JW Francis

@ The Oslo, London

Words & pics by Captain Stavros 

Walking into The Oslo and hearing a person, with their back to you, who you’ve never met before in your life pronounce your full name (perfectly) out loud to a ticket attendant is a bit unnerving.  To say the least.  As they say however, timing is everything and this is how we met Paige, label rep for Sunday Best Records.  After sharing a conversation at length and making new friends on the congested stairwell, surely a fire-marshals worst nightmare, I was told JW was hanging out upstairs if I felt like having a chat.  Removing ourselves as part-time human obstructions on the escalator, we hopped up the last few steps and popped through the doors.  What we were greeted by behind the merch table was a person resembling what could very well be the lovechild of Bob Ross and Agador.  Casually dressed in an Elmo hoody, baseball cap and funk specs, he gently tilted his head up in our direction and lit up the room with that bright and perfectly toothed smile that songs are likely written about, by himself.  Introducing JW Francis, aforementioned lovechild and entertainment for the evening.

Our first impression was, wow, probably the nicest person we’ve met in recent memory, we’ve heard some say ever.  Did you know he writes love songs for people upon request given they provide the reason why their loved one is indeed so loved they’re worthy of song?  Every year a few weeks before Valentines Day, mark the date!  We exchanged pleasantries and he asked how we were doing, we said it was a weird one today and full of coincidences.  We had just finished talking about the film Rubber, where a sentient tyre goes on a killing spree and the latest Simpsons Treehouse of Horror episode.  He then smiled wider, as if it were even possible, and lifted his Elmo hoody to expose a Simpsons’ t-shirt where they were all skeletons, no joke.  JW went on to say he’s glad we brought up The Simpsons because he would love to just sit down for a week and play 2003’s Simpsons – Hit & Run.

We learned that for the last two years, it’s been a particularly hectic time and it’s mainly been spent travelling without a place he can call a proper home.  He’s been bouncing around three points consistently; Paris, where his parental units live; Oklahoma where his grandma lives, and London because it’s London.  Not to mention New York, where he’s got a strong base.  JW is looking to set down roots though but there’s just too much to see.  We agree.  He’d also like to play everywhere, not just the places people go but where people live.  Our friend offered up Hull. JW: “I wanna go to places where people don't know me, they’ll say ‘hey, what are you doing here? Why did you come here?’ For you!”

Later in the evening as a call-back to our earlier conversation, he engaged the audience, something he’d be doing a lot of this evening and was genuinely skilled at; “I’m going touring and I’ll go to all kinds of places, like Hull!”  Almost without hesitation someone in the audience yelled out it was a shithole.  “Exactly!”, way to keep them on their toes.  JW started off the set by immediately going backstage as if to encore break, turns out his guitar hadn’t gotten the memo about the set.  On returning, he spent a good chunk of time giving shout outs to the audience and entourage before the set starter and the guitar was lost and found a la peekaboo.

Francis has effortless showmanship, charisma for days, making up for a lack of talent?  No, it’s there in buckets.  If you’d mentioned to some friends that you’d be watching a grown man hopping across the stage like a hairy frog in an Elmo hoody earlier that day, you’d likely be spending the evening in a room with padded walls and missing the gig entirely.  In the darkened Oslo however, the infectious positivity left no one unscathed and no light not blinking madly.  Even when track two, ‘Casino’ plays out.  “I've disappeared into an empty dark casino/I'm wondering what the song is where they say, "Su destino"/And no one knows I'm broke and breaking promises still/And that's what's in my comic books that I'm writing, Bill”.

It’s all sung with a ‘say yes, can-do’ attitude.  By the fourth track, JW played a new one, ‘Orbit’.  “This one’s about falling in love”, and so the audience did.  Francis, upon hearing the commotion, reminisced for a moment.  “London! I had a show a few years back, it had six people at it. Now, there are a whole lot more but, it's still expensive.’  True say, falling in love is expensive.  Stoking the crowd and engaging is never easy, especially when you notice the energy dipping, but energy never ends up dipping at his shows.  Track 11, ‘Dreamhouse’ reminded JW of an anecdote he felt compelled to share.  “Dreamhouse is a song about missing your Mom, but when she’s been in the audience for the past couple of shows yelling WOOOOO, it’s a bit difficult’.  The set was rocked with upbeat tunes like ‘Dream Big’ where Francis starts off by saying, “It’s the weekend, right? I dunno, I’ll play another instrument”.  It was Thursday and the instrument turned out to be a very tiny keyboard on a stool.  Throughout the evening, JW would attempt on at least four occasions to get the day of the week right which would ultimately prove a fruitless endeavour.

What he did do however, is give everyone the show they’d come to see, commentary, showmanship and skills to pay them bills.  Although you’d never know it from another anecdote we feel worth sharing.  If you didn’t know already, we certainly didn’t, Francis has a song on Rock Band 4 called ‘Going Home to a Party’.  “My song made it on Rock Band 4, but they don't make the controller anymore. I've beat it on hard at 98% but not expert, and I wrote it.”  Is this the part where we give you a moral to the review or suggest catching him on tour?  No, if you’re not convinced by the above we’re afraid to say nothing likely would convince you.  No, here’s the part where you get one final piece of advice to part with.  JW, “Don't call people right cunts walking around, thought it meant ‘hey bro’”.

Solar Corona

The Seabright Arms, London

Words & Pics by Captain Stavros 

Suppose one, much like you, were to reminisce about what’s synonymous with Portugal.  Rarely would one’s thoughts fall upon a Captain Lou Albano lookalike donning a ‘Black Wizards’ t-shirt with a guitar resting across their barrel chest as it’s furiously struck.  Enter José Roberto Gomes of Solar Corona.  We had the distinct pleasure of experiencing what a soul might feel like whilst fleeing the human body in the filthy basement of a pub with a too-low ceiling this fine bank holiday past.  If you, like us, have been living under a rock for the past nine years, you might not’ve been aware of this interdimensional cabal of musical warlocks joined by Lorr No (Nuno Loureiro) hitching a ride as their Dubmechanic.  Let’s dip into the inky ooze that was this night’s spectacular performance.

Like Tesla’s Ludicrous Mode and the gig was blast-off, 0-60 in 2.3 seconds.  José chimes in at the start of a largely instrumental set, 'this is our last tour so let's make it good'.  The other two times went something like this ‘this’ll be our last song’ and ‘we really have to go and catch our train!’  It was later confirmed after their set that they indeed had no immediate plans to tour for the rest of 2023 and that the train was leaving the station (not a euphemism).  Turn that frown upside down kiddos, there’s still a healthy back catalogue of tunes at your disposal.  The latest of which is their new album, Pace, and it absolutely slaps.  We’d recommend ‘Thrust’, our favourite off the album and of the set.

Largely described as ‘psyche-rock’, whatever that means anymore, there were certainly elements of ‘80s hair metal, metal-metal, and prog-rock meets dark wave floating around.  The sounds were as relentless as the flashing lights in their faces.  It sincerely comes as a great surprise that none of the band members stroked out to the flashing lights.  There were contortion back-bending bridges a-plenty from guitarist Rodrigo Carvalho but we couldn’t take our eyes off Jorge Esteves who played the drums like a creature stirring a cauldron.  Not to mention José’s little moustache dancing between his upper lip and nose like a magical pickle.  Throughout the set we kept checking our earplugs were still in because the sound was so -mega-.  My mates would look over so often and see my mouth moving, laugh and then yell, ‘WHAT?!’ Tinnitus-ville, population: everyone at this gig.

The gig was excellent, but the slow tracks dragged if we’re being honest, but on the flipside great opportunity to hit the head.  We’d have to say whoever designed the light show might’ve needed a re-up for their healthy dose of Ritalin as it was completely bonkers, totally unhinged and a complete distraction.  It’s hard to understand how they played through but that just speaks to the mechanical mastery of the troupe.  The Guardian called this band, ‘ones to watch’, we’d agree.  The anticipation before their set, and after Bloke’s, was palpable.  Best described as a band who’re like the back wheels of a car sliding out on a greasy roundabout; terrifying, but once you get the hang of it absolutely thrilling.

Ist Ist

@ Omeara, London

Words & Pics by Captain Stavros

We’re at Omeara for the first time and having just ordered a White Claw, served at room temperature for £7 quid, it left us wondering who even the fuck we are anymore?  To those bothering to look, probably an unrecognizable protoplasm cutting a dark, slim and brooding figure; Balzac deep in A Harlot High and Low.  Awaiting, excruciatingly we might add, through two of perhaps the worst opening acts in recent memory in a venue that reeked of fried eggs, the whole night through we leaned heavily against the wall.  Each act’s sound was worse than the last.  It left us thinking was Omeara’s sound-tech legally deaf, or were the bands just tone deaf?  Maybe both?  What in Christ would Ist Ist sound like?  We sincerely did not feel like sticking it out long enough to find out.  Surrounded by too-drunk, past-their-prime seniors pretending to be middle-aged men, wearing the band tees of the band they were here to see.

Just then we were reminded of a friend that not so long ago told me she swore by David Goggins’ philosophy, which had weaseled their way into our psyche with his ‘what if’ mentality.  What if we could make it through these two abysmal opening acts, defying all the odds, would it be worth it?  Hope is the last to die, so they say, and probably us along with it.  Inevitably, we held up our end of the deal and saw our commitments through to the bitter end, as always.  For one brief shining moment the sun shone upon us for it too.  In reality, it was the intelligent light system searing through our retinas.  Even so, with intensely directed light piercing through and sizzling our optic nerves, we managed to hold steady and witness a set worthy of hope.

Through what must’ve been arguably the greatest amount of fog used since the filming of The Mist appear Manchester’s favourite sons, Ist Ist, with just a splash of bravado.  The previous stage setups, clumsy and cluttered, strewn with keyboard alleys and telephone wired extension leads crawling across the floor, were now replaced.  In their stead, a cleared centre stage framed a relaxed setup in the same vein a smile would on Willem Defoe's face.  Mat’s, donning an epic Slow Drive tour tee by the way, pull up to a double stacked keyboard rig which looms phantom-esque stage right.  Adam’s guitar and Andy’s bass taking up center-left.  As usual, the drummer Joel, is left floating in the background like a ghoulish apparition with only his face and arms swinging around wildly throughout the set.

The 18-song set that ensues kicks off with ‘Stamp You Out’s gnarly down picking bass and Adam’s Paul Banks-esque vocals helped remedy a sore start with a set that would surely soar.  What they lack throughout the evening in a showy stage presence throughout their set, they more than make up for in the volume of quality songs played, sheer talent, and of course a fuckload of fog.  It was an incredible relief to realise it wasn’t in fact the venue’s sound, or the tech’s fault either, for the previous poor soundscapes.  Every instrument came through in crystal studio quality surround sound.  Neither vocals, percussion, keys or bass, which slapped as prominently as it did awesomely, interfered with one another.  The set design feels like an orchestra shoehorned into, well, a shoebox.  Real dark matter vibes, bruh.  It is, and will remain, exceptionally impressive.

Ist Ist effortlessly cruised through a set filtering through their back catalogue as much as promoting their latest, Protagonist, released just last month on Violence Records, without so much as breaking a sweat.  Their sound lays somewhere between metal and grunge, Soundgarden chic?  Even as an interloper at a gig surrounded by die-hard fans, it wasn’t difficult to fall in step whilst enjoying ourselves, guilt free, in the sullen inclusivity that still managed to bring about an uplifting experience.  You don’t want to be left without a chair when the music stops.

Ist Ist are touring now.

Slow Readers Club

Academy, Dublin

The last time our paths crossed with Slow Readers Club, they were an independent band peddling their second album.  One major label deal and three charting LPs later, they are headlining Dublin’s Academy and have developed their sound to suit the larger venues they are accustomed to these days.

We arrive early for Amy Montgomery.  People were raving about her after her headline set at Vantastival in September.  It’s a different gig opening for an established act when you don’t have your normal stage set up and lighting.  We’re pleasantly surprised to see Nolan Donnelly, guitar player/producer from Mosmo Strange, take the stage to kick off Montgomery's introduction.  The Northern Irish singer emerges in front of the sparse crowd but sings as if the room were full, dropping onto her back after the first chorus.  It's a classic rock sound that manages to avoid the cliché-ridden pitfalls that can overcome such bands.  Montgomery and Co continue to kick out the jams for 35 minutes of hard rock screamer mayhem.  We make a note to follow up with their next headline gig.

The crowd swells ahead of Slow Readers Club.  Tonight isn’t sold out but you’d be hard pressed to tell from the size of the crowd.  They’re that indie band that becomes a dance groove band when they start playing bigger venues, and you won’t hear any complaints from this corner.  Aaron Starkie’s voice fills the venue from the front row to the back of the bar.  The band have had commercial success in the UK but have yet to make a mainstream impact in Ireland. Nonetheless there are hundreds of people here singing back the lyrics. It’s a noticeably older crowd here, suggesting a love of Manchester indie bands rather than a commercial influence.  It's indicative of our globalised world but also of Ireland’s close links with the UK.  Slow Readers Club have the crowd enraptured from the opening bars of their first tune and manage to maintain it throughout the set.

Pairing SRC with Amy Montgomery is a bit of a mismatch.  Montgomery’s set is all flashing lights, eye catching makeup, flailing dreads, and vocal acrobatics while SRC let the music do the heavy lifting.  The stage is relatively undecorated, the lighting plain, and the band barely move.  It’s the audience’s engagement with the songs that pumps energy into the room.  It’s an approach one can respect but we’d rather the balls-to-the-wall, last night on earth performance that the support act gave.

The headliners break out the big tunes late in the set and the audience's response sakes the jelly in our eyes.  The Dublin following is fervent as becomes obvious after ‘On The TV’.  After the songs finishes, the audience sings back the refrain with such resolve that the band join in and improvise a new reprise for the tune.  It’s a wonderful moment and the smiles spread through the room, on stage and off, culminating in a mass of applause and cheers.

It's refreshing after covid to hear the terrace style chant ringing out.  It’s no surprise when the band have a decade of live experience and bring it all to bear on a foreign audience that has been starved of their presence for at least three years.  It's probably only covid that has restricted this band to a venue the size of the Academy.  It would be no surprise to see them opening arena tours very soon.  Check out their tunes and catch them while they’re affordable and hungry.