After a while, a personal search for music becomes an adiction or an obsession. Recently, I've attempted to direct my vision to local arenas. Where is the real music in Oxford? Where do the unheard, underground bands play? My veins cry out for relief. Well, I can at least tell you where they DONT play: The Carling Academy for one. If you want to hear local bands before they dissolve away, or before they dissapear behind the inhuman wall of fame, while their expression is still honest and fresh, then you have to look elsewhere besides the main venues. It's any music writers dream to attend a catalist gig. For example, the famous Sex Pistols gig of 1979 provoked revelation for the small few who were there. Essentially, punk and indie began at that exact moment. These small events can change perception and understanding of music, it can spark off purpose, something imminent and original.One of Oxford's local pubs, the Port Mahon has already acquired a reputation for hosting unknown bands, I thought it was about time I paid them a visit and see first hand the Oxford scene while it occurs instead of being overselective. Maybe something might happen, maybe not it doesn't much matter. What really matters is the expression, the art and the need to join an honest cause.
Everyone that played deserves a mention. No band performed half heartly or without true intent. Each one made their own mark. I must have been the only person there who didn't know anyone from the bands performing and still, I felt welcomed. It was a raw, DIY, garage evening (call it what you will). The mix was unbalanced and shredded, so long as the volume and the distortion stayed loud we wouldn't notice. The first band, opened the night on a reflective air. Made up of two guitarists and drums, Von Braun build up a strong ensemble. It was slow, intellectual grunge; but without the whiny, teenage self-projection. They were mature and incontrol of their sound while displaying selfconfession in tear drop of sadness. I especially liked the close harmonies of both voices and the concentration on the poetry (sometimes, simply speaking the lyrics can be very powerful) Each track had something in it, unique, understated and layered. It left me wondering whether there was a lot more bellow the surface.
And now for something more upbeat... The Gullivers. Choatic, fast paced and lightheaded. Unfortunetly, the singer couldn't sing for shit, but who cares. Like Ian Curtis or Bob Dylan or any other indie singer for that matter his voice contained character and attitude that fits their style. Accuracy seems pale in comparisson to expression. They got the most reaction out of any other band, leaving a positive and satisfying affect behind. Also, the female drummer added something subtle and beautifully femine that you couldn't get, well... without a girl. It was the song "chemicals" that stood out for me. Lyrical and painfully catchy, one you'd release really.
The Blitz Cartel, despite what the bandname promotes, were the weakest set of the night. They couldn't keep together and their drummer was like a 4 year old who'd been given a kit for christmas. Clearly, they enjoyed playing and this is what kept me on their side. A few promising moments, but also some apaulingly obvious section changes. To say they were the weirdest trio of the evening is not against their favour.
The last group closed everything on a high. Certainly the most acomplished and highest membered of all the bands the evening produced, The Sequins brightly soared and with only half the total audience staying to see it. They played in offbeat rhythms, stop and start guitar riffs, all perectly in sinc. The skill and simple love of what they did was evident. I couldn't help but love the guitarist. His ability was without doubt, it was eccentric and stylised. The singer however... stop for a moment, and imagine if the Libertines ditched Pete and dragged in Jonny from Razorlight. It's a near enough description. I can't say mean things however; the poor guys had to put together the whole set after The Blitz Cartel, in a moment of "Rock n' Roll", trashed the stage and then just walked out into the croud and stood around. Punk? Not really, just plain fucking amusing.
It was at about this point that the drink had distorted my tiny brain and I headed home only to recollect now the evening gone. Without a doubt, Oxford does have something great going on, an enticing subculture. The underground scene, although not exactly how I pictured it, is apparent and alive as ever. As overwhelming as it is to think about, there's so much to get into.
