Bodega

@ The Moth 

or how I learned to stopped worrying and began to have sympathy for the devil. 

Knocking back a few in good company at the ‘Spoons around the corner inevitably tends to lead one to a less than punctual arrival for Brooklyn based Bodega on their third consecutive sold out night at London’s MOTH.  Were we trying to wash away memories like castles made of sand on these here fine but mostly stony English shores?  Not so!  This night was about fortifying for what lay ahead.

With the gig already nearly at capacity, we pushed through the large double swinging doors, a Queen (@Ash_Kenazi) in 6-inch heels at a trot on a treadmill was covering A Flock of Seagulls ‘I Ran’, commandeering all eyes to the stage.  Shortly thereafter, said Queen, nearly sets the place alight with some unsanctioned pyrotechnics, a ‘sorry not sorry’ smile stretches across their face as their set closes to a rapturous round of applause (see our ‘gram for video).

I know what you’re probably thinking, ‘CaptainStavros, why hast thou forsaken us? You know it’s rather unlikely for us to see a sold-out gig, let alone one that’s already passed us by!’ To which I counter, hold steady mighty seafarers, and prepare to splice the mainbrace!  Bodega shall return to these torpid and exit-y lands come November, mark your almanac!  What to do in the interim?  Fear not, gotcha covered.  If you’re not already familiar with Bodega’s discography, Broken Equipment , their latest, is a good place to start.  The fun doesn’t end there though, because these lot have fingers deep in multimedia pies.  Did you know they’ve also waded into Film? PVT Chat, the band’s venture into the A/V forum, along with their music videos, are also a great way to familiarize yourself.  At the very least, you might even indulge us by continuing to read this janky review?  If it’s the latter you seek, strap-in as we sail out, three sheets to the wind.

Ben, Nikki, Dan, Adam and Tai take to the stage and make their way into the DJ booth for a quick scrum before their set.  Eyes shifting between themselves like a cat clock on a wall, their arms extended before them.  I see their lips moving and squint straining my hearing to the edge of some obscure spectrum just out of range, trying to grasp at whatever sorcery they’re conjuring up.  It’s fruitless but the audience is no less spellbound.  As they throw their arms back in graceful arcs skyward and break-up, the audience erupts as they take their standing positions on stage.  It – is – on.  I cannot remember what Ben was speaking into the mic because all I can see is Tai in front of her drums a la Poison Ivy, from head to toe in green and red. When I come to Ben’s singing, ‘please allow me to introduce myself, I’m a man of wealth and taste’.   Well sirs and madams, we are certainly pleased to meet you and everyone for sure knows your name in this crowd.

As the band finishes up their introduction, a cover of ‘Sympathy for the Devil’ by The Rolling Stones, I toss a few glances around the room.  The audience is varied but the majority, to my surprise, are old enough to have probably caught Mick and the boys in their up-and-coming heyday.  Next to me, a bespectacled, hedonistic, silver-locked lass, arms extended, firmly gripping a stage PA for leverage, grinds her posterior like a mortar and pestle on an elderly gent behind her, like something out of Sodom and Gomorrah, ‘Territorial Call of the Female’ indeed!

By track two, ‘Leg of Birth’, Dan ‘Secret Agent’ Ryan has popped his A string and Tai has worked herself into a lather beating the, pardon me, absolute FUCK out of the skins.  Meanwhile an audience member is holding the mic stand steady for Ben, and throughout Nikki riles up the crowd locking her sights, and drumsticks, firmly at them.  The band is holding steady for us as we lose our collective shit.  For me, Bodega has always just meant a meatball sub and a bottle of Blue Moon on a sweltering summer’s day on the lower east side.  Halfway through this set, it’s taken on a new meaning, High School Battle of the Bands winners meet Cruise Ship band, on the last leg of their tour coming into port; bedlam.  This crew is absofuckinglutely relentless.  They said that James Brown was the hardest working man in showbiz, but I think it’s safe to say these lot are creeping up on the caped Godfather of Soul’s heels.  It’s the third consecutive night at the MOTH and peering down Nikki’s keyboard for the setlist (scrawled on a packet of hummus), I realize it’s well into the double digits.  While the show went on forever, Adam’s singular glance is unflinching throughout though and Nikki manages to bounce between her rig and Tai’s, when she’s not sprawled out on the stage floor banging on a tambourine.  As the evening’s pace ebbs and flows, notes of Parquet Courts can be heard in Ben’s vocals (specifically ‘Master of my Craft’).

I don’t think anyone can really argue with the statement that Bodega is currently blowing up.  I don’t remember the last time any seasoned performer sold out, or even cared to play that many, consecutive nights in a row.  Can you imagine doing anything that exhausting three nights in a row with any zeal at all?  I couldn’t.  Even so, after getting a few candid words before and after the set (cats/Twin Peaks/broken guitar strings as good omens and hummus), I got down-to-earth vibes from a group currently rocketing to the top of the charts on the tail end of a comet.  There was that casual and friendly overfamiliarity that, as a North American myself, I miss most from back home.  Although at this point in history, a travelling band is hardly in frontier territory, it’s no less foreign.  These lot have a lot of self-awareness and a loose shouldered impermanence to them.  The casual and cosmic teeter-totter that governs our lives tends to flip-flop, and that understanding really comes across in their tunes.  ‘It’s a new world now, don’t discriminate. Everyone is equally a master and slave. It's new world now, don't discriminate’.  Would recommend buying the ticket and taking the ride with Bodega because we never know how long any of it’ll last. 

The Ninth Wave

Final London Gig

Oslo

Hurriedly jangling a seized bicycle lock kept in an, exposed to the elements parking pod, a dark and shadowy figure extended over me, eerily backlit by street lamps from the entrance.  A faceless neighbour witnessing my struggle casts a most peculiar salutation at me, ‘stay-lucky’.  Avoiding the ominous and thinly veiled threat, rather than greeting, I escape unscathed, churning my way towards Hackney Central’s Oslo.  Fortune shines on me twice, as I’ve scored access to catch (take a deep breath for this mouthful) Glaswegian doom-laden, gothic post-punk and electronic-pop group The Ninth Wave’s last London gig.  The handful of dates are promoting their freshly released Ready Like a Headache on Distiller Records.

Initially formed in 2014, The Ninth Wave have expanded to become Haydn Park-Patterson (vocals/guitar), Amilia Kidd (vocals/bass), Kyalo Searle-nbullu (keyboards/synths) and Calum Stewart (drums/synth).  You might be thinking, ‘hey I’ve never (only just) heard of this amazing troupe, I’d love to catch ‘em live’.  ‘Ah, tough luck Kemosabe’, we’d say, because by the time this review’s gone live, it would already be too late to do so again.  The aforementioned are now on an indefinite hiatus pursuing other creative projects.  Though the collective uncoupling may seem premature to some, TNW have been around for the better part of a decade.  With a string of EPs, a wide range of tours, and judging by their fan base (bands like Chvrches included), a dedicated lot who know their lyrics backwards and forwards, sung them back throughout the gig.  This former group of androgynous pirates turned gothic-streetwear band has accomplished a lot in a short span. Burn bright, burn fast.

Don’t let the descriptors pigeonhole TNW, they sounded light and fresh showcasing new tunes, lyrics and radiating energy of a band recently formed rather than coming undone, all night long.  The sense I got from both their catalogue and set this evening is that it captured the ‘80s as a decade in the same vein that Joanna Hogg’s The Souvenir Part 1&2 marvelously framed it, with a gentle balance between dark and mellow, weightless and weighted.   Speaking of the best of the ‘80s I got distinct pings from Depeche Mode , New Order, Duran Duran, Psychedelic Furs and Siouxsie and the Banshees.  Notable cuts from the setlist included ‘Heron on the Water’, a new cut which slapped, ‘Come Down Forever’, and ‘The Broken Design’, a crowd favourite felt like it was written just to sing to/for a crowd.

The set, like the crowd, was a mixed bag tonight.  The far-reaching audience appeal is a testament to the band’s talent which goes far beneath the surface.  That being said, why go to a gig to just listen?  Picture this: A topless and tattooed Hayden Park Patterson wailing both at guitar and into microphone.  Kyalo from behind the wall of pedals and keys used dually to entertain and reinforce his position on stage.  An ‘I’m Okay With Failure’ sticker plastered on a keyboard is as comforting as it is sage advice.  No barrier is left overcome as Calum hammers on the drums in runner’s shorts and football jersey.  Perhaps deadliest of all is Amilia, unrecognizable from her debut with TNW.  A few years back she’d never even been on a stage and was, in her own words, overwhelmed by the idea of playing large festivals.  This former version of herself is unrecognizable today, with a propensity for jumping into the crowd and accosting a number of fans before returning to stage with gleaming eyes full of mischief.  ‘Don’t sue me’ leaves her lips before pounding at her bass again on a roving mission across stage accosting her bandmates with equal furore.

I remember walking in here tonight uncertain of what would unfold.  Shortly after my arrival, Park-Patterson, cloaked in shadow, was prowling the fringes of the space. Nerves?  Reconnaissance?  Maybe looking for a snack?  Who knows?  He largely remained unnoticed.  He slipped between the crowd and shadows the way a thin blade would along the 3rd and 4th ribs, minimal intrusion, maximum effect.  Any burrs left along the blade 8 years ago, had long been smoothed over, leaving The Ninth Waves with a fine edge and an even smoother live experience.  It’s hard to believe this was their (supposedly) last performance, judging from the energy coming off the crowd and from the band.  Sideways grins and songs were tossed as easily between all, as were instruments, with practised precision and grace.  The scene I’d witnessed had less a requiem feel to it than a full-on Irish wake.  The Ninth Wave did not go quietly into the night any more than a fireworks display would have.  They were explosive and left a deafened and stunned audience in their wake.  The show really felt like a ‘See ya later’ instead of a ‘Goodbye’.

Toby Hayes, by night known as Laundromat, came across our radar for the first time last week. Hayes has been making, and moving sound, waves on the scene since 2007.  Toby’s been part of many unique and collaborative projects but we’ve only really heard Combo/Red/Green and the Blue EPs with his latest aforementioned project.  Hunkered down in Brighton, Hayes has been working as Laundromat for the past five years, with laser focus over the past two.  The music produced is solid with complex arrangements and laconic ‘90s alt rock vocals a-la Beck.  Does this transfer to the live show?  To quote 1984’s cult classic Repo Man, “yeah, but it still hurts”.

Even before the set-opener, ‘Flat Planet’, strums forth the venue’s full.  The show’s been upgraded from SJQ and it’s easy to see why, the bodies in here would’ve overrun the place.  It’s a quiet start but ‘Humans’ picks up its pace and the audience along with it.  Keeping my attention on stage I feel however like they’re holding back.

Lyrically, Toby’s tackling issues relevant to their audience at hand, starting a metaphorical dialogue between himself and his crowd, bridging the physical gap between themselves and the music.  It is unfortunate that the crowd didn’t get the memo and were mostly engaged in conversation throughout.  It’s SUPER fucking distracting because it’s not a particularly loud set.  Even when set finisher and crowd pleaser, ‘Bureau De Fatigue’, wraps up, the crowd yells for more.  ‘Encore, ENCORE!’ can be heard but the request ultimately goes unsatisfied.

The request itself was perplexing because, as mentioned, throughout the quiet set a large portion of the audience seemed either engaged in their own conversations, on their phones, or vaping.  It was quite distracting and left the band competing with their fans.  Although I can’t tell if the audience was just jaded or the performance didn’t meet their expectations leading to the pivot in focus, it’s impossible to tell.  What we will say is, Laundromat left something to be desired.

"The key take away from Laundromat is that he is developing a definitive style from the ground up" – DIY.  It’s important not to judge too harshly though.  It’s hard to take the studio onto the stage, especially when you’re still workshopping your live show.  New band members, an audience, deep yet hard to hear lyrics, and a smaller sound from previous released singles, encouraged a conversation while leaving the performance about what was left on deck.  The live show, we’re sure, will continue to mutate and take form.  It rests just below a thin surface tension and is nearly there.  It was a pleasant listen although it left something to be desired but, for the most part, on this evening, it swept our curiosity underneath the rug.

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“Hello (Hello, Hello, Hello) is there anybody in there?”, we thought, rolling up to The Grace.  It’s our first time heading to venue, which looks more of a speakeasy than a performance space at first glance.  It’s also completely empty even though we were late.  Behind the entrance, through a large glass window fitted into the centre of the door, an usher looks back out at me with sad, tired eyes.  He seems reluctant to shuffle out of my way but ultimately concedes.  Once inside, we sat there in a sort of stalemate as the seconds ticked by, just looking at each other, then he reached down for his phone and began thumbing the screen.  For what was longer than comfortable, I watched the grapple between finger and screen while eavesdropping on the conversation between the bartender and the manager.  They were explaining to each other what happened to the £100 float in the till that’s now missing, like conspirators getting their alibis straight.  Finally, a bright light shone into my face and I’m asked what’s in my bag.  This must be the place.

A treacherously steep wooden stairwell opens into a medium/small gig space with a semi-partitioned wall breaking up the bar and stage.  It’s dimly lit, but framed well, and just over half filled with people anticipating Jodie Nicholson’s (@jodienicholsonmusic) first headline tour kicking off in London this evening.  In a few moments, their wait is over.  The chatter at present in the background even while the band forms on stage and even after Jodie starts playing the keys, is more irritating than cicadas in full chorus.  The racket, however, disappears like a thrown switch when Jodie’s voice cradles set opener ‘Midnight’ in a resonant whisper.

In the press blurb fired out to critics lacks the accolades bestowed on the emerging artist to distinguish them from the crowd.  Nothing stood out as noteworthy, or even really came across as specific or sincere.  The only compelling feature that hooked us was a link to a cover of Pink Floyd’s ‘Comfortably Numb’, a personal favourite, best click-bait ever.  Theological bylines like ‘Second-Sun at the Old Church’ don’t exactly pop either.  Even if the prog-rock hook isn’t your angle, it doesn’t have to be, you’ll soon come to understand Nicholson’s presence on the keys, strings and mic is delicate yet firm, cradling and bringing her songs with her, as she does with the audience.  The openness in her music is anachronistic to her surroundings; one never really leaves themselves vulnerable in London.  On this evening, however, personal boundaries drop and the warm whisper of her vocals pull the audience in.

What we couldn’t wrap our minds around was just how easily Jodie could pull us in and effortlessly maintain a wonderful stage presence while juggling audience engagement.  Nicholson, seemingly, has no fear. She is relentlessly comfortable, and in her element on stage.  Engaging naturally with her audience is both easy and playful. There are technical difficulties later in the set when unveiling ‘Situation’, which leads to a situation of its own.  Meeting the hiccup with composure, and a levity we’re sure we wouldn’t have been able to muster had the roles been reversed, she jokes, “we’re just going to act like nothing happened”.  Then, just like that, the band powers through, succeeding in their second attempt.  ‘Second Sun’, from the Church Sessions was perhaps our favourite off the album and the evening.  Jodie’s vocals, and non-lyrical vocalisations as a whole, move and bend with the grace of rhythmic gymnastics.  They are truly as mesmerizing as they are unpredictable.  They really hit the mark on this one, with an almost imperceptible, reed-like softness in the vibrations of her voice throughout the track. Her instrument, as the tension in melody and song both rise, hangs and falls in the air like a spreading sheet.  How it doesn’t crack or falter is perhaps a question best left for the minds of mystics and scientists alike.

The second half of the set, which flies by as quickly as the first, starts off with ‘Move’ intended as a mild-boogie.  The audience, over the next few songs, loosens up under Jodie’s gentle encouragement, “now’s your chance!”, and by the time the set is done, we’re hollering for more.  The obligatory on/off stage pageantry ensues and we’re back with ‘Comfortably Numb’ as an encore, to our delight.  Jodie dedicates the song to her Mom, who’s in the audience, and notes her as the inspiration for the cover. Next they play ‘Shelter’ which she explains as a one into a two.  I’m quite sure no one in the audience knows what that means even though it is accompanied by hand gestures that looked more like shadow puppet swans rather than explanations.  It was a fine performance, the music was as beautiful as it was disarming, sincere and unguarded.  If you haven’t been to your first gig of the year yet, what’s the hold up?  Now’s your chance to catch one of the remaining dates as the group make their way North.  Don’t forget though, you can’t have your pudding if you don’t wash your feet.

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