Author: birminghamreview

Writer by Billy Beale / Photographer Rob Hadley Indie Images

When Iggy Pop speaks, the wise shut up and listen. I first heard the name Protomartyr growled by Mr Pop on his BBC 6 Music show long ago, as the high priest of rock & roll championed the band from his hometown of Detroit.

Protomartyr’s mixture of clever lyrics and complex arrangements alongside visceral, primal rock grooves is enrapturing and sells you the promise of a great live show, should the day ever come.

When the day did come, the opening act was Rattle from Nottingham. Two percussionists facing one another, stoic and statuesque, layering rhythm upon rhythm under ethereal vocals. The sound is all atmosphere and tension, stacking primordial beats like a conversation in the language of Drum. Keeping track of the various rhythms is like watching lots of plates spinning at different speeds and elevations, trying to concentrate on all of them at once.

With grooves like fossils found on the beach, or some archaeological artifact crafted by human hands and hewn rough by time, Protomartyr shares Rattle’s primeval rhythmic base. The drums are heavy in the mix and shake the room like a bus on a satisfyingly bumpy road.

Frontman Joe Casey looks more than a little bit Bernard Black, disheveled-yet-distinguished with his smart suit jacket, and restrained performance style. His delivery ranges from the ironic venom of Mark E Smith, to the earnest barks of Parquet Courts’ Andrew Savage.

Every now and then, something about his mannerism evokes the image of a best man at a wedding, who has broken off in the middle of their speech to get something off their chest.

I especially admire the band’s refusal to perform the encore charade, which we should all have grown past the point of expecting. They acknowledged the expectation, adjusted it to suit them and just played the set. Which is really all we need.

Protomartyr makes intellectual rock music that is in no way lacking the rough edges and vitality you could want in a killer live act. They more than live up to the expectations set by Mr Pop’s recommendation.

For more from Protomartyr check out: www.protomartyrband.com 
You can listen to Rattle on bandcamp here: www.rattleon.bandcamp.com

For more from the Hare and Hounds take a look at their website: www.hareandhoundskingsheath.co.uk

Writer and photographer Ed King

I wouldn’t necessarily describe myself as a ‘Kathryn Williams superfan’, but I championed her Mercury Music nominated album Little Black Numbers before it made the shortlist. Her soft declarations, personal lyrics, and lullaby melodies; Williams was an artist I knew when others didn’t, I think smugly as I hum ‘Soul to Feet’ with a wry smile and Kathryn Williams at the Kitchen Garden Café 24.04raging ego.

But I only learnt about Introductions, the anthology album Williams released on Record Story Day, the day before her Kitchen Garden Cafe Gig. The anthology features handpicked tracks from her 12 studio albums. 12… I own three Kathryn Williams albums. And my musical moral high ground is now just an embarrassing memory.

But it does mean that I am in for a night of new material – even if the material itself isn’t new – and I weave and squeeze through the very full York Road venue to find a suitable seat at the back. I’m excited; I last saw Williams in October 2005 at The Glee Club, when she was touring Over Fly Over (the third of her albums I own) and tonight I have nine more albums to meet. Which I guess is the point.

I perch on my chair at the back (taking photos at the Kitchen Garden Café is about as subtle as a Trump rally) and watch as the Liverpudlian ‘songwriter’s songwriter’ tells the Birmingham crowd we are going to get two sets this evening. A surprise to most of us in the room, but for the audience certainly a welcome one.

‘Fade’ from Williams’ debut LP opens the show, with its almost bluesy swagger and trademark soft vocals – sitting perfectly amidst the Kitchen Garden Café low light and warm décor. Kathryn Williams has a voice angels would call angelic; she’s not going to belt out a Streisand showstopper, but it’s firm, confident, and never has the word mellifluous been more appropriate.

Next is ‘Flicker’ from her second studio album, there’s a pattern emerging, and the one that started the snowball of music industry accolades. Again, it’s pitch perfect, literally, delivered by an artist with self-deprecating humility and yet total control.

Later, she would regale us with memories of being backstage at a Libertines gig (at the time both managed by Alan McGee) and making her excuses to leave the carnage by saying: “…my legs are tired, I’ve been gardening all day. And I’ve forgotten to feed the cat.”

‘Mirrorball’ follows, and the couple to my right (who’s copy of Introductions is now sitting on stage acting as a set list) start to sway. I feel warmer than I did in the sun. And as ‘Spit on a Stranger’ (Williams’ cover of the premillennial Pavement track) sprinkles itself across the room, I am literally on my knees (taking photographs).

At this point the only thing wrong with the world is the noise coming from whatever kitchen appliance has churned into action about five metres behind me. And there’s a lot wrong with the world.

The evening’s second set deviates from the Introductions playlist and even opens the floor for requests – although my fingers crossed pitch for ‘Soul to Feet’ gets lost in a wish list more educated than my own.

Kathryn Williams is a prolific songwriter with a vast back catalogue, one that has been released either through her own imprint, CAW Records, or through the fiercely independent One Little Indian Records, and the veracity of her music shines through.

There is a warm familiarity as she stands almost entwined with the front row; Williams’ vocals are the audio embodiment of a hug from a close friend, and the “very polite” Birmingham audience are brought into her world with grace and kindness.

But her lyrics are not saccharine, far from it, offering an astute analysis of someone who is sensible enough to fear the world but strong enough to love it. And to hark back to my halcyon days of GO TEAM WILLIAMS, listen to ‘Jasmine Hoop’ and tell me you’ve not been there too.

The evening comes to an end with a loop pedal layered rendition of ‘Little Black Numbers’ and an invitation to visit the sprawling merch table, replete with more albums than I have time or money enough to embrace in one night.

Instead, I wait patiently as the woman in front of me asks Williams to outline a tattoo in the making on her arm, a curious request, before putting my hand in my pocket to buy a hardback copy of The Ormering Tide – Kathryn Williams’ debut novel that was released in March 2021.

It turns out she is now a published novelist too, another welcome surprise and challenge to my ego.

 

For more from Kathryn Williams visit www.kathrynwilliams.co.uk

For more from the Kitchen Garden Café visit www.kitchengardencafe.co.uk

Writer Jasmine Khan / Photographer Ewan Williamson

It’s a pretty late start time of 9pm for hard to place psych band Brain Food at the Hare and Hounds on Saturday night; but the late evening atmosphere definitely suits their tumultuous sound.

The stage lights come up in green and blue, and Brain Food’s synthy keys played by Connor Scott hits the crowd immediately, splicing through melodic guitars plucked by frontman Liam Mckeown and Liam Rhodes. William Scarrott’s bass is like a lazy river swimming around in the twisted rhythms. Connor Doyle’s drums are sharp, the tempo picking up while symbols crash around the main body of Brain Food’s sound.

There’s a narrative, a tale building behind Brain Food, one that flits between a dream and a nightmare, as if you’re grasping onto reality in the downward spiral of a bad trip.

Synths and pedals are now in full effect and we’re whirling with Brain Food through space, Liam Mckeown’s vocals as our only guide. His voice is full of personality, cooing and projecting at just the right moments, long hair flowing behind him as Liam poses enigmatically with a teal Fender Jazzmaster.

Brain Food’s track, ‘Piggy Piggy Piggy’ brags a swifter pace. What could have been described as melodic psych rock becomes heavier, somehow doomy and their sound develops with a strong garage psych element. The bass goes into overdrive and the swiftness and skill of Scarrott’s (excuse me) fingering, has my skank face dialled-up to the max.

Brain Food’s instruments helter-skelter, crescendo and then crash into a stunning sticky mess of sound.

I love it when the supports’ set could have easily been the headliners. I also love it when the vibe is maintained my excellent mid-set grooves, so thanks to T-Bird for that.

King Khan (Daddy), isn’t on stage when The Shrines begin displaying their technical musical prowess. The drums already have clear jazz elements with gentle skits running effortlessly over the main beat. There’s keys, two saxophonists, a trumpet, guitar, bass and countless tambourines scattered around the stage.

As the noise on stage becomes frenzied, brass chopping across the rumbling percussion, a booming voice emanates from the speakers – drum roll please. ‘Ladies and Gentleman, the man from the jungle of love. The one. The only. King Khan!’

Enter King Khan, a queer Bollywood icon, a maharaja dripping in patent gold sequins and crowned with an elaborate gold headdress. Daddy grabs the mic with authority and lets out a hearty crow, cutting through the crowd’s anticipation. We roar back our appreciation in response.

The set is choreographed excellently, oozing ironic cheesiness as the strings step from side to side in almost perfect time, pointing the arms of their guitars towards the audience and then away again on the beat. Daddy’s voice bellows into the audience and there’s a deep guttural note coming from the trumpet.

Khan scats whilst intently strumming his guitar, the sound forever building as synth sounds join just before the break down and the keys player lifts up his instrument and carries into the crowd. Not once, not twice, but three times across the course of the set.

F*ck me, who jumps into the crowd with keys.

There’s a full outfit change for Daddy, this time it is a skin-tight, grape purple, bodysuit trimmed with lavender fur, like a bird of paradise.

Khan caws again, the trumpet player picks up a flute and we’re transported to a psychedelic jungle. You can barely see the drum sticks or the bassist fingers as the sound gets heavier and heavier, and people start to bump into each other in that friendly but oh so competitive way.

The crowd mosh, but I abandon my notebook to join as the energy in the room peaks. Daddy (deliberately) scratches his crotch whilst staring into the audience – filthy.

It’s unsurprising that the encore, which was definitely planned but oh well, encompasses the third, final, and most outrageous outfit change of the evening. In black hotpants/chaps and a sheer negligee, King Khan brings the show to a triumphant close.

To take a look and what King Khan and the Shrines are doing go their website here: www.facebook.com/brainfoodofficial

For more from Brain Food, take a look at their social media via: www.facebook.com/brainfoodofficial

For more from the Hare and Hounds, including their gig schedule, go to www.thehareandhounds.co.uk