Nuha Ruby Ra

@ The Moth Club

Words & Pics by Captain Stavros

The horseshoe-shaped booth at the foot of the stage at the Moth, our go-to clubhouse for one, is occupied by a group of human fossils this time around. These lot have been around long enough to know a good spot when they see it, and luckily for us, they are as friendly as they are savvy, letting us rest our weary bones for we’ll need all our strength during Nuha Ruby Ra’s set tonight. We first spot Nuha on the frontlines in the audience beckoning the crowd forward during the support acts (End of Europe/Miss Tiny), closing the gap and blurring the boundaries between performers and spectators. The theme on stage this evening is gothic birthday party (curly ribbons and black/red balloon bouquets) celebrating Ruby’s day and tour.

Sets run late but eventually the Ra and what looks like a gang of extras from the set of The Warriors start setting up their kit. An oblong copper ring suspended on a stand above a box with a cowbell inside of it looks like The Eye of Sauron; grabbing our attention, and holding it. Imagine a love child between a theremin, a belt buckle and a birdhouse. An LED flood strobes and bathes the entire stage in lightning blue whilst a mesh-clad, beret-wearing saxophonist empties their spit valve as they float through scales, is this a band warm up or an ‘80s softcore sex scene? Answers are no clearer when Nuha comes out during sound check clutching a bugle and rocking Morpheus’ sunglasses. It appears the band is having issues sound-checking her twin mics. Naturally, only she can decipher how to turn on her mics and her audience alike.

Where have this lot come from? Not much info there pre-2023, seemingly they’ve materialized out of thin air. Going into a gig space blank is our forte, mostly, we want to remain impartial. Making all the connections and digging in deeper is strictly a post-show MO for us. Watching Ruby on stage with her six bandmates reminded us of the time we caught up with Black Country, New Road (RIP kinda) about 5 years ago, only to find during our deep dive that none other than Andy Savours in fact produced their new single ‘Fetish 2 Forget’. Both were/are sleepers but quickly gained traction and notoriety. If living bare chested legend Iggy Pop (BBC 6) and Goat Girl are longtime fans we’re certainly here for it.

Having played a plethora of prestigious festivals both on home turf and abroad including Glastonbury,SXSW, The Great Escape, Green Man, Wide Awake, Manchester Psych Fest, Levitation (FR), Grauzone (NL) and several more, as well as having previously supported Self Esteem, Yard Act, Warmduscher, King Gizzard and the Lizard Wizard and Viagra Boys. Following a string of mini releases, two EPs and a few singles, both momentum and pressure are building in equal measures for this much hyped artist.

Back on stage, the set opens with noise track, ‘Cure For Tired Business Men’, followed by ‘Sparky’ where the sax goes to work. “Experiment, experiment with each other” allocates Nuha into dual mics; the experiment from where we’re sitting is certainly producing favourable results of which honky-tonk samples and hushed and luscious saxy tones top the list. Outside of ourselves (strictly business kids) no one is on their phone, which is saying a lot. The audience is fully engaged in this lattice of aurality while the oblong copper ring is fondled with a couple of snare brushes by a mulleted maestro. We’re still not sure we can hear it but we’re certainly paying attention.

‘Rise’, is instantly recognizable. The music essentially sounds like the collapse of civilization; thrilling, entertaining and frightful all at the same time. The bass is completely discombobulating, accompanied by keys whose deep synth reverberations shake our teeth in our skull and concentration alike. Psych visuals, provided by Mate Koi, bleep, bloop, blip, and splash across the stage along with sound devices of unknown origins to mortal ears. The set confuses in as much as it captivates.

The performance was as exceptional as it was enigmatic. After each song, we got a tiny peak behind the inner workings that is Nuha’s mind, ‘2-7-4’ would be repeated, a numerical mantra, and that would be it. Were they thinking of a bus route they’d need to follow to return to parts unknown or a storage locker combination? The cipher would remain a mystery. “What does punk mean? It doesn't mean whatever you think it means.” Although these snippets come from a stream of consciousness seemingly untethered to reality. Ruby is fully present and reigns in control when necessary. Although the audience is off the hook throughout the performance, the same can’t be said for the band. Ra works both solo and with bandmates but her work is her own, so tread lightly. On more than one instance eye daggers were thrown or an abrupt gesture used to snuff out a rogue solo or transition from accompanying bandmates (so much for experimenting with each other).

Even though Nuha informed us that she’d had lost her voice at the beginning of the tour, the extra husky tones worked a treat, but their set was now drawing to a close. “How much longer have we got, 15 minutes?” The reply, from the audio-tech came, “1 more song”. Two were played ‘Run Run’ and ‘Hookah Chalice’ before the house lights came on forcing a conclusion. Seemingly, Ruby has fallen from the sky, but so does lightning. "Nuha Ruby Ra is set to begin her trailblazing quest of what may be her breakout year – dismiss her at your peril." - Clash

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.