. While there are new songs in their nine-song set, the fact that only one of them – set closer, ‘Losing My Eggs’ – is from their EP, and single, ‘Safe Routes’, which they dedicate to the RNLI has otherwise been released evidences the pace of their creative flow.

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Knitting Circle

It’s worth taking a momentary side-step here. This song feels even more poignant and important than ever: a few days ago, right-wing agitator Daniel Thomas, who seems to think that forming a masked militia is the pinnacle of patriotism, was filmed slashing a dinghy in the English Channel. Not by a news crew, but by an accomplice. And he posted it on social media to demonstrate his fierce opposition to ‘illegal’ immigrants – but in court pleaded not guilty to the actions he himself had shared evidence of. Then cried like a child when remanded in custody. Of course. But these so-called ‘illegal’ immigrants… where are the legal routes? They don’t exist. Meaning, we currently have no safe routes. But we do have a lot of people fleeing war… and then these right-wing fuckheads decide that the RNLI – an emergency service run by volunteers – are the bad guys for rescuing people from the sea, and are legitimate targets for abuse and intimidation. How low can you get, eh? This is why we need Knitting Circle more than ever – to remind us that not everyone is a nasty piece of shit with a racist agenda when things get bleak. And things are bleak right now.

Oh, but Under the Influence are an absolute revelation. Woah. The ‘UTI’ acronym is no accident, of course. Their objective is to sting. And they do, hitting hard with their brand of fast and furious authentic hardcore punk / grunge crossover. It’s not hard to see why the anarcho-noise Sheffield trio have scored support slots with the likes of Subhumans and Discharge and a Rebellion booking. Maisie’s vocals are a combination of ear-splitting screams and full-lunged roaring… and she plays her guitar so hard that her bottom E string goes in third song, ‘Dead Babies’. “Bollocks,” and “Fuck it,” she says, like a true plain-speaking Northerner. After some deliberation, she humbly accepts the offer of the loan of Pete from Knitting Circle’s guitar with which to play the rest of the set. ‘7 Naans’ – about ordering takeaway – shouldn’t be terrifying, but with a rabid Courtney Love howl it is positively nerve-shattering. They’re passionate, sincere, and not without humour. They have a song called ‘Vegan Reich’ simply because they hate the band Vegan Reich (which is a perfectly sound reason in my opinion). Eyes wide, Maisie spits and screeches words at a rate of nineteen to the dozen, backed by some ferocious drumming and thunderous bass.

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Under the Influence

Are we ready to be WENCHED? Well, as ready as well ever be ready to be hit with a shovel after being slammed with the two-by-four that was UTI. This is a band that brings all the attack and play so, so hard: the energy is infectious, and it’s like an electric current circulating through your body. During the very first song of the set, bassist Hebe loses her strap and singing drummer Kit sheds a cymbal. They don’t miss a beat or a note. Musically, they’re outstanding, and different in their compositional approach, with the bass often fulfilling the lead role. There are dual vocals, too, shared between guitarist Sev, and Kit, whose style is – at least in places, quite technical and almost jazzy, but played with metal force. Other times, she leans forward over her drums with an ogre-like posture and just fucking goes all out, and it’s brilliant to watch – not just her playing, but the interaction between the three and how they coalesce to create something so immensely powerful. They’re also disarmingly direct and spontaneous in between songs. This shouldn’t be mistaken for being amateurish by any means, but gives an insight into a band which is keeping it real in the truest sense. What you see is what you get. And what you see is three women who believe in social justice and not just women’s rights and feminist issues, but human rights and making the world a better place.

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WENCH!

‘Deep Fake’ may be slower, with a psych-hued swing, but it’s certainly no gentler, and their set is a combination of hooks and rage. They blast through the songs in significantly less than the allotted time, but they’ve done the job and then some.

For all of the anger, the rage which emanated from the stage, tonight felt like one of the most uplifting, unifying events imaginable. The bands – all articulating dissatisfaction with the status quo, speaking out against shit governments and shit behaviour – brought, in their own ways, a positive message and a sense that together, we can make things better, and in the meantime, we can have a blast venting through music. In the face of everything, we have to have hope. Tonight gave a vital reminder that we do. It also evidences why we shouldn’t aspire to keep politics out of music. Because politics affects all of us, every day, and using a platform to take a stand is a powerful, and positive thing. Here, we stand unified in hope, and against hate.

Christopher Nosnibor

This is a very different kind of gig vibe. I arrive way before there’s any music due on with a view to giving my brain a rest from stress with a book and a few beers. The Duck and Drake is a cracking boozer which boasts no fewer than fifteen cask ales. There are three gluten free offerings, for those who need to know these things, and several vegan brews. The Wensleydale Fire It Up IPA at 5% is a particular standout, but they’re all well-kept and the Old Peculier is superb.

Personal disclosure: I wasn’t feeling like turning out tonight. My motivation and confidence were through the floor this morning, and the prospect of heading off to Leeds on my own to an unfamiliar venue while the reliability of the trains, particularly getting home, was in question, had done little to compel me to venture out. But since Noisepicker – whose last two albums, both released via Exile on Mainstream – I had reviewed and enjoyed, had made the effort to come up from London to play a free show, and labelmates Might had made the effort to come from bloody Hanover, I knew I’d regret it if I yielded to my urge to retreat.

Shortly after my arrival, the pub’s invaded by a board of corporate tossers on a treasure hunt by way of a works night out, but they fuck off before too long, and I get to sup my pint while listening to the soundchecks, and it becomes increasingly apparent that I’ve made the right decision. Around nine, a cluster of beardies, hairies, and folks in black filter in and take up around the bar. And then the music starts.

Noisepicker are an intermittent band, and a classic example of a band who fit making music around dayjobs and whatnot. There was a seven-year gap between Peace Off and the latest, The Earth Will Swallow the Sun, and they’re not a big touring band. But on stage, they present an almost telepathic cohesion from the outset. ‘No Man Lies Blameless’ lands second as they fire up the heavy blues riffery after a slow, drawling start. Harry Armstrong’s phlegm and whiskey (or Newcastle Brown) vocals growl and howl all the pain, anguish, and anger at the state of humanity, and there are times in the set where he and drummer Kieran Murphy articulate this with raw primal screams, and it’s magnificently cathartic. ‘Chew’ starts almost jazzy before hitting its stride with a thick riff. When they slow it down and strip it back, as on ‘A Taste of My Dying’, it’s got a hefty swagger. ‘The Earth Will Swallow the Sun’ brings a barrage of percussion, Armstrong playing drum and guitar at the same time. There’s a cover of ‘War’ which kicks ass, delivered with guts and gusto, and landing between Motorhead and ZZ Top. They go low and slow for the set closer, and they kill it. The rapport between the two players is apparent, as is the fact they’re clearly loving doing what they do.

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Noisepicker

Making their UK debut, Might start their performance off the stage, with flashing lights, smoke and dark atmospherics, before a piano backing track starts… And then the drums kick in, followed by the and guitars. The sound is nothing short of mind shattering in its density. It’s hardly surprising with that towering backline which dominates the stage and this small room. They’ve not travelled light. On record, they sound immense. Live… they take the sound to a whole other dimension.

They way they’ve worked the sound – and the visuals – is remarkable. I’d been curious as to how the duo of Ana Muhi (vocals and bass) and Sven Missullis (guitar, vocals, drums) would contrive to multi-task, and what I first thought was a drum machine actually appears to be a recording of a live drum track, which is up in the mix at a volume which corresponds with a live drum kit. Consequently, it feels like there are three people on stage – and what’s more, it almost looks that way, too, as there’s a silhouette of the drums being played which – unless my eyes deceive me – is in perfect sync with the audio. And with Nosepicker’s kit on stage behind them, and an abundance of smoke, you actually get a sense of their being an extra body up there.

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Might

They churn out some monster riffs, which churn and grind, but there’s more than brute force and brutal volume happening here – there’s texture and layering, and what I can only describe as sonic alchemy. And what they conjure is something which renders the cover art for their second album, Abyss, as an aural experience, and it’s one in which time is suspended and you find yourself completely immersed and on another plane.

Stripping it back to a drone on Mrs Poise, the percussion comes from Sven striking the back of his guitar while it’s laid across his knees. The acoustic-led penultimate song ‘Tightrope Walk’ is almost folky, but nevertheless intense, Ana’s vocal delivery delicate and utterly captivating, before they close with ‘Zero’ – the final track on their eponymous debut – and it’s immense.

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Might

On the face of it, this – the first night of a little low-key package tour –was a pretty ordinary event. A couple of bands playing in a pub in a corner of Leeds. But, pitched on the premise of being 100% DIY, with free entry and serving to provide a drop of an antidote to the relentless shitness of the world, it proved to be so much more. The bands both gave it their all. The audience was small, but appreciative. They chatted with the bands, and bought T-shirts. They bought beer. And ultimately, it was pretty damn special. No corporate shit, no pissy lager in plastic cups. Grassroots music at its very best. No-one’s getting rich off this financially, but in terms of the humanity, the life-enrichment, and the inspiriting qualities of a night like this, we all end the night with wealth beyond measure.

Christopher Nosnibor

It’s sometimes – often – difficult to balance objectivity with subjectivity when it comes to writing about music. We don’t experience music or relative to it objectively, so to critique it objectively is to strip out what really matters. What does it matter how technically competent an act is if they don’t touch you in some way? No, not like that…

This is even more so the case when it comes to experiencing music live. Yes, a weak performance or poor sound can ruin a night, but equally, some nights are amazing however rough the sound and however ropey the playing. The experience is a holistic thing which is the coalescence of multitudinous factors.

And because the experience is unique and personal, ultimately, I can only speak from a personal perspective and write from a personal context. The context for tonight’s outing is that this is my first time listening to live music since mid-December, and the last three months or so have been tough. I’m out of the habit, and you realise just how quickly you can lose levels of comfort and confidence – as we learned during lockdown.

Sitting in a dark corner with a pint of Brass Castle Misfit with The Fall, Killing Joke, and Iggy Pop blasting over the PA felt good. The people started arriving, and one reason I felt ok about coming down is because it’s very much a local bands, local people event, and this is where local scenes and grassroots venues really do prove their worth: the sense of community and simply feeling safe and comfortable is not something that can ever bee said of bigger places. You just don’t run into people at an O2, have a blether and get a round in, and you sure as hell won’t get decent hand-pulled pints in a glass for £4.40.

Captain Starlet I’d been informed were young but really good. Their set exploded with some high-octane hillbilly shit that perhaps wasn’t so good. Technically, yes, but… Things improved, though, and swiftly. ‘Love is a Pet’ has a nice, dark, strolling bassline and lands between post-punk and country. With 60s vocal harmonies, hints of The Kinks and a whole lot of jangle in the mix, they really can play. I’m just not quite sure what they’re about or if they’ve even decided for themselves yet. The guitarist and bassist look like they’re a different band from the second guitarist and drummer, but credit where it’s due, they’re tight and together, but they’re just not my bag.

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Captain Starlet

The Bricks are one hundred percent my bag and half the reason I’m here. They are solid as ever, channelling Siouxsie and X-Mal Deutschland. And they’re seriously loud, and it suits them well. Between songs, Gemma Hartshorn is affable and unashamedly Northern and flogging bananas (with EP download codes attached since they’re launching their Reverse Alchemy EP, which is absolutely bloody great and you need to hear it) but when singing she’s intense and absolutely fucking terrifying, staring out the crowd as she belts the lyrics full lung. The new songs are ace and tonight demonstrates all the reasons why they’re my favourite active York band right now. During the last song some retiree in a massive jumper made her way to the front to dance six inches in front of me and remind me why I always wear steel-toed boots.

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The Bricks

There probably isn’t much to say about Percy I haven’t said several times before since I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve written about them, and I’ve seen them even more. To describe them as workmanlike is no criticism here: you know what you’re going to get: grouchy northern post-punk racket from Yorkshire’s answer to The Fall.

Tonight, Percy are sounding dense, tight, and full of piss and vinegar for their first headlining slot of the year. Colin’s guitar is nearly in tune for most of the set as they blast through songs from way back and as yet unreleased. Unashamedly northern and uncompromising in their angularity and attitude, there’s nothing fancy here but it’s delivered with zeal and petulance – the musical equivalent of pie and mash served up piping hot. They only have three effects pedals between them. There’s something to be said for a band that have touched on bigger things in the past who are content playing small local venues and not giving a fuck and simply enjoying making a racket twenty years into their career. ‘Will of the People’ is pure vitriol and it’s magic.

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Percy

They resurrect the plodding ‘Seaside Donkey’ as the penultimate track before ploughing through a blistering rendition of ‘Chunks’ to close.

I’ve had perhaps a pint more than I ought and despite earplugs, by ears are fizzing, and you know what? It’s all good – great, even. This is what live music is all about.