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.
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.
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.
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.
Aural Aggravation 