Belting It Out

A festival in a Christian youth club. A not particularly interesting review with a shit pun for the title. Hardly a marriage made in heaven.

BELOW THE BELT ALL-DAYER, The Mish, 23/11/08


Never let it be said that we don’t enjoy finding new musical experiences, in addition to the usual Friday night down The Sheaf, but who seriously would have thought we’d find ourselves at an all-dayer on a Sunday. In a youth club! Run by a church!! With no bar!!! Once we got over the weirdness of it all, we decided that The Mish, on St Clements, is a rather lovely little place, with a decent sound system and a relaxed friendly atmosphere. It’s like falling into some alternate universe where The Cellar is clean and comfy, and serves mugs of coffee.

G-Block kick things off with panache, but seem to be suffering from that hip hop epidemic, Crewitis, which causes an uncomfortable swelling of the MC roster. There are so many rappers onstage we don’t even notice one of them till he steps from the shadows to take the mike, and although there’s a wide range of styles on offer, not to mention some real talent bubbling under, the entire set feels unfocused and fragmented, with so many vocalists strung together. A jam on a Fugees rhythm, whilst a little too soft-centred to do them justice, shows what G-Block can do when things are tidied up. Ultimately the set tails off, primarily because one unimaginatively strummed guitar can never take the place of a full fat beat, but there’s more than enough potential here to make it worth remembering the name G-Block.

Sadly Vultures don’t reprise their Charlbury set, but instead opt to play in a two guitar, semi-acoustic duo formation that’s relaxing but hardly revolutionary. The vocals are still sweet and catchy, and it sounds not unlike The La’s playing some sort of post-hoedown chill out session, but this is not the sort of stuff to set your Sunday aflame.

The excellent Jon Fletcher revives proceedings with a show that just oozes gigging experience: it’s not just his assured guitar fingering or his loose unhurried vocals that show he’s a past master at this sort of thing, but it’s the off the cuff banter that draws everyone together and manages to make the event feel like an intimate party for the first time that day….which is exactly how a basement full of sofas and hot chocolate should feel on a cold winter’s day. “Hold My Breath” reminds us of Bert Jansch’s unflustered melancholia, and the whole set balances implausibly between introspection and cheekiness in a thoroughly winning fashion.

Excellence of a different sort when event organisers Baby Gravy take the stage, mixing Gang Of Four’s stutter funk with the glorious vacuity of Gwen Stefani’s strip-lit mall pop. There’s plenty of fuzzy early 80s awkwardness here, of the sort you can find clogging the pages of Artrocker, but there’s also an intensity in the performance that other neo-wave poseurs lack (the effect isn’t harmed by the fact it’s bloody loud!). Admittedly the rhythms sometimes stumble when they should bounce, but when the buzzing keyboards stomp inexorably over everything like a giant BBC “B” sprite and the declamatory vocals start thumping at your eardrums, you know that these tiny details don’t matter.

Mr Shaodow pops up unexpectedly to crack out a tune with Baby Gravy, and treat us to his new single, “Grime”. It such a pleasure to see that his confidence has grown to match his wordplay over the past couple of years, and where once we saw him stuttering like an inexperienced comedian between tracks, now we see him working a room to perfection – even if that room is mostly empty and enjoying a nice sit down.

Rambunctious punk pop should have been the ideal chaser to this heady double act, but somehow Among The Giants have missed the target. The lumpy, chugging music is passable, but is let down by the horrible vocal foghorn honking all over it. If he really tried hard, the singer could sound like a bladdered trucker offering you a fight on George Street, but at the moment he’s slightly less charming. Still, nice to have something to aim for, eh?

Just as our thoughts are turning longingly to a Sunday roast, The Repeats cap the afternoon off immaculately. Imagine, if you will, a fizzy pop version of Talking Heads, sprinkled with rubbery bass and spindly guitar that could have been borrowed from Battles or Foals, but reminds us more of Ghanaian hi-life and township jive. There are even some unexpectedly jaunty keyboards that could have come from some ancient stadium gig by Paul Simon, 10CC or even Genesis. Admittedly, The Repeats have so many ideas laying around they do occasionally trip over them, and the vocalist could probably push himself a touch harder but the whole effect is as intoxicating as you’d expect an arch indie band featuring a cowbell and clave breakdown to be. A band to actively seek out.

And sadly, here our festival ended, though there were four acts left to entertain the crowd – which never got particularly large, but never lost its friendly atmosphere – and we leave the Mish hoping that our next Below The Belt experience is not too far away. And features some beer, naturally.