The Membranes + Other Half + Skint and Demoralised

In the spirit of full disclosure I have to confess my heart often sinks a little when I see that an extra support band has been added to a gig line-up. It usually signals a long haul before the headline act plays a truncated set that finishes well past my bedtime. Granted, there’s more chance of seeing a support that takes your fancy and a greater chance of seeing a rising star ascending, but viewed through the dregs of a half empty glass, there’s also more chance of being bored, getting tired, and losing interest. It says much, then, for whoever curated an evening with The Membranes that instead we got a lively and varied programme of imaginative artists that gave the night I feel more akin to a mini festival than a concert, and one that zipped along with the speed associated with good things coming to an end too soon.
 
Local Norwich heroes Other Half (I was quickly and sternly admonished for using the definitive article by a fan) kicked things off with a spirited, shouty performance that brought to mind proper old school post-punk. All sorts of band names came to mind as I flipped through a Rolodex of last century influences, but what set this band apart was Soapy’s  unusually complex and borderline funky bass lines, which contrasted pleasingly with Cal’s thrashing guitar and howling vocals. There were moments of calm too, albeit very brief ones, which suggested something altogether more substantial could develop out of what is already an arresting sound. Aside from a brief interlude when Cal knocked his drink over and had to mop up his sodden gear with kitchen towels prior to electrocution, this was a confident and engaging performance that grew in stature throughout their brief thirty minute set.

 
Any band calling itself Skint and Demoralised gets my vote. This performance was a return to the stage after a long hiatus, but there was no sign of nervousness or flagging enthusiasm from a band that originally formed in the late noughties. Fronted by established performance poet Matt Abbott, this was as much about the splenetic rage of his poetry as music, offering up a sound that immediately brought to mind John Cooper Clarke’s Invisible Girls. While there were hints of the Sleaford Mods in his delivery, the spoken verse/sung chorus format was closer in spirit to The Streets - an unfortunate comparison as Mike Skinner is a demonstrably better singer than Abbott. I think the band’s front man would have served his words better by simply relying on the rhythmic strength of his powerful prose to get him by. It was telling that he won their biggest round of applause while draped in the Union Jack, performing the poem Red, White and Blue without accompaniment. A prescient commentary on our contrary and ambivalent attitude to being a Brit, it was reminiscent of Luke Wright at his best – and I can think of no greater praise.