Posts Tagged ‘venues’

Christopher Nosnibor

Pub gigs provided me with my first experiences of live music, back in the early 90s. Often, pubs with upstairs rooms would pop bands on, and other still would simply pack bands somewhere in the bar. At some point, there seemed to be a shift away from this, with pubs seeming to be only really interested in solo performers and acoustic duos. Gigs in pubs stopped being such a thing. But now, pubs are dying. And grassroots venues are dying. Let me be more blunt they’re not so much dying, as being killed off in the interest of capitalist greed.

As I wrote recently on the repurposing of working men’s clubs – also suffering from a severe decline – as gig venues, so the return of the pub gig seems to solve two problems at once, namely how to bring punters into pubs, and providing bands with a place to play. This certainly seems to be happening in York.

The Black Horse used to be a Tap and Spile, and has always been a solid Yorkshire boozer – real ale and bar snacks, and a weekly quiz. But clearing the top part of the room – more a raised area than a mezzanine per se – creates a fairly generous stage space, and not being a massive space, means a basic setup whereby the bands play straight through their amps with only the vocals going through the house PA, simplifying soundchecks and making switchovers straightforward.

When this show was first announced, Strange Pink were an unknown quantity, but the release of their debut EP changed that, and the Hull-based power-trio-cum-supergroup consisting of Sam Forrest (Nine Black Alps, Sewage Farm), Eddie Alan Logie, and Dom Smith (whose resume is a feature in itself) make for a cracking opening act. They manage to be loose but tight at the same time, and it suits their 90s slacker rock stylings. As the EP attests, their approach is varied, and so, accordingly, is their set. They seem to grow in confidence as the set progresses, the sound coming clearer and brighter, too, and by the end of the set, they’re on fire. They close with ‘Boys Club’, the lead single from EP. It’s a clear standout and possibly their best song, with a strong hook, making for the perfect way to leave the crowd with something to remember.

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Strange Pink

The Bricks have become Aural Aggravation staples, and are a band I will always go and see whenever possible, for two simple reason: they have great tunes, and they’re a great live band – always. During their brief soundcheck, I began to wonder if their run of infallibility might come to and end tonight, but I needn’t have worried, because they were firing on all cylinders from beginning to end. In fact, they seem incredibly at home in tiny venues such as this, and flame-haired Gemma cranks up the wild, eyes-wide, lung-busting intensity, as if relishing the proximity. By the end of a fierce set, her fringe is swept away and plastered to her forehead. The band play relentlessly hard, too, and I try to analyse what it is about them that’s so compelling, why they work so well. The songs are fairly simple, both structurally and in terms of musical complexity – simple lead parts, four-chord riffs, classic (post-)punk, built around solid rhythms, with most songs two or three minutes long and strong hooks. Simple proves effective, especially when played with precision and passion.

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The Bricks

This does mean that Cowgirl have a tough act to follow. But they’re super-seasoned professionals. Danny Barton (guitar and vocals) plays bass in Sewage Farm, previously played bass with White Firs with former Federals drummer James Holdstock (who’s also drummed with Cowgirl), and has, in short, played in more bands in and around York than I’ve had hot dinners, and the same is true of Sam Coates (also guitar and vocals), who’s been pretty much ubiquitous on the scene for years now.

Looking around the room – it’s standing room only, and there’s plenty of beer being drunk, and I bet they’ve not sold this much on a Thursday night in a long time – half the people here are in other bands, or are otherwise recognisable as gig-going regulars, highlighting what a close-knit scene the city has, but also that this lineup has brought people out on a night that’s not exactly a popular one for gigs or pubs. The free entry and donations bucket may be a factor (although a facility to take card donations would likely have seen more contributions), but still, it’s proof that a quality lineup is a definite draw, and the fact a small venue can be filled more easily creates a sense of buzz, which is definitely the case here.

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Cowgirl

Early on in their set, a friend remarked that they sound like Oasis. He’s completely wrong, but the comment got me thinking. Some of the elements are there… some of the jangle, a bit of the swagger, but with a keen American indie influence. Perhaps his opinion was influenced by the fact that their sound is decidedly more ‘rock’ on this occasion than previous times I’ve seen, them, likely on account of the backline / PA setup, resulting in a sound dominated by blistering guitars. But they have actual melodies and a psychedelic hue, and once again, it’s a set that builds in every way – confidence, cohesion, and volume. The final brace of songs is segued together to form a ten-minute melting wall of sound, an epic psych-wig out that’s nothing short of a brain-cleansing blast that leaves you dazed as the final strains of feedback taper away.

Everything about tonight feels like a win. I may have had one more than was wise – easily done when it’s hot because it’s packed and all hand-pulled beers are a fiver and there’s half a dozen to choose from – and I may be a touch emotional at having attended my last live music of my forties – but stepping into the night, I feel like I’ve experienced something life-affirming and positive in the bleakest of times.

South Bank Social, York, 28th August 2016

Christopher Nosnibor

You know it is with the underground. People in the know, know. Networking, word of mouth… and social media. So while …And the Hangnails had intimated a ‘secret’ gig at a venue tbc a few days previous, it wasn’t until the day of the event that The Howl & the Hum announced, via Facebook, a ‘last minute’ gig with a killer lineup in the dingy upstairs room in a WMC in York’s South Bank.

Call me a scenester if you like, although I’d rather say I’ve got my finger on the pulse. Moreover, this was a remarkably un-scenester gig in many ways. The peeling, mildewed walls in the room with a capacity in the region of 35 to 40, the unisex toilets hardly hollered ‘hip’ or chic and reflected a greater alignment with the DIY / basement club aesthetic of early 80s punk.

Events like this are a(nother) sign of the times. As small pub venues go to the wall, sold off by pubcos for conversion to flats or convenience stores, and other venues find themselves subject to noise abatement orders and other untenable licensing restrictions when finances are already tight, it’s increasingly difficult for bands – especially smaller ones – to find opportunities to play live. But as the cliché goes, necessity is the mother of invention, and folks are taking it upon themselves to become increasingly creative in seeking out underused, or even unused spaces. And I’m all for it. This is keeping it real, and in a universe parallel to the glitzy, mass-produced chart fodder churned out by bling-toting major-name acts with the backing of multi-billion dollar corporate labels, this is where the music that matters can be found.

A brief solo acoustic promo for the South Bank Suicide Club prefaced a belting set from Howl & The Hum The intimate venue setting was well-suited to their detailed sound: the textured guitar sound, tom-heavy and restrained drumming, paired with their knack for monumental crescendos draws parallels with early I Like Trains, although their style is very much more geared toward alt-country with a fiery rock twist. Intense and impressive, they have a ‘great things ahead’ aura about them.

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The Howl & The Hum

The last time I saw Tooth, they were so new they didn’t have a name, but they did have some great tunes. Having risen from the ashes of The Littlemores, they’ve ditched the ska leanings of their previous incarnation, and while there are still strong traces of Arctic Monkeys in their acerbically observational indie-rock, they’re flexing new muscles with some big choruses and chunky bass-leg guitar tunes.

Tooth

Tooth

Washing Machine Repair Man offers a brief acoustic interlude – by which I mean a detour into delirious and borderline deranged shouty anti-folk, augmented by double bass and green rubber wellies – before Bull are up. Having found the last couple of performances I’ve seen from Bull to be a shade lacklustre, it was uplifting to see them on such fine firm on this outing. Guitarist Dan Lucas seems to have learned pretty much everything he knows about solos from listening to Dinosaur Jr albums, and for that, he gets my vote. With shirts off and sweat running free in the tiny venue, they really step things up a notch, and carry the enthusiastic crowd with them.

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Bull

…And the Hangnails are one of those bands who never get tired, who are consistently brilliant in their volume and intensity. And not only are they a great band, but they never put in less than 100%, with the same explosive energy being poured into intimate pub gigs as festival shows. Tonight is no exception, and the crowd get down accordingly. They may have turned the amps down a bit on account of the venue and its residential location, but when the room is such that if you’re not in the front two rows you’re in the back two rows, and you’ve got a drummer who hits so hard he can cause earthquakes with a single bash of the snare, it’s still ear-bleedingly loud. And these guys go for it, a hundred miles an hour, hell-for-leather, no let up, blasting out pretty much every last one of the highlights from their two albums. Crunching riffs, piercing vocals and immesne drumming are all pulled together in a molten heat into solid gold garage-influencd alt-rock classics. By the time they’re done, we’re all deaf and halfway transmuted to liquid form, and everyone is very happy indeed.

Trundling out superlatives to apply to the individual acts or even the night as a whole seems somewhat redundant: stepping out into the cool night air, tacky from head to with perspiration and ears whistling, the buzz isn’t coming from the beer, but from the exhilaration of living in the moment.