Review and photograph courtesy of Sam Monk (@smonk78)
Leeds-based five piece, Hunting Bears, kickstarted the day at the Brudenell with a strikingly mature, accomplished set of Fleet foxes-inspired alternative folk, in front of a surprisingly sizeable, appreciative crowd. Playing a bewildering array of instruments ranging from guitar to harp and mustering exquisite five-part harmonies the band unfurl a series of sublime songs infused with melancholic grace. Heavy Tree, is a beautifully stirring folk ballad which wouldn’t appear out of place on an Unthanks record, whilst Only In My skin is a piece of such swooning, tender wondrousness that even the most hard hearted of listeners could not resist being reduce to a whimpering mess. There is always a slight disconnect that is difficult to dispel when such youthful bands produce such ancient sounding music but it is scary to think how good this band could be with ten more years of living under their belts.
There is probably a thesis to be written on why Scandinavia produces either insanely tuneful pop or idiosyncratic, difficult, verging on the avant garde weirdness with nothing much in between but whatever the reason for this schizophrenia, Norway’s Team Me, absolutely and unabashedly fall into the former category. Another unfeasibly youthful bunch, the band turn in a set of perky power-pop of the sort the Wannadies excelled at way back in the nineties. Show Me, in common with most of their songs, explodes with optimistic energy and an epic chorus that finds singer Bjarne almost bursting out of his skin as he sings about ‘playing with a dangerous flame again’. Dear Sister, is another slice of impossibly euphoric pop, built around glistening arpeggiated guitar and nursery rhyme keyboards which are decorated with magical boy/girl vocal harmonies. Seemingly all ready boasting an impressive fan-base of excitable girls – a fact that augers well for their future given that this is one of their first appearances in the UK – Bjarne plays to the converted, ending the set singing from floor. Truly heartwarmingly ecstatic stuff of the sort that you can imagine featuring on the lower reaches of festival bills for some years to come.
Just Handshakes, who at times come across as the reincarnation of The Sundays, suffer a little in comparison to the giddy joy of Team Me, with there classy, fey jangle pop coming across as a little static and downbeat. But that is not to say the band doesn’t have its own distinct charms (they irrefutably do) it is simply to say that they lack a certain dynamism and communicativeness on stage that creates a barrier between themselves and the audience. In some respects this is the unavoidable consequence of singer Clara being stuck behind her keyboards but her lack of engagement with the crowd seems to speak to her evident shyness. Of course whatever you feel about their stage presence, the delicate, floating, radiant beauty of their songs is unquestionable. Falling Over Our Fear is a perfect encapsulation of everything they excel at, with its angular guitar jangle and swirling organ melody with Clara’s ethereal, gossamer-like vocals gliding effortlessly above the musical accompaniment. It’s just a shame that the joyous power of the recorded versions of these songs is lost in the live setting.
The Holy Trinity Church proved the ideal setting for the lambent folk-pop of Leeds-favourites Ellen and the Escapades. Playing what Ellen refers to as a ‘stripped down set’ (which amounts to the absence of drums) out of respect for the venue, the band run through a handful of tracks from their recently released debut album. Ellen’s smoky, emotive voice resounds around the venue during a starkly potent rendition of fraught, pleading but ultimately redemptive ballad Coming Back Home. Cast opens with a classic-sounding folk-blues guitar riff before exploding into a gigantic chorus powered by crunching power chords and could only be improved upon if it turned out the song was inspired by the gone-but-not-missed nineties Brit-pop band.
Niki and the Dove, another band in a long, seemingly unending, line of Scandinavian electro-pop outfits were on many people’s must-see list having just released an almost universally acclaimed debut album. Unfortunately, their set was verged on an unmitigated mess, bedevilled as it was by persistent technical malfunctions. Beginning their set almost fifteen minutes late due circumstances apparently beyond their control, they were able to perform only three songs to a near-capacity O2 Academy crowd, during which the duo spent most of their time gesticulating frustratedly towards the hapless sound man who spent as much time on the stage as the band. Despite this, it was still possible to get an inkling of what it is that has excited the critics. DJ Ease My Mind with its pulsating, infectious chorus afforded Niki the opportunity to throw some half-hearted shapes but it was awkwardly apparent that this appearance at Live at Leeds was not going to be high on her ‘best gigs’ list and as they left the stage with a petulant brush off, there was the palpable sense that an opportunity had been squandered.
For someone billed as an earnest folk troubadour Dan Mangan proves to be enchanting company. Sporting a ludicrously tight top that accentuates the type of pumped-up biceps rarely seen in the folk world, he offers some engaging between song patter, a skill that is all too rare these days. He tells us that he ‘as a human being he is called Dan Mangan but that also the band goes by the name Dan Mangan’ and ingratiates himself by informing the crowd of how happy he is to be concluding his European tour in Leeds, having played the Brudenell on several previous occasions, a venue for which he has nothing but praise. Things only improve when he unleashes his surprisingly muscular songs that are closer to Bright Eyes than say Leonard Cohen. Post-War Blues is a blistering piece of literate roots rock with a pop sheen, whilst Leaves, Trees, Forest is a beautifully arresting song based around a descending guitar figure and a mordant yet captivating vocal. Dan Mangan, the most pleasant surprise of the day, perhaps?
Lucy Rose, an affiliate of Bombay Bicycle Club, followed with her delicately hushed folk-soul. For a singer yet to release a full-length album she has built an impressively fanatical fan-base if the number of people clamouring to have their photo taken with her at the end of the set is any indication. Some of this adoration may be inspired by her angelic, elfin-like appearance but her strikingly ethereal voice and acoustic soul are certainly not without their merits. Middle of the Bed has a Ben Harper-like quality, with its gliding, funk-inflected bass line and staccato acoustic guitar. Better still is Night Bus, an absolutely gorgeous folk ballad, that has a tenderness that belies the tough defiance of the lyrics. At times her voice and guitar playing (she tells us by way of explanation that she is playing an unfamiliar guitar) get swamped by the rhythm section but in general Rose turns in a confident, alluring performance that suggests a Laura Marling-type career is hers for the taking.
After some prolonged sound checking the new white hopes of the local guitar scene take to the stage in the shape of Alt-J. Having gained a reputation for cultivating a wilfully mysterious image through the refusal to reveal their faces in publicity shots, it is refreshing to discover that in person the four piece come across as relatively normal, down-to-earth individuals. Clearly influenced by Radiohead and the math rock likes of Battles in their use of intricate key signature changes, the band turn in an intriguing and at times eerie set of creepily insinuating songs full of undulating melodies that have the ability to transform into something menacing in a heart beat. On the wonderful Breezeblocks singer Joe Newman, affects the kind of backwoods croon favoured by Tallest Man On Earth, whilst the band conjure up a laid-back but uneasy groove that’s reminiscent of Wild Beats. Fitzpleasure begins promisingly built as it is around an a capella vocal pattern but it soon undone by a bass synth melody that is so crushingly loud it decimates every other element of the song. But this is a minor gripe and on the whole the set represented a propitious beginning.
And so Los Campesinos! rounded off the night at the Stylus. The Cardiff band always seem like a better live proposition on paper than they are in practice and tonight is no exception. It’s true that their performances are invariably infused with an infectious energy that connects the band to the audience – tonight singer Gareth whips the front rows into a moshing frenzy – but live songs that have a discernible melody on record are such an amorphous mess that it feels as if they might implode upon themselves at any moment – a fact not helped by Gareth’s voice which, shaky on record, is often a tuneless yelp live. Of course redemption comes in the form of signature song and soundtrack to a Budweiser advert, You! Me! Dancing! which by anyone’s standards is a monumental tune that isn’t diminished in the least by accusations of selling out and features Gareth bashing away at the glockenspiel like a drunk trying to get into a house that isn’t his. Credit must also be paid to the band for providing the most rock n roll moment of the day when Gareth leaps into the crowd to forcibly retrieve a piece of equipment taken from the stage by a no doubt chastened member of the audience and, having liberated the item, sings the remainder of the song from the pit, all the while exuding a simmering, exciting sense of controlled aggression. And so the gig concludes in a moment that seems to epitomise Los Campesinos! – an interesting spectacle that is undermined by a lack of quality in the sound.