Author: birminghamreview

Writer & Photographer Maddie Cottam-Allan

It’s International Women’s day and a nasty blizzard has struck Birmingham this Wednesday. I’m at a Sofar Sounds gig curated by the immensely talented Madi Saskia.

The venue is a dimly lit modern office space where apparently creatives thrive, they call it Tricorn House. Huge windows, big open space, dangly plants, furniture that looks like a child drew it, and a cafe selling overpriced coffee. It’s not my thing and an odd spot for a gig but Sofar Sounds seems to pull it off nicely.

Upon arrival I see the snow hasn’t stopped these hump day babes from trekking across town, as it’s still early but packed. The gig is set up with folks on bean bags, sitting on blankets on the floor, or for the more conventional viewer there’s chairs toward the back.

There’s a clear sense of warmth and safety – it’s less a gig and more a corporate sleepover.

I’m a cheap bitch so I head to the ‘artists and crew’ section upstairs to see if I can steal a beer from the rider. No such luck. Back downstairs Madi Saskia casually walks to the mic to start the show.

Saskia is an RnB singer/songwriter. I’ve seen her many times and I can tell you she hasn’t disappointed me yet.

Saskia is also humble as all hell despite being so accomplished at her young age of 22. She’s very open and honest and tells us she’s “had a shit day” and “just want(s) to hear good music”. Don’t we all hun.

With that said we have our first act – Pheleba.

Pheleba like all the acts is a rising star; revered not just by locals but also the likes of BBC1Xtra, she’s accumulated millions of Spotify streams and countless other accolades. However, tonight she’s just Pheleba, a proud mom of two. Her first song ‘Love Is Out There’ is a candid look into a journey of self acceptance while reassuring us sitting on the bean bags we can have it too.

Pheleba now gives us a little backstory about giving birth to her daughter during lockdown in her home. What a fucking hero.

“She’s called Zen but she’s not very zen,” says Pheleba.

We all giggle. Then she closes her eyes and goes straight into ‘All I Need’ a slow sweet song inspired by her maternal love. Her vocals feel like a warm hug against the bitter cold outside. Her smooth voice sends us into a cosy trance that continues for the rest of her gorgeous set.

In the ten minute break Saskia encourages us to discuss our favourite “badass” women as if we’re not already surrounded by them. We all mingle in lulled tones in our snug little bubble.

Next up is Affiejam. She looks dope – bleached jeans, piercings and she’s holding some cool guitar so casually it’s like an extension of herself. Affiejam tells us: “the snow melted my eyebrows off and my edges” but she shrugs this off and starts playing – fingering guitar strings like no tomorrow. She’s fully immersed in the music and her voice sweeps over the intricate guitar notes seamlessly.

The next song she introduces is about the predatory music scene. As much as the song feels light and her voice is subtle, the dark undertones are very clear in her lyrics “no mercy, no mercy”.

Affiejam evokes such power that by the end of the song Saskia slaps the table in front of us and shouts “Tell them!”

Like a lot of artists she is no stranger to this topic.

Saskia returns, “I didn’t wanna be here tonight and why would anyone else?” This was said in an encouraging way. She’s right. The days are still short, the patriarchy is still thriving, why bother? But we all collectively sigh in relief knowing tonight was definitely worth the bother.

She thanks organiser Rohit Jepegnanam for creating safe spaces for women.

After another short break where I fan-girl a little with Saskia we have our last act – Eddy Luna.

Dudley born Luna, along with her cousin Jamal on guitar, fumble over some tech difficulties. But it’s totally chill and sorted in a couple of minutes. They begin with her first song ‘If I Died’. Luna’s commanding voice is juxtaposed with her vulnerable and passionate lyrics. This is mirrored in her body language as she sits casually on her chair, yet her head is tilted back, strong with the mic held high.

The way Luna grasps her mic feels like it’s the only thing tethering her to reality as she is, lost in her music (along with the rest of us). Her song ‘Favourite Song’ is like a soulful lullaby. The lyric “won’t you hold me?” lingers a while until it’s clear Luna can hold herself.

Next, she switches things up tempo with this jazzy guitar song that makes me feel like I’m on holiday and the sun’s setting but I’m in the middle of a shopping montage (stay with me here) it’s still snowing outside but somehow I’m feeling the hot Tuscan sun on my face; I’m feeling the fantasy.

After a Drake cover Luna is finished and so is the night. Saskia thanks everyone and reminds us all to be “unapologetically yourself” and to “celebrate our flaws”. This is what her I AM ME project is all about; empowering women through music.

Now where would we be without standing for some affirmations. We all shout “I am smart! I am strong! I am beautiful!” but ultimately, what Saskia has been communicating to us all night – “I am enough.”

I trudge through the snow to the bus stop freezing my tits off but feeling uplifted. The bus is twenty two minutes late, but I put my headphones on and dance while I wait.

Sofar Sounds’ International Women Day @ Tricxorn House / Maddie Cottam-Allan

For more from Madi Saskia go to: www.open.spotify.com/artist

For more from Eddy Luna go to: www.open.spotify.com/artist
For more from Affie Jam go to: www.instagram.com/affiejam
For more from Pheleba go to: www.open.spotify.com/artist 

For more from Sofar Sounds go to: www.sofarsounds.com 

For more from Tricorn House go to: www.tricorn-house.co.uk

Writer Jasmine Khan / Photographer Andrew Roberts

It’s snowing and Loyle Carner’s in Brum town.

After a 20 minute wait for a photo pass, myself and photographer Andrew Roberts finally come through for Carner’s sold out album tour – Hugo – ready to get stuck in and deathly afraid of the notorious O2 bar prices.

It’s expectedly very busy and the playlist is popping, but I’m worried I won’t be able to see from back here. I’ve missed the first support, Walsall’s own Wesley Joseph, because of the weather and I don’t want to miss the main event.

The crowd chants “where are you” which is a bit ridiculous because it’s half an hour before Carner’s meant to come on, then I glimpse him between bopping heads and the lights come up – the people in the front must’ve seen him arrive on stage.

Donning a post-box-red hoodie, Loyle Carner is at home straight away on this Birmingham stage. He takes his place in the spotlight, hands wrapped purposefully round the mic, hood up, the rest of the band bathed in rays of crimson light.

Loyle Carner starts with a firm attitude, forcefully spitting the opener, rolling his shoulders back in time with the heavy drum kick beat and tambourine. “The sound’s pretty amazing” someone shouts to their mate over Carner’s powerful entrance, then they loudly whisper “it’s the best sound I’ve heard at the O2”.

Carner’s second track ‘Plastic’ features on Hugo and ends with a saucy brass element. “My name is Loyal Carner” he states with his chest at the end of the track, and rightly so.

On ‘Georgetown’, another release from Hugo, Carner’s rhythm and flow is slick and bouncy hip hop. He knows how to control the crowd, moving us with his raised palm up and down.

“Black like the key on the piano, white like the key on the piano”; it’s a dense and gritty track, Carner’s spitting his well known truth about culture and his mixed-race experience.

“Is a half cast symphony” he shouts at the end, commandeering John Agard’s final line.

As I rise onto my toes I can see Carner’s hood is down and he’s walking the length of the stage, grooving and stepping.

Suddenly he stands still and delivers ‘Polyfilla’ Hugo’s penultimate track. “When I was younger, yo, I wanted to be famous. Now I’m older, yo, I wish I was nameless” he raps, mixing the struggles of success with his ongoing narrative about his struggle with systematic anti-blackness.

“The world’s aimless, no one gives a fuck… getting stuck for a couple bucks.”

Then, “peace peace peace peace” he says slowly over and over again fading out, the longing hanging in his voice until the track is done.

The next track is a rendition of ‘Desoleil’ which delves into the jazz elements of Carner’s genre blending sound. I can’t see a live sax (although there is a trumpet and maybe my ears off) but the sample isn’t lacking as the producer reaches across a range of sounds complementing the live guitar.

“I’ve been coming to Birmingham for ten years, I always come here, I always play here” says Carner, and he receives love in abundance back before shouting out Tom Misch and kicking off ‘Angel’.

Carner gets us clapping, as we mimic his movements there are rumbles of excitement from the audience. It’s ‘Damselfly’ and we sing along to the chorus: “I was too young for you”. Carner pauses and we heartily fill in the gaps: “south side”, “trap lines”, “cloud nine”.

Then a turn; heavier vibes welcome us back and electric, synthetic twists swim over the deeper elements of the beat, the live bass pulling its weight, picking the strings with a relaxed but focused energy. The sound stretches and refracts, swelling, then it’s pulled away and the top melody carry us into the next track,

“I’ve got some beautiful, wonderful news, I’m a father now. That changed my life, that saved my life… this next song is dedicated to my son.”

Carner’s tribute is emotional and raw: bathed in blue light he’s owning the space on the stage and the trumpet begins melodically behind him, taking up more and more of the venue, the drums now skitting around the main beat.

This next one mentions Loyal Carner’s south London roots “where the monsters lived”, ‘Blood On My Nikes’ speaking specifically on the multitude of terrifying realities which evolve from knife crime impacting young black boys in the inner city.

It’s got meaning that comes from lived experience and you can feel it as Carner spits from the back of his throat. Then, Athian Akec, a former youth Labour MP, steps forward and speaks over the pulled back main sound.

“The impact of knife crime on individuals in undeniable, and while politicians want to police their way out of the knife crime epidemic it is simply not possible.

“We must focus on the root causes of knife crime: poverty, inequality, austerity and a lack of opportunity.

“We must petition the government to put reason over rhetoric.”

On the back of Akec’s t-shirt its says: ‘Boris failed a generation.`

Carner thanks and praises Azec: ”You can either be relevant or revolutionary’ and we chose revolutionary still” he says. It’s really something to see an artist platform a genuine activist.

‘Still’ is the track Carner says he was most afraid to put out into the world, talking about his personal difficulties with mental health and fearing crying in front of his “homies”. The next one goes out Jorja Smith. I scream, of course he’s going to honour Jorja and ‘Loose Ends’ whilst he’s in Brum.

The atmosphere’s mellow as he leans soulfully into the track, softly rapping “I’ve got a lot of love, a lot of loose ends” over the catchy beat and tinkering snare. As Loyal Carner continues to flow acapella his poetic talents shine through. It’s faultless.

Then the main rhythm comes back in. The colliding live and pre-recorded sounds melt over each other. This next one hits hard regardless, and it’s even better live. “They ask why every song’s the fucking same and I say it’s ‘cos ain’t nothing changed.”

“It’s cos ain’t nothing changed.”

Carner calls out each band member by name, then says “My name is Loylel Carner, take these words and go forwards, go forwards, go forwards”. He wipes the sweat from his face with his hands. The message is clear.

The lights dim so just in case we’re about to lose him we shout out for more and Carner’s nowhere near done, maintaining his unwavering high energy for the duration of his set.

He stands under a spotlight and starts a story: “when I was 25 I found out I was going to be a father and I called my dad… he just hung up the phone.” He goes on to explain that his dad called him back apologising, explaining that he hadn’t grown up with the tools to be a supportive father, but offered to teach Carner to drive in a rickety old Polo.

“He grew up as a black man in south London in a care home,” says Carner, understanding the hardship of his father’s life. Then he thanks his mother and grandmother for teaching him how to be a father. “I forgave my father” and “dedicated this album to him, Hugo,” finishes Carner.

“I forgive you, I forgive you, I forgive you, after everything you’ve been through.”

Not to flex my own daddy issues but this one lets loose a range of emotions: sadness, reflection, gratitude, understanding. “I’m better when I’m with you… ‘cos’ earth’s evil.

“Still I’m lucky though that we talk, I forgive you,” raps Carner.

The lights come up and we protest en masse. “You want one more?!” he shouts in reply.

He finishes on a fan favourite, ‘Ottolenghi’, the crowd singing and dancing along, those in the stall rising out of their seats.

“Leave the bullshit in yesterday.”

The end of Carner’s set receives an infinitely well-deserved standing ovation.

“Can I tell you a poem before I leave?”

Loyle Carner speaks of the fear he feels for his younger brother, his love and concern for his abilities as a father and the safety of his son. Although not every member of the audience appreciates Carner’s persistent vulnerability; some fans have mocked the more serious political moments of this set and again someone is mocking this last poem.

I leave with endless gratitude for Carner – he had me in my feelings on more than one occasion and the live performance brings something the recorded songs never could – but I also see why more and more black fans struggle with the en mass attendance of white people at black artists’ shows.

If you’re going to make jokes while the man you came to see talks about generational trauma caused by anti-blackness and his ongoing mental health struggles, then I don’t think you deserve to take up a space at his sold out show.

Loyal Carner @ O2 Academy 08.03.23 / Andrew Roberts

For more from Loyle Carner go to: www.oylecarner.com

For more from Wesley Joseph: www.wesley-joseph.com
To see Athian Akec’s original speech at the House of Commons in full go to: www.youtube.com/watch?v=fs5InICm3Kk 

For more from O2 Academy Birmingham go to: www.academymusicgroup.com/o2academybirmingham

Writer Sadie Barnett / Photographer Emily Doyle

The audience is dressed to the nines as I enter the Hare and Hounds on Thursday 2 March. It’s rare to see an audience at this venue – oftentimes home to a great deal of Birmingham’s rock and metal scene – look quite so glamorous. It is clear before Lynks has even arrived they have set the tone here, an act renowned for the bold looks that accompany their shows.

The first support act, London-based Gag Salon, clearly got the memo. I’m struck by their dapper attire as I walk into their set, all of them placing somewhere on the fashion scale between ‘full suit’ and ‘Steve Jobs turtleneck’. They are a lively act, earning hearty head nods from the crowd with their pop-infused rock style.

Hectic by design, they don’t stick with a particular tempo for more than twenty seconds at a time, transitioning rapidly from tongue-in-cheek songs such as the 2022 single ‘21st Century Classical Music’ into a folksy cover of ‘Happy Birthday’ that singer Joe Mumford leads in a shout out to his girlfriend.

Whilst initially I’d pegged Gag Salon as your classic four-guys-on-stage-not-making-eye-contact-with-each-other-band, it becomes clear throughout their set they have a mischievous edge, with cheeky lyrics delivered in a wild manner that is definitely cut from the same cloth as tonight’s headliner.

Musically, I would file them next to an artist like Declan Mckenna – if he was having a bit of a manic turn.

The next support is Glasgow-based electro-punk group VLURE. Where Gag Salon disarmed the crowd, VLURE does the exact opposite. Lights are dimmed as they take to the stage. Intimidatingly staring down the audience, lead vocalist Hamish Hutcheson takes on an almost Christ-like pose as he stretches his arms out to us. “How the fuck are we Birmingham?” he asks.

We cheer, but it is not enough.

“I said how the fuck are we Birmingham?” The crowd cheers louder. He is furious at us and we are absolutely loving it. VLURE’s intense energy is infectious as they begin to play. Their style is distinctive, with post-punk combining with electro over distinctive Scottish vocals that range from Mike-Skinner-style conversational to full on screaming.

If I close my eyes it’s like I’ve fallen asleep whilst listening to two totally different albums and also watching Braveheart – in the best possible way.

This same energy is present onstage, with the band all jostling with each other and Hutcheson ripping off his Fred Perry t-shirt in a display of passion. Before any of us know what’s going on, Hutcheson and guitarist Conor Goldie leap into the crowd to perform their final song, bringing their microphones with them.

They are full of energy as they jump between us with no signs of stopping, fittingly chanting the lyrics “We will never die”. The audience is going crazy for it (perhaps with the exception of the sound engineer, who you can almost hear crying over the tangle of mic cables forming in the mosh).

It is a powerful end to their set and leaves the audience ready for more energy from Lynks.

Lynks is preceded to the stage by their backup dancers (a group known as Lynks Shower Gel) who help to carry out the elaborate choreography renowned to characterise Lynks’ shows. They ascend the stage slowly, wearing matching skimpy tartan outfits, and gaze out at the audience.

I am equal parts captivated and terrified.

After a beat we all begin to look around the room, where is Lynks? Why haven’t they followed their dancers on to stage? It is a shock to all of us when Lynks suddenly pops their head (dressed in one of their characteristic spiked balaclavas – this one tartan) up from the tartan sofa at the back of the stage.

The crowd cheers and Lynks immediately jumps into action.

Lynks is an utterly captivating live act, utilising Beyonce levels of breath control to match raucous lyrics with fast-paced choreography. As Lynks and their dancers squat, slam, and high kick their way through their opening songs, we are hypnotised.

There are no words that describe the mood of the crowd better than: Gay Panic.

Lynks Shower Gel takes a moment to solo during Grove’s verse of their joint song ‘BBB’ (the one Grove themself performed their half of at Hare and Hounds only last month) endlessly impressing the crowd. At the end of this song, Cam, one of the dancers, appears to faint. Concern ripples through the crowd. Is this part of the act?

“Anyone know a cure for death?” Lynks asks the crowd. As it happens, Lynks does, using this skit as an entry point into unreleased song ‘CPR’. A masterclass in camp, Lynks and the other dancers make a show of administering CPR to Cam, who jerks on the onstage sofa before coming back to life.

“It’s the power of sex and science!” shouts Lynks, earning laughter from the crowd.

Lynks remains totally in control of the audience here, with an unfading confidence, laughing at us as we react predictably to their prompts, booing for Thatcher and cheering for Birmingham. “You’re so easy!” they tell us. Nonetheless, they pile on the praise, reminding us “Each and every one of you are the most beautiful person in the world”, introducing the feel-good tune ‘Perfect Human Specimen’.

A big chunk of this audience are evidently veteran Lynks fans. I’d heard talk before the show from previous gig-goers of their penchant for playing unreleased songs live. In particular, I’d heard ominous whispers of something which has only been described to me as “the béchamel song”. As the lights suddenly go down these whispers start up again.

“It’s time to get vulnerable”, Lynks tells the crowd. The crowd goes crazy. Somehow, they know that this means it is béchamel time.

I am not quite sure how to describe the experience that is a live rendition of ‘How to Make a Béchamel Sauce in Ten Steps (With Pictures)’. All I can say for sure is by the end of the song every single person in the crowd is screaming, “Add milk to taste!” over a synth backbeat as WikiHow images of Béchamel Sauce fly into the crowd.

The show barrels forward with a blink-and-you-miss it speed. We do as instructed, whether that be screaming at the top of our lungs or getting down low on the floor. For a brief second, Lynks joins us in the crowd, magically ending up back onstage whilst we are all still turned around trying to reach them.

At one point, I am turned away from the stage when the entire audience shrieks in delight. I ask my friend what I just missed. She simply shouts back, “Bumhole!”

Lynks closes the show with fan favourite, ‘Silly Boy’. It is a cheeky jab at toxic masculinity and the first song of theirs I ever heard. I’m not alone in singing along at the top of my lungs to lyrics like “Poor little straight boy, nobody cares that you watched Pulp Fiction!”

Gone too soon, they return to stage for a double encore, closing with the song that catapulted them to fame in 2020, ‘Str8 Acting’, a scathing commentary on straight culture which has the entire room jumping up and down, a celebration for all of use who have felt like outsiders.

I leave the show with a renewed sense of joy and community. And with a crumpled picture of Step 6 for making Béchamel Sauce (incorporating milk).

Lynks at Hare and Hounds – with support from Gag Salon + VLURE 02.02.23 / Emily Doyle

 

For more gigs from Lynks go to: www.lynkslynkslynks.bandcamp.com

For more from VLURE go to: www.vlure.bandcamp.com
For more from Gag Salon go to: www.gagsalon.bandcamp.com

For more from the Hare and Hounds go to: www.hareandhoundskingsheath.co.uk