It is Bank
Holiday Monday morning and as I write this, a cover of Future Islands’ ‘Seasons
(Waiting on You)’ is playing on repeat on my laptop. “Seasons change and I try hard just to soften
you.” It’s something about the rhythm of
that line that keeps me returning to it. It might be how it forms a metrical palindrome in the way the stresses fall. I imagine a mirror, or pivot, between ‘try’ and
‘hard’, and a great blossoming from its centre, rather than from left to right. Its content adds emotion to its appeal, but
its structure has a symmetry and simplicity that’s as pure and as honest as a
blush. It is one of the most beautiful first lines
in music and it is being sung by Rebecca Taylor of Slow Club.
The song is
a tapestry rich with feeling that Slow Club delicately weave their own brand of
richness through. The Future Islands original was the soundtrack to last June’s
family trip to Gdansk in Poland and I am transported back there every time I
hear it. My brother hears it from the living
room and and sings along in a voice that is much better than mine. Almost a year on, this version has renewed my
interest in the song, and I play it on repeat by way of apology, as a Slow Club
fan, because before today I have never heard this version of it before. It reminds me of the time when a friend
played Joanna Newsom’s ‘Flying a Kite’ to me for the first time. We were in our mid-twenties and on a long
drive from Gloucester to Gosport to visit another school friend who had
introduced us to her music. I had
already seen Newsom perform in the open air of Somerset House and had gone some
way towards accepting, if not fully understanding, the complexities of her
magnum opus that is ‘Ys’, her second album, before the elusive ‘Flying a Kite’
reached me. It’s pre-Milk Eyed Mender Newsom – an ostensibly untrained, high-pitched
voice that’s teeming with raw youth that’s hard to recreate - and it hit me
like a sucker punch.
I last saw Slow Club in February 2015 at my beloved
Gloucester Guildhall. I asked my good pal and blogger Simon
if he wanted to come along and like the great gig buddy that he is, he obliged
as rigorously as the Churchill dog on speed. On that night in February,
Charles Watson and Rebecca Taylor were joined by drummer Avvon Chambers and
Guillemots’ own Fyfe Dangerfield. Although the gig was very modestly
attended, it was a revelation. I was struggling to come to terms with the
poor turnout, but I knew how big and richly-textured the Slow Club sound was
and I was excited on Simon’s behalf, knowing that he was about to hear their
sound for the first time. They did not disappoint: the four-piece
captured the enormity and intimacy of ‘Complete Surrender’, their incredible
third album, in a way I could only dream of. Taylor’s vocals blew back
the hair of her doting fans with one pitch-perfect performance after another,
while Charles slowed down proceedings with the likes of ‘Paraguay and Panama’
and ‘Number One’, whose voice has evolved and matured as well as
Rebecca’s. It ended with a fantastically mellow acoustic performance of
‘The Pieces’ that saw the whole band take to the audience floor and the duet
sing together. It’s at around that time, as they stood only a few feet
away from us, that Simon joined me in by falling in love with them. For
at least four months after that gig, I didn’t listen to anything else but Slow
Club. We’ve been talking about them ever since.
I
was a little happier this time – we were amongst a capacity or near-capacity
crowd in The Lantern, the oldest part of Bristol’s Colston Hall. In
December, Simon had driven us to Wolverhampton see Courtney Barnett against
rain so doggedly persistent that it made us think that it didn’t want us to get
there. It hadn’t been an easy journey. Think Withnail and Marwood’s
drive to Penrith and you’re along the right lines. Lashing rain,
bone-chilling coldness, motorway closures and a speed camera all played a part,
which resulted in a missing the support act, but Courtney Barnett put on a
wonderful show and I left with a new
favourite song. Although the weather has been rather
changeable as of late, we got lucky on Saturday night. It offered up the
perfect driving conditions – worthy of sunglasses at seven and warm enough for
a t-shirt when we left the venue at eleven.
We
stood in admiration for Charles and Rebecca. It was just the two of them
this time, and they seemed much more at ease in front of a bigger audience and
new songs in tow. Rebecca was still wearing her Sheffield Wednesday shirt
from the playoff final earlier that day. Her team had lost to Hull and in
doing so had failed to gain promotion to the top tier, but it didn’t seem to
dampen her spirits. Quite the opposite in fact: they were both on fine
form musically, and they both had a stake in the banter, although Rebecca was
characteristically the chattier one. It occurred to me about half way
through their performance just how strong these musicians had become in their
own right. They are two forces of nature: both fiercely talented, both
with a strong work ethic and both with enough confidence in their abilities to
continue the climb to the peak. The number of outstanding songs they
already have in their repertoire is remarkable. And I haven’t even spoken
about the new one yet.
Oh,
the new songs! Oh, the beautifulness of it all! The whole gig had a
stripped-back feel to it and the sound of their new material was in keeping
with that model. We were treated to half a dozen or so new numbers and
they all clarified what we know so far: that Slow Club are a band intent on
evolving. I don’t want to be the one to sink the adjective boat, but
their new songs felt lush and hypnotic and otherworldly and they had a
self-assurance about them. Most of the new material sounded as if they
came from another land, and that may well be producer Matthew E. White’s
American influence, or it may be the direction Slow Club chose themselves, or a
combination of the two. I spoke to Charles at the merchandise stand
afterwards and I told him how much enjoyed one of his songs. It was a
solo number that seemed to roll along as easily as if it were taken on a
breeze. It felt like a song completely at ease with itself and I was
reminded of Villagers, or a Bob Dylan at his most contemplative. Even at
the time I thought I was listening to a masterpiece. Unfortunately, the
only lyric I remember from the song was something about Charles referring to
himself as being a first-rate karaoke singer, and can’t even be sure of
that. I can’t remember anything else about it, or about any of the other
songs, but they have a good vibe about them, and they sound either as good or
better than Slow Club have released up until now. Charles was kind enough
to sign my ticket and Rebecca signed it as well, but I was much too shy and
sober to talk to her. I can talk to writers and poets, but famous
singers, even semi-famous singers, carry more significance, and
Rebecca holds too many important songs in her lungs for me to consider her
completely normal, even though I know she is normal, albeit a special kind of
normal. Perhaps one day she might employ me to repoint her house, or
build her a wall. And then we’ll be able to chat.
‘Ancient Rolling Sea’ is the first song to be
taken from Slow Club’s forthcoming fourth album, released in August.
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