Photo:
When you turn up to a gig expecting to be on the guest list, only to find you’re name isn’t down, the bouncers generally look at you as if you just asked to borrow their wallet. Or their wife. At the Windmill, the staff run around trying to sort the problem out while you prop up the bar. It’s all ridiculously friendly, which fits with the atmosphere of tonight’s show. Peggy Sue decided the best way to promote their new EP was to play four gigs on consecutive nights in London’s four compass points, tonight being the southern section of said mini-tour. With musical friends joining the fun, it feels so much like an indie birthday party you half expect organic cake to be handed out.
Scroobius Pip is the evening’s first big draw with a short set of spoken word showcasing the lyrical prowess that is sometimes lost when he teams up with Dan Le Sac’s backing beats. ‘The Physical Embodiment of Music Part Two’ proves a highlight, mingling couplets of menacing bile with snippets of chortle-inducing drollness.
With lines about beatboxing with Jacques Chirac sharply following meanderings regarding the criminal activity of the Post Office, he’s as irreverent as he is charming. Ending on album title-track ‘Angles’, complete with glasses, ties and caps for props, the acute appeal of this talented wordsmith shines through the gimmicks and the beard, revealing social perception deserving of a far grander soapbox. Perhaps, though, it’s flourishing because it isn’t yet receiving the attention it warrants.
Next, Slow Club are far less challenging. A boy, a girl and a smattering of smiley songs, they’re more twee than a lumberjack with a speech impediment. The tag has been a sticking point with many bands, but their Tilly and the Wall-esque tales of quirky quarrels and incidental incidents almost define the term.
Beautifully stripped melodies and relaxed personas add to the appeal of ‘When I Go’, with chuckles as regular as missed notes and neither detracting from the overall effect of vacant loveliness. The watching hordes, hand holding aplenty, are gently cajoled into approval by sneakily catchy choruses and an overall carefree sense of fun. They sound one hook away from being memorably good, but tonight settle for being quietly impressive.
Peggy Sue move swiftly into their giggly, giddy set, commanding attention with an array of tinkling, swaying ditties. Their pop sensibilities override, but intertwine with mild eccentricity, the overriding sensation of onstage enjoyment diffusing into the crowd situated just inches away. ‘Superman’ manages to be almost poignant despite being an ode to a comic book character who only wishes “to have the right to wear my pants underneath my tights”. Ok, it’s verging on silly, but there’s a sensitivity seeping through too, underpinned by Rosa Rex and Katy Klaw’s secret self-awareness that they are talented. A solemn take on ‘Escargot’ from the Body Parts EP adds depth, but soon the duo are joined by more members of their revolving backing line-up and celebratory mood returns.
How a whole album of material would hold up remains a mystery; the balance between stylish songwriting and throwaway pleasure is nailed at this welcoming pub, but is untested on a larger scale. Nevertheless, while they remain on their current level, such uncomplicated loveliness is easy to embrace.
