The Everyday Gig Review Roundup (August ‘21)
Live music is officially back. The Everyday Magazine is sending out it’s best writers to report back from clubs, pubs, basements, fields and the best live music venues across the UK with what our amazing music scene has been offering up lately.
First up Crack Cloud, the Canadian art punk band paid Bristol a visit on 24th August. Writer Lucy Pratt reports back on their ‘punchy, eccentric and intense’ set at The Exchange. Next is George Trueman’s account of returning to the mosh pit when he went along to check out new Bristol punk outfit Hypothetics supported by Oslo Twins at Rough Trade Bristol on 7th August. Then Emma Doyle’s review of some of the highlights from Part One of FestEvol last week on the same night up in Liverpool, including Pixey’s dreamy bedroom pop, ‘Cardiff’s closest answer to Status Quo’ Buzzard Buzzard Buzzard and Scotland’s goth-glam-rockers Walt Disco. Next up Michelle Peet shares her thoughts about Kent’s newest festival on the scene, Chickenstock. Lastly, find out what you missed when Goldie came to town as part of Lost Horizon HQ’s secret headliner series in Bristol in July.
Crack Cloud and Military Genius @ The Exchange, Bristol - 24/08/21
Words and image by Lucy Pratt.
It’s been a long time since I’ve seen a crowd like the one gathered at The Exchange on Tuesday evening. And this isn’t just a post-COVID unfamiliarity with swarms of people. “I didn’t expect it to be this busy”, states a man next to me as we both look ahead at the large group already congregated at 7.20, ten minutes before Military Genius are to begin their set.
Military Genius is led by Bryce Cloghesy, who plays and produces for multiple other crossover projects circulating within the Crack Cloud orbit (including Crack Cloud itself). It becomes clearer, then, why a crowd has gathered in such volume so early on. A dark, subdued and brooding offering is presented by Cloghesy, with a length and atmosphere that is transportive - they feel almost like soundscapes. Cloghesy’s voice resonates like a deeper, more weary Morrissey, and his experimental treatment of sound akin to Arthur Russell. A particular highlight is the harmonica that cuts over the undulating basslines with a unique clarity. Military Genius’ set is well received by the audience, too - hollers and ‘woops’ are audible from early on, and for good reason.
Then comes Crack Cloud, the seven-strong gang of instrument-clad men fill the venue’s stage entirely, just as the audience now fills the space even further. Their presence is striking, and it’s clear from the off that this is a group uncaring of convention. Lead vocalist Zak Choy is also the band’s drummer, and this less traditional set-up is brilliantly successful. With Choy and his kit at stage centre, we properly witness the skill and exertion required to deliver both vocals and the drum line throughout this hour long set. It’s commendable, and a testament to Choy’s commitment to his craft.
But this is by no means a one-man show - far from it. Surrounding Choy, each individual holds their own. Ouster Stew, from Crack Cloud’s most recent release, Pain Olympics, is a real zinger. A punchy electro keyboard underpins the track with a buzzy saxophone solo that really enlivens the crowd. It’s great fun, and has a Parquet Courts flavour to it. From the keyboard and sax in Ouster Stew, to the bongos and glitchy electric guitar played near the set’s opening, it’s obvious that we’re watching a band that just love music: playing it, crafting it, experimenting with it - and doing all of that within this collective brotherhood. Crack Cloud have stated that the act of playing/creating music is, for them, “a healing mechanism” - the members met through various addiction recovery and mental health programmes both as participants and as support workers.
Crack Cloud’s music is punchy, eccentric and intense. Witnessed live, it’s powerful, and a spectacle that promises an exciting future. “You guys are SO sick!”yells a girl in the midst of the crowd, and her sentiment is co-signed by a spontaneous applause mid-set. I’m not sure it could be more eloquently put.
Hypothetics and Oslo Twins at Rough Trade Bristol - 07/08/21
(Words by George Trueman. Images courtesy of Hypothetics).
The sudden pressing weight of my bladder against my belt had become unbearable, in spite of my return to live music and the joy of drinking with someone bipedal, my characteristically miniscule bladder reared its vicious head. I darted for the toilets in the strangely quiet record-shop-cum-venue. The waft of piss-scented nostalgia washed over me as I opened the cubicle door; a lake of presumably urine before me in all its beautiful vastness. I thought of the lochs in Scotland where my auntie had spent lockdown and thought that in it’s own odd way this was beautiful.
I delicately positioned myself at the waterfront aiming for the centre of the basin; it was an odd moment of uncomfortable pleasure that somewhat made me feel a return to normal was indeed possible. It’s odd the things you miss about gigs; a light drenching of a Doc Martin isn’t so bad, they are after all made for this kind of thing. I thought that maybe a global pandemic might improve men’s aim but I realised it must be a status symbol. Like a dog pissing on a tree.
The thumping of a bass drum rattled through the door. What initially appeared to be a sound check drifted beautifully into the first song. “Hello, we’re Oslo Twins” a woman’s voice over the microphone called, demanding that I return to the venue. The crowd seemed disparate as Oslo Twins attempted to banish the spectre of Covid; however, to all appearances the crowd seemed content to continue social distancing. Unfortunately, despite the band's polished and clean sound no one seemed content to take the plunge onto the dancefloor. Or break up their conversations, which made for a distracting hum that did little to accompany the ghostly voice of the lead singer.
Her distant voice evoked memories of experiences I never had. Oslo Twins’ music generated great moody clouds and angst that slowly dripped through the crowd, quieting them. For the Twins it was an uphill struggle against a crowd seemingly more content to sip their pints than give into the dreamy nostalgic sounds but it was a valiant performance and a promising one. Oslo Twins seem to be a band with a lot of ideas; I left the gig thinking of many brilliant new wave bands in the most positive of comparisons. Time will only tell where Oslo Twins will find themselves in the world of music and I’m excited to see where they end up.
A brief interlude and two pints later and a new challenger entered the fray. I’d begun to become anxious following Oslo Twins’ battle with both Covid and an uncooperative crowd. I’d scanned the crowd in the interval - a broad diaspora of Bristol subculture: from skin fades to floppy haired romantics, Shein haulers to thrift store trawlers, even a few classic punks. I hadn’t listened to Hypothetics prior to the gig as to not arrive with a preconceived judgement. I’d expected punk. I’d expected energy and my god did we get it.
What felt like moments into the act their frontman leapt from the stage; his arrowhead mohican pointing the way for the audience to carry him back to the stage. In what was a blur the spectre of covid had been banished, exorcised and exhumed all at once as mosh pit upon mosh pit opened up. Stand out songs from the set include “Take It In Your Stride” and the band's cover of a Japanese song about body positivity, the name of which escapes me. I wish I’d made a better note of it but alas I had been swept up in a sea of bodies. By the time I’d found my feet and my notepad I felt lighter. I looked up to see most of the band shirtless among the crowd. A level of magnetic energy that is hard to find when asked to stay at home.
By the time the gig had ended my miniscule bladder had become full again. I darted once more for the toilets and stepped gladly into the lake before me. Hypothetics’ performance had awoken something within me. Something that hadn’t been felt for a while. A sudden feeling of moving again and lack of inertia. It finally felt like the world was turning again. Welcome back to live music.
Hypothetics next return to The Louisiana, Bristol as part of their free half-dayer event on the 14th of August and I urge you, if you have the chance, to make it your return to live music. I promise you won’t regret it.
FestEvol Pt I Review 7th August 2021– Words by Emma Doyle. Images by Cal Moores.
Walt Disco © Cal Moores
“Freddie Mercury?”
“What?”
“Your moustache, are you Freddie Mercury?”
“Try again mate”.
Ah yes. Such perceptive observations about my partner’s choice of facial hair clearly indicate that we’re in the Northwest of England, an area characterised by wide valleys and even wider world views. More specifically, on this occasion we were experiencing the delights of Piccadilly Station before heading to Liverpool’s FestEvol - curated by club promoters EVOL in order to celebrate the return of live music to the city’s newest and best venues following a year-and-a-half standstill.
With FestEvol’s first all-dayer held at Future Yard, Birkenhead on the third of July being a sold-out success, expectations were high for its two-part Liverpool sister event to go one step beyond. It would be less than honest of me to say that the prospect of a half-hour walk in the pissing rain from Lime Street to the Invisible Wind Factory, the day’s venue, was filling me with joy, but I was equally resigned to the fact of the matter as I was eager to avoid a £15 Uber fee.
Once we’d deviated from the familiarity of the inner city, however, we were really out in the sticks. Although placed parallel to the legendary Albert Dock, the Invisible Wind Factory is found only by trekking to the arse-end of a nondescript industrial estate, which by common standards is no one’s first idea of a fun day out. I made a mental note that if I were to play the role of intrepid tourist to these parts again, life would be far easier if I was in possession of a car. Despite all of this logistics-based grumbling, on the other hand the building itself is a thing of ethereal beauty. Whoever secured the planning permission for twenty-odd diamond-shaped disco balls and a giant, flashing Sputnik suspended from the ceiling is quite clearly great at their job. The neon-washed mid- ‘80s aesthetic was doubly impressive in offering a visual distraction from the festival running an hour behind schedule, and lending itself perfectly to the acts subsequently taking to the stage, of which the first I caught being sticky-sweet adopted scouser Pixey.
Hailing from Parbold, Lancashire, Pixey (real name Lizzie Hillesdon) creates dreamy bedroom pop in the most literal sense. Becoming a multi-instrumentalist and producer almost entirely through the employment of software program Ableton, her DIY-rooted sound loses none of its soul nor depth when you take a minute to ponder the fact that she’s been song writing for less than five years. Pixey is undoubtedly also a rare craftsperson, with songs ‘Sunshine State’, ‘Free to Live in Colour’ and ‘Electric Dream’ offering a shimmer of Big Sur brilliance rather than the interminable Mersey drizzle around ten paces from where we’d planted our feet. Finishing her all-too-brief set with crowd favourite ‘Just Move’, my daydream of having my life narrated in the style of a montage straight out of an American teen romcom was hastily disrupted by the final chord being struck and the ensuing whistles from the crowd. Although it seemed a shame for her time on stage to be such a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it affair, Pixey bathed her audience in some much-needed warmth as a respite to the unseasonal chill, and passed on a piece of her infectious spirit ahead of the rest of the day’s festivities.
One quintessentially British element of polite consideration throughout the day was having the set times organised so that there were no unfortunate overlaps. This gave me the licence to roam the length and breadth of the venue, much like a premium free-range chicken, and offered the chance to stretch my travel-wearied limbs by trotting back and forth between the main hall and Sub Station stage in the delightfully unkempt basement. With the entire set of proceedings running a full sixty minutes slower than planned, however, I found the more frenetic side of myself treading concentric circles betwixt what was essentially four very empty walls (save for a bar and vaguely suspicious white leather sofa). Although I can’t really complain; anyone can come to miss the damp aroma of a cellar when they’ve been forcibly deprived of it for eighteen months.
© Cal Moores Buzzard Buzzard Buzzard
Next on my personal itinerary of acts to watch were Buzzard Buzzard Buzzard, Cardiff’s closest answer to Status Quo this side of the century. After a short period spent battling with what I guessed was a slightly-less-than-a-roaring-success of a soundcheck, frontman Tom Rees gave his first round of a proficient Dewey Finn impression with a high kick and the pronouncement that “Credence Clearwater didn’t need any of this shit”. Right on, brother.
I was instantly propelled into a kind of faux nostalgia, with such tracks as ‘New Age Millennial Magic’ and ‘Crescent Man Vs Demolition Dan’ (both “songs about Cardiff”) causing Rees to stand reminiscent of one of the late seventies heart throbs or other. ‘Double Denim Hop’ was bashed out with rattling momentum, with Rees cutting no corners on the Bolan-esque dips and swivels of his pelvis. I am more than borderline self-aware of the fact I have focused almost purely on the aesthetic qualities of Buzzard’s charismatic vocalist, and not the musical talents of fellow members Zac White, Ed Rees or Ethan Hurst. I have no substantial defence. All I can extend is that I have never knowingly witnessed anybody look so good in a classic bootcut jean.
Utterly hypnotic. The Welsh quartet bounded offstage with a triumphant “Fuck Craig Charles!” (apparently this was owed to a moment of public embarrassment in which the contextual basis of Red Dwarf was thrown into question, and our Buzzard boy was labelled a knobhead in retaliation). I, in contrast, was left contemplating exactly what had just happened. In a good way.
© Cal Moores Walt Disco
My biggest personal highlight of this whole affair, though, was experiencing the pleasure and excess of Scottish goth-glam-rockers Walt Disco. Birthed from the scuzzy Glasgow underground, the Caledonian cowboys share manager Hamish Fingland with impending scene heavyweights The Ninth Wave and Lucia and The Best Boys – himself looking like a young, good-looking Mickey Rourke – which creates no mystery around why they are so indisputably good.
Bursting onto the stage in a haze of strobes and haute couture, ‘Cut Your Hair’ from the outfit’s 2020 ‘Young, Hard and Handsome’ EP catapulted all those spectating into a justifiable frenzy, with a seamless slip into latest release ‘Selfish Lover’ punctuated by vocalist James Potter shimmying out of their appropriately patriotic tartan blazer into “something more comfortable”. I can willingly testify in favour of the enviable ‘90’s supermodel legs which James is in possession of, as well as their general air of Georgian aristocratic resplendence, thanks to their precisely coiffed ringlets and acutely angled cheekbones.
Far from being led too far astray by visual stimulus, however, the set as a whole was certainly not a case of style over substance. All throughout renditions of ‘Heather’ and ‘Hey Boy (you’re one of us)’, Power’s haunting melodies were perfectly complemented by the accompaniment of drummer Jack Martin, keyboardist Dave Morgan and guitarists Charlie Lock, Finlay McCarthy and Lewis Carmichael in an orchestral dreamscape. Surely, only good things lie ahead for the young six-piece.
And, just like that, I found myself rudely awakened to the reality of having to embark on my own grudging odyssey back once again to Lime Street. It was something of a cruel turn of events that had led me to miss out on watching headliners Kelly Lee Owens and Yorkshire’s own Working Men’s Club, in my opinion. I can partly blame this on my public transport-induced neuroticism, but perhaps more so on FestEvol being a little too much of a well-kept secret. At the end of the day, though, it’s all in good humour. Music made by friends, played by friends, and enjoyed by friends. Of course, it was going to be somewhat chaotic. But isn’t that how it should be?
Chickenstock for the Soul by Michelle Peet
Just a few days after the government announced the full lifting of lockdown in England, Chickenstock Festival 2021 opened in Stockbury, Kent. Chickenstock, awarded Festival of the Year 2021 by Great Days Out, is a relatively new festival which started in 2018 with 250 attendees in the organisers’ back garden, and expanded to their neighbour’s paddock as its popularity grew. This was our first visit, and our three-year-old daughter’s first ‘proper’ festival, having previously only been to a day fest in 2019.
The main attractions for us were that the festival was small (plenty of space to socially distance for those still adjusting to the easing of restrictions), local and family – including dog – friendly. This was an important factor for organisers Moya and Beth Taylor, who have dogs themselves, and did not want festival goers to potentially miss out because they have to factor in ‘the additional cost of paying for kennels’.
The festival was reasonably priced, at £79 per adult for a full festival ticket, £20 for 4 days camping, and free for under 16s. Moya says “children being able to get in for free was important to us, as we struggled financially when the children were little, and having to pay full price for them when they turned twelve often meant not attending”.
We did not know any of the acts beforehand, so were pleasantly surprised to discover that Moya and Beth had cherry picked a great selection of bands and singers. Our Thursday night highlight was Faux Fibbers in the early evening slot, whose humorous songs were a big hit with our three year old. Our Friday favourite was upbeat ‘world-music influenced’ folk band 3 Daft Monkeys, who were also a big hit with the rest of the crowd.
Our favourite act of all hit the stage on Saturday afternoon – the rowdy, crowd-pleasing Old Time Sailors, who got people up on their feet and singing along to classics like It’s A Long Way To Tipperary, as well as their original songs. If you looked up the definition of joy, Old Time Sailors would be it.
Moya said, “All the headliners are favourites of ours, and I enjoyed watching people jumping around to Coco and the Butterfields and 3 Daft Monkeys”.
Aside from the music, there were plenty of other festival highlights. We were pleasantly surprised with the spacious campsite, where you could park right next to your tent – a huge bonus when you have a toddler in tow. The child friendly activities were also a great addition. We particularly loved the face painters, who transformed us into sea monsters, the hilarious magician – who even did tricks for our little girl whilst waiting for pizza – and the dramatic storyteller, who really committed to his performances, carrying a giant tombstone around the field in the run up to his scary tales on the Friday and Saturday evenings.
There was a good variety of food stalls and great options for vegetarians and vegans. There were tasty looking healthier food choices, but we stuck with the more traditional festival fare. Moya said, “It was lovely to have such a wide variety of things for people to buy and eat.” Whilst we didn’t sample the wine or spirits, the ales and ciders were delicious, and we particularly enjoyed the mango and elderberry ciders. We also loved the merchandise and picked up festival cups (a must for us), plus a mug, tote bag, plectrum, badge and magnet, all for under £20.
As well as being a fun, relaxed festival, Chickenstock also felt like a community. Everyone – from the staff and the stallholders, to the acts and the other festival goers – was friendly and approachable.
Even the campsite had a community feel, with campers sharing tent pegs, airbed pumps and wet wipes when the toilet roll was running low, and playing guitar out of their tents in the mid-morning sun.
Our only quibbles were that, although there were plenty of hand sanitising points stationed around the campsite and the venue, there was no running water on the campsite itself. On Saturday, the headliners Show of Hands also seemed subdued in comparison to the exuberance of the afternoon acts, Old Time Sailors and Funke and the Two Tone Baby. Moya said, “The running order is decided on by the production team, but the most well-known bands will always headline”.
Having chilled out headliners would not deter us from attending Chickenstock Festival again, particularly as Moya’s plans for next year include a “larger Hen House tent for the children’s activities” and “a larger platform for the Rooster Stage”.
It was a pleasure attending this local gem, and we will certainly be returning to discover more bands – and hopefully see some of our new favourites – next year.
The next Chickenstock is on Thursday 28th July - Sunday 31st July 2022, Find out more here.
SECRET HEADLINER (METALHEADZ) & DJ DAZEE) @ Lost Horizon Saturday 17th July.
Reviewed by Rich Nally.
Since news started scattering about Instagram that a new venue from the Shangri-la team - a much-loved mixed arts Glastonbury festival venue looking to educate, inspire and entertain - is opening in Bristol I have been itching to get started on the 15-minute journey from my house to their VR headquarters in St Judes - Lost Horizon.
DJ Dazee
The chance arrives with a secret headliner gig added to the already mostly sold-out schedule of shows over the coming weeks. My mind goes AWOL, who could be headlining? It’s a secret gig, it could be anyone, I can't miss this, if I do it will be one of those gigs people talk about for years - “I can’t believe you missed Pulp with Wu Tang Clan” they will say. No, I have to go.
We booked tickets to the early show, kicking off at 7:30. Shown to our table we take our station and get settled as moments later the first beat slams into us as DJ Dazee gets going on the decks behind the Pioneer DJ labels of the decks filling the stage. Pioneer is fitting for Dazee, a pioneer herself, collaborating with Bristol housemates and Markee Ledge to create the legendary Ruffneck Ting record label – relaunched in 2013 – jungle and drum'n'bass is very much on the agenda tonight.
With the energy of a tennis player Dazee bounces left and right between decks to get the atmosphere nicely warmed up on the hottest night of the year so far. A wry smile crossing her face is a joy to watch as she takes pleasure in her work, carrying us on to the eagerly anticipated “secret” headliner.
That secret is soon revealed. Some movement to my left as a man walks in and faces away from me, some buzz fills the space, we all quickly put the evidence together to form our headliner. ‘That's a lot of gold’ I thought, LIFE in bold capital letters filling the back of his white t-shirt, bright yellow ADIDAS trainers, turning to reveal the Stüssy cap placed proudly on top of the glittering smiling face of Goldie. We have our headliner.
Dazee gives a wave as legendary musician, producer, actor and artist Goldie approaches the stage to check out his work station. MC LowQui offers his thanks to Dazee as we clap and fight with the ordering app to let us have more drinks.
The atmosphere has now changed, heightened by LowQui striding back and forward hyping the crowd, hands fill the air as Goldie starts to work his magic on the decks, deep hypnotic beats and rapid thuds of bass stir the excited crowd. There will be no drun‘n’bass legs tonight as we are two days shy of the restrictions ending. We are bound to our tables and chairs trying our best to perform upper body dances with our shoulders taking the lead where our legs once did.
Goldie and MC LoQui
Soon the crowd can't help but get more involved – our hype man continues to stir and entertain as Goldie builds and builds the anticipation of the inevitable crescendos and heavy drops as he cuts between tracks. Each drop brings people up to a sort of half-sitting-half-standing position, unable to control themselves any longer with a few brief moments given to the legs, before the man we name ‘official party pooper’ moves quickly to ask people to sit, all of which is done with smiles. We are together as one here, all releasing some energy that for many of us has been a long time coming.
LowQui talks of togetherness, equality, positivity and love in moments between the rapid-fire beats. We feel that in the room tonight, we are all here for one thing – music bringing us all together for the same joint experience. Art in all its forms and music is the true binder of us all and sets us free from life's struggles. It feels like a group social distancing sweaty hug is taking place here right now. Bristol poet and educator Lawrence Hoo joins in saying hello to friend Goldie. More friends follow stepping up onto the stage to give fist bumps and hugs as the love and appreciation flows through the room.
The man himself takes the mike briefly; “it’s unfair of me to be dropping bangers like this” he says before continuing to do just that. Taking pleasure in crouching down, placing his twinkly smile just above the decks, the fun continues for a while yet, it's getting closer to 10pm already – table service given by the only ones able to showcase their lower bodies, dancing staff deliver more drinks as a few big hits drift through. Inner City Life, of course, makes a brief showing before a personal favorite of LowQui is met with ‘Yes Goldie!’ through the sweaty mic. It's hot in here, really hot, drinks menus continue to be fanned about faces, cooling the fans as we continue to bounce as best we can.
Soon we all see the manager giving the two minutes signal and shortly after the music thumps to a tumbling end. A few last cheers and applause and the spinning records are replaced with spinning heads as we find ourselves aside the M32 at 10:03pm, pumped up and wanting more.
Outside in the cool air are a queue of excitable party goers ready for the next gig starting in a few minutes. I expect any headliner secrecy for them is over, however, they are in for a cracking night. Dazee and Goldie will repeat the experience for the more youthful bunch that can take a 2-3am bedtime with ease. For us, a short walk back to St Werburghs, stopping to take in a stunning Bristol horizon and then a quiet drink at our local to reflect on the evening. Perfect.
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