The show takes place in the tiny basement of the Rossi Bar, Brighton. No framed Vogue covers here.
So there is a line from the august publication Brighton and Hove News that tallies with my feelings about witnessing Brighton band ism tonight:
“Right from the get-go on the opening track ‘Going Mad’, the theatricality of Tyra’s half-sung, half-shaken vocal collides with her cohorts engaging in Pavement-like soundplay, laden with glam rock tendencies.”
Yeah, that’s about it. The word ‘Pavement’ had crept into my thoughts somehow, mostly while I was avoiding catching Tyra’s eye (she has a most disconcerting trick of staring audience members full in the face until someone blinks or lowers their head). Something to do with predisposition.
Indie, circa when I worked for The Stranger (1998), certainly. Strange rhythmical music.
Theatrical, sure: one version of this review started with the line “In 2018, I saw the final 30 seconds of a set from Brighton band Porridge Radio, the review of which caused headlines across the land…“ before I collapsed in a heap of overused cliche (I have used that opening around 300 times by now), even though ism – particularly Tyra – remind me strongly of the Radio (also, my former band-mate Danya), the way they (she) are so indeed theatrical and simultaneously vulnerable, the passion and hurt barely hidden underneath the layers of humour and inverse confrontation. I think of the way Dan Treacy would veer between good times and the bleak, sadness and upset. Childlike.
As the Brighton and Hove News has it, “moments of silence […] finding their way in-between sections, leaving the audience to hang on every word that comes out of Tyra’s mouth” – fuck yeah! Silence, my favourite musical instrument, used to devastating effect tonight, creating ease and unease – none more so than on the one where Tyla instructs audience members to sit down and enjoy the love before the band rips into the heaviest number of the night, full on metal thrash.
There is a disconnect between the singer and band, but I feel this is to everyone’s advantage. The name can be presaged by any number of words, depending on mood (tonight, the band is in winter mood, with way too many layers of clothing for comfort).
I’m not sure about the name.
Theatrical, and glam rock, sure: often, I am reminded of the opening song (‘Do The Strand’) on Roxy Music’s mind-expanding 1973 album For Your Pleasure, the relish with which vowels are sounded, guitars are shaken. Distorted chaos and naked beauty. The greatest live band of 2025 that you’re never going to see: so good, I needed to start drinking alcohol (I never drink alcohol these days) straight after, to keep the dopamine levels at a high. Did I buy some merch?
Fuc ky eah.
eat-girls were equally as splendid, very differently. Cool, angular, minimal, electronic.
As Visit Brighton has it,
“eat-girls are a three-piece band from France, carefully crafting songs in their apartment. Through many genres, pop, post-punk, minimal synth, kraut, dub. These songs work through their train of thought and, akin to a dream, paint obsessing and intriguing shapes.”
Yeah, good on ya Visit Brighton – sometimes, I’m reminded of the overt New Wave sexuality of my early Eighties sweethearts Elli et Jacno, although I do feel my desciption of Karaocake also applies:
“a disconsolate French girl intoning break-up scenarios over the electrical appliances let loose on the kitchen table from Gregory’s Girl”.
Except there are three eat-girls and one appears to be male (on the bass thang). And I have no idea whatsoever if they’re singing about break-up scenarios (I doubt it).
They are both haunting and inviting: dancing the sort of dance you want to dance both in secret and in public, your steps tracing back hidden times and forgotten trysts. Mischievous, stumbling, delicate. I love it when two of the three voices come together and create a fourth. Charming, in the way The Gist are.
Full shout-out to Anna at Melting Vinyl (as ever) for promoting the event.