More about: Bob Vylan

What is the point in music? Seriously. If an alien who had never so much as hummed a tune landed on Earth and saw how much time, money and commentary is pumped into music, how would we explain to them what the point of it all is? Why is the Mercury Prize so sought after? Why did Curtis Mayfield record New World Order after his accident one line at a time and on his back? Why, after centuries of tunes, do we continue to look for something new? The answer, I believe, lies in Bob Vylan. 

London Bridge is as busy as you would expect. Crowds in The Wheatsheaf push me to the confides of a freezing cold beer garden. The Shard looms high in night and lights from Borough market start dying. There’s a mix here, as is always the case in Central London, different colours and creeds, the suits the squares and the socialites, flocking together for an end of the week drink and an exchange of sorry mate, cheers mate, mind if I get by, anyone sitting there and so on. 

Drinks drunk and clocks edging further towards show time, a couple of people begin to leave and head towards Omeara. Here’s where Bob Vylan are playing one of the last shows in what has been a marathon of energy put on by the good people at War Child. The likes of Rina Sawayama, Kojey Radical, The 1975 and more have come together to perform at intimate venues for a good cause and tonight, to top it off, Bob Vylan are going to shake Central London more than an overground or underground ever could. 

An upfront bouncer asks me if I have a bag before patting me down and tutting when I tell him the thing he feels in my coat are cigarettes. Omeara looks like a fancy venue stripped of the fanciness. Chipped walls and pillars surround a small stage looking withdrawn, as if fancy paintwork and impractical lighting rigs have been torn down to get to the heart of the venue. You stand in the skeleton, the foundation that memories are built on, no gimmicks, just good sound. 

Cans of red stripe and bottles of wine stack up under an illuminated sign with drink options, cans almost collapsing as bass bangs and kick drum corrupts during sound check. The room is packed with people young and old from different walks of life. To your right is a 20-something year old with a Little Simz hoodie on. To your left is an old couple wearing worn out denim. Everyone drinks, everyone fills the room with atmosphere like the thin line of smoke that fills the ceiling. The lights dim and anticipation builds. A man comes on stage dressed in all black, hair shaved on the sides and growing wildly on top, thick black glasses and a demeanour more welcoming than a rock classic. He grabs the mic, stares down the crowd and screams, “what is going on?!” 

Omeara is small, so sound that would usually pack a punch damn near knocks you out. It doesn’t come from Bob Vylan to start with, rather the cheers of the crowd as the two take to the stage. Bob gets behind his drums and Bob grabs the mic, starting the set with light stretching and meditation, which the crowd join in with. Afterwards, it’s bobble out, hair locked and loaded, limber and loud. It begins with ‘Big Man’, the mic breaks for the first line but a warmed-up crowd help out with a concrete hills filled with lavender mantra. 

The next hour is the best live music I’ve ever seen in my life. To properly explain the magnitude of this gig, I need to go against what Bob said during the set. In between tracks, thanking the crowd for coming out, he asked “why waste time with words when we can waste time with music?” I could describe the gig song for song, talk about the quality of the performance and call it a day, but to properly explain the impact of this show, I need to not waste time with the music and do it with words instead. 

What is the point in music? Depends on who you ask. For some it’s background noise to do work to. Others use it convey love. For some it’s rage. It’s expression and emotion and something that can’t be constricted to a page. Some view it as perfect for isolation. Others see community. It’s happiness and sadness and love and anguish. It’s the art form that continues to give and surprise. To break and to heal. What is the point in music? 

That night in Omeara I saw every element of what makes music so relevant. Bob Vylan are political, there is no doubt about it. Burn Britannia, kill the queen, we live here, things are changing, you can’t fight change, turn off the radio, I heard you want your country back? No matter what spin you put on it, the core subject is rage and politics. That was conveyed to the fullest extent. To the crowd singing along, middle fingers going up with “shut the fuck up” and Bob’s speeches in between dedicating tracks to “that terrible fucking woman they stuffed in the ground last year.” The anger and politics sitting at the heart of their music is more present than ever, and this is a cornerstone of the art forms development. The ability to express and create a message, to take feeling and put it into something more tangible, making the subjective objective with the bang of guitar strings. Poetic rage. 

There is love present as well though. The crowd is one of mosh pits and anger but built around a structure of unity. Water is passed around in between songs, gig-goers gather on stage for the finale and arms are stretched out to help others, there is even a chant for life-long fan ‘Alec’ who Bob brings up mid set to congratulate on his engagement before offering to officiate the wedding. This crowd love Bob Vylan and that manifests in a love for one another, present throughout the entire set. 

There is isolation. As the set begins and people are encouraged to meditate and stretch, it’s a period to look inward to a post-punk soundtrack. They zone out and eventually come back round revitalised and rejuvenated.

There is togetherness. More so than I’ve seen in any previous gig. In Mo Meta Blues, Questlove writes, “toward the end of 1982, Michael Jackson had released Thriller. That’s both a straightforward statement of fact and the beginning of an amazing, almost magical sociological process. Over the course of the next year, Thriller was everywhere. It became inescapable. It was, for a little while, American life, and during the year that it occupied the center of popular culture, it united everyone. Who liked Thriller? You did. White people, black people, skinny people, fat people, straight people, gay people, punks, rockers, hip-hop kids, thugs, nerds. You. Everyone alive.”

"What is the point in music? I could try and explain it but it’s much easier to just go to a Bob Vylan gig..."

This is a togetherness brought on by music that will probably never be experienced again thanks to the way that we now consume it. The radio and the charts don’t matter as much, if there are songs you want to hear and songs you don’t want to hear, you can include or neglect them as much as you please. Chances are, we’re never going to experience the same hype that surrounded albums like 1999, Thriller and What’s Going On? But god damn it, that night in Omeara we came fucking close. 

Ages young and old gathered and danced and laughed and were united in rage-driven get down. Metal heads and punks and grime fans and hip-hop heads all came together to love a band who celebrate the versatility of sound. Aggression met love and loneliness met togetherness. Honestly, I’m worried I’ll never see anything like it again. 

Bob Vylan are one of the best acts making music and the best live act on the scene right now. Whatever you think the point of music is, at some point that night they and everyone else in the room embodied it. It was a perfect set. From stage presence to actual execution, there isn’t a second of it I can fault. Even when the vibrations became too heavy and it fucked with the playlist, the way it was dealt with and the response of the crowd only added to the positive energy. 

So, what is the point in music? I could try and explain it but it’s much easier to just go to a Bob Vylan gig. After all, why waste any more time with words? 

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More about: Bob Vylan