Swarm of Locus

Second review from the latest Nightshift. These are my thoughts on some of the acts at December's In A Different Place all-dayer, and a bunch of this copy was interleaved in with the editor's review. This actually sort of stands up as cohesive on its own, though.

IN A DIFFERENT PLACE, Bully, 14/12/25 

Opening an all-dayer can be a tough task, but Antonia’s song ‘White Rabbit’ eases us into a long day with gorgeous wispy candyfloss sweetness. The whole of her lilting set is bright and delicate like sunshine through clouds, and our only criticism it’s that she’s too self-deprecating. 

A good festival will always feature some choice covers, but who had vintage hymn ‘He Who Would Valiant Be’ on their bingo card? The setting of Bunyan’s 17th-century verses popped up as part of Pea Sea’s long opening number, along with fluent guitar runs somewhere between the folky intelligence of Richard Thompson and the chilly elegance of Papa M. ‘Silloth Green’ is a more concise tune, gnarly poetic lyrics against chugging guitar giving indie Dylan vibes.

Barrelhaus had to cancel their place at both the first two IADP festivals. They’re here today though. They play one of their melodic riffing rock tunes and it sounds amazing. They start a second. They start it again. After the third time the backing track packs up, the set is abandoned – for Christ’s sake, can someone join the band on drums so they can play in 2026? 

Part of a strong scene is that is provides fertile ground for collaboration, and Ian de Quadros is probably Oxford’s premier sonic connector, so it’s no surprise that a six-song Tiger Mendoza set features 4 guest vocalists. Emma Hunter, Octavia Freud and Helen Pearson all feature elsewhere on today’s bill, but it’s a treat to see Mark, Restructure’s erstwhile ranter onstage again, giving some revolutionary Sleaford mob provocation over a DJ Shadowy beat. On the big Bully stage Tom Martin’s restless visuals have never looked better. 

There’s plenty of party music in the world, but not enough hangover music. The Pink Diamond Revue have cornered this market, their menacing instrumental rock a mixture of acid house wooziness, elementary thumping drums and Duane Eddy guitar twangs which feels euphoric at first, but soon curdles to a queasy paranoia. In case it’s not obvious, this is a very good thing. 

Zarbi also loves the sour times. Their early work was all post-dubstep spaciousness but today the reverbed vocals and scuzzy guitar bury shoegaze sonics beneath a mushroom mulch. Led Zep gave us ‘Misty Mountain Hop’ but Zarbi – wrapped in a dressing gown like the Arthur Dent of underground soundscaping – sounds more like a trudging ‘Mirkwood March’. 

There’s a constant pull between uplifting pop and intense rock to In-Flight Movie’s set. The guitar, synth and drums trio sound like Joy Division one moment, and Numan the next, and even manage to chart a course from Depeche Mode to Explosions In The Sky in one song. This powerful and energetic set might be their best we’ve witnessed, with clear, yearning vocals. 

31hours played the first IADP, and Jo from that band now trades under the name The Cloud, adding his supple falsetto to glitchy guitar and synth parts, sometimes gnarly, with drums as crunchy as Corn Flake pilates, and sometimes surprisingly sweet and jazzy. Inevitably there’s a Radiohead connection, but the reference point that really feels best is noughties Björk, with intricate ideas bombarding songs but never destroying their tuneful catchiness.  

Many people may find Silent Weapon the event's most challenging act, but not us, we love the sound of pummelling industrial electronics that sound like electrified girders sliding down a digital scree slope onto irascible hornets. Anyway, once you attune yourself to the demonic barrage, much of the music can be oddly blissful especially when arpeggios spiral beneath white noise waves. 

Octavia Freud claims that one song tonight is “existential electronica” but it’s a damned sight more fun that this implies. His lairy godfather Mancunian diatribes are sweetened by Emma Hunter’s lovely vocals and bolstered by Ian de Quadros’s chunky guitar. The setlist ranges from therapy to alcohol abuse, but it’s ‘No Venue Situation’ that feels most apposite: “sing our songs until we’re famous”, he sings, but in this room, at least, he already is. 

End on a high is strong advice, so the buoyant sprightliness of Balkan Wanderers is the perfect end to a busy day. Some of the pounding rhythms would feel at home in a speed metal song, but the elegant lightness of the rest of the band keeps the music joyous. Recently recruited vocalist Becs has slotted in seamlessly, and the accordion has given new textures, but it’s still Clare Heaviside’s eloquent clarinet that steals the show. Ending an all-dayer can be a tough task, but only because after bobbing about to ‘Sleep Around’, the best pubic lice ditty ever, nobody wants the band to stop for the night.  Or possibly ever. 

 

Punt Up Emotions

Most of this review appears in the current issue of Nightshift.  The new bits are mainly the bits where I say people are not so good - fair enough, as Nightshift booked the event.  So, read on if you are hoping for some negativity to leaven what you've already read.

PUNT, Cellar, PT, Wheatsheaf, White Rabbit, Turl Street Kitchen, 13/5/15

The stage at the Purple Turtle is dedicated to the late sound engineer, blues fan, musician, husky owner and huskier singer, Tony Jezzard.  If his spirit dropped by tonight, it would certainly appreciate the volume levels on display, but more likely his spectre would smile wryly at the tales of a locked venue, a PA shoved together at break-neck speed, and an electrocuted soundman.  After such a start to the proceedings, it seems churlish to moan about the stage running late when James Serjeant has had the national grid pumped through his skinny frame, so we start our night at the Cellar, with only the most cursory grumble...just for the sake of form, you understand.

There, Balkan Wanderers are kick-starting the night with more crackling energy than James Serjeant’s first piddle of the night (yes, yes, we’ll stop now), buoying the crowd with spicy East European pop, and inspiring some surprisingly early hedonistic dancing, considering it’s Oxford on a Wednesday and most of us are still digesting our burritos.  Superficially they resemble gypsy punk rabble rousers Gogol Bordello, but listen carefully beyond the thumping drums and shoutalong choruses, and you’ll find that Balkan Wanderers have replaced the wild aggression with chirpy, quirky mid-80s indie pop, in the vein of Grab, Grab The Haddock, or even Stump.  This allows the band’s secret weapon, the conversational intimacy of Claire Heaviside’s clarinet, to slowly steal the show.  In what will become a leitmotif throughout the evening, we overhear someone saying the band should have finished the Punt.

Back at the PT, The Shapes have now taken the stage, offering a breezy cocktail of Radio 2 melodies and light rock styles.  They have a track that resembles The Beautiful South, they have a tune that sounds like Tom Petty, they even have a song called “Tom Petty” that sounds a wee bit like 10cc and a wee-er bit like Darts.  In many hands this would all be pretty generic fluff, but there’s a mercurial, alchemical sensibility at work that keeps the music interesting; take “Mr Sandman”, a mash-up of The Beatles’ “Something” and Pink Floyd’s “Brain Damage”, with keyboard player Colin Henney throwing properly loopy jazz-dance poses as he doles out elegant fruity chords.  You’ve heard of Dad rock, but this is more like Eccentric Uncle rock – enjoy it, but don’t sit on their knee.

Entering The Wheatsheaf’s upstairs room, you can really tell that this is the only Punt venue that exists solely for listening to live rock, such is the room’s dinginess, the cosy crush of the crowd, and the full-fat glory of the sound.  It’s a sound that suits Ghosts In The Photographs, who open the dam to wave upon wave of Explosions In The Sky styled guitar noise.   Perhaps we’ve come across this tumescent post-rock business before, and Ghosts do nothing new, but who ever complained that a sunset was unoriginal, eh?  Imposing, impressive stuff.

“Money is the devil’s pie”.  Did Rhymeskeemz really just say that?  Let’s assume we misheard.  Ah, now, he certainly did just slip “I’m sick of my dad’s impressions” into a litany of politico-social criticisms, which we like a lot.  Yes, there’s a lot to enjoy about this rapper, who has a vibrant wit that keeps his bars the right side of cliché, and a nice rhythmic variation.  But the vocals just don’t seem to bear any relation to the music, as if the backing tracks were composed in isolation, and DJ Bungle has just unleashed them for the first time.  An enticing new discovery, but a frustratingly unconvincing set.

Outside The White Rabbit, a morris side is giving it the full hanky.  Considering it’s as close as we can get to a native Cotswold music style, there really should be some morris on the Punt bill one day.  Get your applications in for 2016, chaps!  Inside, things are less old-fashioned, but sadly, rather more dated.  White Beam, featuring local band veteran Jeremy Leggett, are certainly not too bad, but hark back to 1991 or so, when indie dance has dissolved into lightly funky, floppy rhythms and thin, fuzzy guitar provided a sickly European cousin to grunge.  Probably, lots of older Punters feel a warm glow of the post-Ride Oxford sound displayed here, but it simply reminds us exactly why Britpop happened.

Over at the Turl Street Kitchen, 18 year old Katy Jackson is pulling the carpet from those over twice her age with some delicately tuneful acoustic ditties.  The first impression is of Joni Mitchell without the paranoia and patchouli, but it soon becomes clear that there’s a sardonic side to Katy, as if she’s looking askance at her melodies and raising her eyebrows at her own undoubted ability.  Our next reference point is the smooth cynicism of Evan Dando, and before we know it we’ve spotted a Lou Reed influence in the vocal delivery.  We’ll definitely be revisiting this songwriter at a less hectic date.

But for now there’s a pint to be tossed back, and a wobbly jog back to The PT on the cards, to check out another very young act, fraternal duo Cassels, who take the flea-bitten sneer of early Sebadoh and weld it messily onto the fuzzy tuneful surge of The Pixies.  They’ve got the ‘flu today, apparently, and if so, we’re quite excited to see them at peak fitness.  Apparently, we hear, if they were feeling better, They Could Have Closed The Punt (mark 2).

At every Punt there’s one act that ends up with a crowd that’s just a little too large.  Sometimes it’s a band that just proves too big a draw, as anyone who stood craning at the doorway to see The Young Knives or Little Fish in earlier years will attest, but often it’s a quieter act who can’t battle past the increasingly, ahem, relaxed crowd.  Whilst Water Pageant might not have been quite as up against it in the volume stakes as The August List a few years ago, we can’t really hear anything from the back of the White Rabbit but some pleasant vocal fragments and what sounds like a mellotron.  A couple of tasty ingredients, doubtless, but we can’t really judge the dish.

Sometimes we worry that the Turl Street Kitchen is a little too refined for the maelstrom of spilt pints and tinnitus that is The Punt.  In about three minutes flat Despicable Zee has destroyed that notion by calling the audience grumpy, and starting a good natured argument.  Then again, Zahra Tehrani, of Baby Gravy/BG Records fame, probably starts an argument at every rehearsal.  And she’s the only band member.  Beyond acting like a surly drumming Jack Dee, her music stretches from drunken clockwork electro in the style of Plone, through MIA flavoured attitude pop and a kind of Capitol K home-made doodling, to a beery hip hop barn dance featuring various local MC luminaries...some of whom may have even known how the track goes.  This is messy, abusive, unfinished music, of the sort that dodges every traditional indicator of quality.  It’s almost certainly the best set we see all night.

Zaia and Maiians on at the same time?  Don’t the organisors realise how confused we are by this point?  How about some other vowels to help us get our bearings?  The former are a phenomenally slick reggae band, with plenty of juicy bass and stabbing brass, who sound wonderful in the Cellar’s resonant gig space.  Strictly, this is the sort of band you want to listen to at a festival, in a set long enough to allow you to take all the substances, read a book, fall in love, start a political party with a stranger and still have time to nip to the cake stall a few times, but our brief exposure tonight leave us impressed.  Maiians are equally bouncy and dancefloor-focused, but a little more ornate, with their excellent cross-rhythms and organic kraut-electronica keyboard lines.  Those who discover the band tonight will go home very happy, we suspect.  These are two acts that exemplify the observation that crowd-pleasing isn’t always the same as stupid.

And, incidentally, we hear they both Could Have Closed The Punt.

Like Cassels, Esther Joy Lane has apparently climbed from her sick bed to play for us.  Seriously, we’d never have known.  The trick of unfurling rich reverbed vocal melodies over freeze-dried beats suggests a strong Grimes influence (as does the T-shirt Esther wears on her Soundcloud page), but there’s a sultry steeliness to the delivery that contrasts with Grimes’ pastel comedown haze.  If this set might have been suited to a PA bigger than what could be squeezed into the corner of a city pub, in quality it cuts easily through sonic paucity. 

Sadly, we don’t make it back to Turl Street to catch Adam Barnes, having got confused, lost a notebook and accidentally drank some beers, but we’re present and correct for Rainbow Reservoir back at The White Rabbit.  The trio play a punky pepped-up pop racket, with a devil take the hindmost insouciance, but without any vestige of aggression.  In this sense the band reflects the singer’s American roots, harking back to US college keg parties rather than British commuter town basements, red cups hoisted rather than glasses in the face, and if the wordy songs sound a bit like Kim Deal reading out her PhD, the best of the tunes are packed with fire, fun and energy. So much so, we think the band Could Have Closed The Punt.

Oh, wait a minute.  They did.  Right, is the bar still open?