Band Night - part 1!
Written by Laura Cousins
Wanna hear a sad story? No? Oh, go on. It has a good ending.
Once upon a time there was a woman who got married and had children, and for years and years used that as an excuse not to go out to pubs and see live bands. This made her very unhappy, and she would often sit next to her Zanussi double oven and integrated grill, and weep hot, bitter tears.
One day her Fairy Godmother waved her magic scale-ruler in the woman's direction, saying “Do but write me a review of three local bands at a showcase evening I am organising, and you SHALL go to the pub!”
See? Told you it had a happy ending.
And so it was that I came to find myself in the Winchester one night, far to early, getting set to listen to three groups of whom I had never heard and of whom I knew nothing – not even their names – in spite of their being quite well-known in the area.
First up were PSI. What does their name stand for, everyone was asking. “Pounds per Square Inch?” I volunteered, showing my age. “Or maybe … PS I Love You?” I was feeling older by the moment, especially as the combined ages of the three boys on the stage couldn't have been more than sixty. Maybe P, S and I were just their initials. Maybe I should have just stood up and asked them, but they all looked very tense and very serious. Proper jazz musicians, in fact.
“We haven't been together for very long,” the drummer announced carefully. “About three days, all told. So what follows will be largely improvised.”
I was staggered by the sound, I have to say. I earn my living by making improvised music, and I know what it entails: These young men were professionals already. They were tight together, inspired, sensitive and dynamic. I loved it. I could hear jazz influences I recognised – everything from Pat Metheny and Lyle Mays to Charlie Parker and LTJ Bukem, for heaven's sake – and even on those rare occasions where I thought for an instant the melody or the rhythm were in danger of falling apart in the way improvised music often does, it would pull itself back from the precipice, arms pin-wheeling, and regain its balance. Brilliant.
The second band on were called Peachy Jane, and they are well-known in the area by just about every single person that is, except me. I had never heard them before and so didn't immediately understand that they were appearing in a very much slimmed-down version of their usual line-up. They explained that their second guitarist was called Joules and that he had never performed with them before. So this was all a bit of an experiment for them. They had virtually no sound check and no drummer or bass player, but the rhythm guitar was punchy enough to provide a percussive foundation for the lovely vocals and understated lead guitar riffs. I thought the set showed the fundamental strengths of their material, as it held up really well with this minimalistic line-up.
They're still looking for a drummer, by the way. Any takers?
The final band that I saw before extricating myself as gently as possible from the embrace of the enormous leather sofa I was sat in were called The Brothers Grimmer. With both my index fingers stuck firmly in my ears it was quite difficult for me to take notes. It was too loud for me, I'm afraid. “It's all right, I'm a music therapist!” I yelled at passers-by. “I have to preserve my hearing!” But nobody paid me any attention. They were far too engaged with this energetic group of hairy young men and their dancer in purple pajamas, who attracted a great deal of attention, especially from women old enough to know better.
I remember listening (it sounded fantastic through the filter of my fingertips) and mentally leafing through my record collection at home, trying to figure out who it was that the Brothers Grimmer reminded me of. I failed, despite a fairly eclectic mixture of musics in my collection. They look like ZZ Top and The Prodigy got together at a party one night and had a love child, but they sounded like they had simply played their parents' own music collection solidly for a month and a half – all of it – and then developed their own sound from snippets of everything they heard. Sort of … Heavy-Prog-Rock-Funky-Grunge-And-Roll.
Midway through their set something meant I had to leave, but I vowed to be back, just as soon as I had purchased a pair of ear-defenders from eBay. For the record, I spotted someone's octogenarian granny in the audience, mesmerised by the sound. Or maybe it was the purple-pajama'd break dancer.
I'd like to thank Elanor McBay for taking the great deal of time and effort to organise this event, which seemed to have been a tremendous success. I'm very much looking forward to the next one!
From Laura Cousins
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