Gig Review: Nation of Lanuage At Roundhouse

Nation of Language lit up a venue built for moments exactly like this.

Before moving to London a few months ago, I had written a list of places I desperately wanted to visit while being a temporary resident. The list is living and keeps growing with museums, restaurants, and of course music venues. However near the top of said list is a venue that has always taken place within the top ten. 

Forgive me for a quick history lesson of the Roundhouse, one of which I gave myself a few days before my visit. Originally built in 1846, the Roundhouse has gone through many definitions over the years. Beginning as a train repair depot and known for its conical roof, it became a symbol of Camden’s industrial persona. It even got a nod from Charles Dickens in his novel “Dombey & Son.” However, through many years of changes and a war, the Roundhouse soon found itself a place for the arts, with the help of a playwright, Arnold Wesker. During the golden age of rock-n-roll, Wesker curated some of the most legendary shows at his newly renamed “Centre 42.” Acts including some of my favorites; the Doors, Jimi Hendrix, and Led Zeppelin. 

All that to say, the Roundhouse is arguably considered hallowed ground for music. 

As I walked into the venue, craning my neck to peer up into the conical dome, I got goosebumps. It’s probably one of the coolest looking venues I’ve been to and one fitting for a band like Nation of Language. 

I arrived in time to catch the opener, Westerman. Fresh off his new album release, A Jackal’s Wedding, Westerman took us through an evocative and mesmerizing journey through his new album. As he began to sing ‘Nevermind,’ a couple next to me sang every word as the rest of the audience near me fell still, listening to every word he sang. But I think his song ‘About Leaving’ hit me the most, as I have kept listening to it days after the gig. 

Westerman finished his set and the crowd shifted forward. I thought I had made the mistake of popping out to get a drink between sets. The pit had become so dense, there was no way I was making my way back to my original spot near the front of the stage. However as National of Language made their way out and started off their night, I realized another advantage of the Roundhouse. Throughout the gig, I moved along the outside of the center, getting to experience Nation of Language and their light show from different angles. The venue was meant for sound and lights. 

Nation of Language took us through their new album Dance Called Memory with addictive energy. From my view from the outer regions of the floor, it looked as if the mass of people moved as one to the lights and sound. The band was surrounded by eight giant flood lights. Frontman Ian Devaney even quipped that the “rotisserie lights made them honest”, alluding to the heat they probably gave off. As they played an older favorite of mine, ‘Weak in Your Light’, I looked up as the rotisserie lights flashed against the top of the dome, then back down to the light hitting faces in the crowd. Don’t think I saw anyone feeling weak. 

Despite their song ‘Inept Apollo’ being about feeling imposter syndrome, the “honest” truth is that Nation of Language is a band that was meant to play alongside the ghosts of rock-n-roll past at the Roundhouse. Devaney described playing his first London show (different band) at a place down the road called The Bar Fly, and how awesome it felt to now play at the Roundhouse. So much so, the band played a few extra songs during an encore. Don’t think they wanted the Roundhouse feeling to end. Neither did the crowd, who kept asking for one more song. 

The night did have to end, but not before a quick advertisement from Aidan Noell (synthesizer, backing vocals), and Alex MacKay (bass guitar) about their bandmate Devaney’s barista skills being put to the test the following day at Rough Trade East. “He makes a mean Cortado.” 

So before staggering into my early guitar class the following morning, I made my way to Rough Trade East for the celebrity barista shift. Your bandmates were right, that was a mean cortado.