Adventures In The UK Underground
Even when the night doesn’t go to plan, grassroots shows offer the kind of surprises that keep you coming back.
‘Shacklewell Arms, anyone?’
I pose to the group chat. I type this in bored of myself and my suggestions, having spent the last couple of years sequestering to the four tentpoles of London music venues and taking preference over a boozy night in the smokers of Shacklewell Arms. It’s gotten to the point where the group discussion in the aforementioned smoker’s area has propelled us to miss the actual band we came to see, the bass and drone filling out to the garden area, partially peeved as I realise how good they sound live, how much better it’d be if we just got up and walked round the corner to be in front of them, but it’s OK; we’re definitely going to catch them when they’re next playing live.
I go onto my music streaming app and listen to the same new up and coming acts I’ve been listening to for the past five years. Except Black Country, New Road have accumulated a dedicated, international fandom full of niche references I no longer understand, Sorry recently opened for Fontaines DC for a string of shows across the UK and English Teacher are the latest recipients of the Mercury Prize. And the new acts I’ve been interested in, I’ve somehow missed catching live on a basis that is sickeningly consistent. The next show date is indefinite. The pursuit of following small bands whilst they balance bar or coffee jobs in the day and musicians by night. The conditions we exist upon, to the ever more expensive London, results in these sparse beginnings that were always present but contribute to the ongoing discussion about accessibility in the music space; who gets to live out their dreams?
I head to The Greyhound, a swift walk from my new flat, seemed the perfect place to start this series of grassroot gig ethnographies. A set of ominous stairs leading you down to the basement, sort of feeling as if we’d arrived at the wrong place. Upstairs, a pub quiz with a meagre four teams and a surprisingly large prize pot that has enticed me enough to start looking for quiz team recruits.
Behind the night is Bowl Cut records, a London via Leeds set up helmed by artist/curator Ben Sargent, putting on events that platform emerging musicians. First up is the duo Watch Paint Dry, who have been a steady fixture in my listening, discovering their EP ‘Butlinland’. An attraction to the act is their D.I.Y Lo-fi aesthetic across their visuals, pinned with British nostalgia points. We stand, applauding their sound check before we were aware of this being a sound check before one half of the duo proclaims, ‘This is just a soundcheck, by the way’. Condensed to a guitar and a banjo, the set is what I’d imagine, a stripped back endearing, pleasant collection of tracks that take me back to a time of CBeebies and going to the playground after school. It feels impossible not to smile as Elsie Plimmer sings about aged horse bones. Naked Brunch are up next, a quartet that are promising and eclectic in their baroque tinted rock. It is a reminder of the joys in walking into a gig blind and walking away with the pleasant surprise of an act you find yourself relishing in and wanting to immediately dig into their discography. I was sold by the mere presence of the violin and convinced by the end of the set to listen to their debut album ‘Plague Dance’, released in 2024. The joint vocal works were evocative and engaging, best showcased on the track ‘Leather’. Another reason to see them live in a solo show setting is due to a reoccurring offence I am consistently the victim of, the affectionate couple. Usually stood in front of me, canoodling and pressing their heads together in a show of love that obstructs my view of the stage. Making matters worse, they were talking. Will I ever find my pre-Covid concert experience? My attention span zeroes in on this little chin wag before I find a new angle to crow my neck at and observe the band with, sans interference.
The night pivots when we go up after the second act. Amongst our general conversation, my hunger is vocalised by my friend who echoes their own hunger, and the conversation quickly switches to good food places in Peckham and Camberwell. I’d been surviving off an overpriced Cheese and Onion pastie and forced will power that was waning by the minute. All of this to say, we did not complete the intended course of the night, and old habits die hard, infamously. At least Animal Soup and NO become names added onto the list of people I’ll proactively try and see live before the end of the year.
A different ending to what I’d imagine to the first of multiple ethnographies, nonetheless, I was present. To turn up to grassroot labels and shows is to involve oneself in the crux of the music industry. To be one of fourteen that could blossom into four hundred over the next couple of years. This fatigued sentiment that new music is dead or dying is found in laziness; it’s everywhere and stimulating, waiting to be discovered. Community radio stations and local collectives putting on nights at ubiquitous bars and pubs. YouTube channels dedicated to recording sets at these tiny venues showcase a plethora of artists who are doing something different. Even in writing this series of articles is an act of upholding artists, whether they are to my liking or not. The avenues for discovery are bountiful. It’s up to yourself to find it.