Introducing our column ‘Sounds From the Ground,’ an intimate insight into the ever-evolving, animated, and enigmatic independent music scene in London. In our second edition, we continue to explore this thriving patchwork via two shows from late 2024.
The Spice of Life, 24.11.24:
The Spice of Life is a frontrunner for the accolade of my personal favourite independent music venue. Admittedly, I’m not a seasoned traveller, nor have I experienced a catalogue of them to form any sort of awe-inducing spissitude. However, I’m not a hermit either. I’ve performed in a handful. I’ve visited more as an audience member. I’ve visited even more when scouting for gigs that never quite come to fruition (at least, not yet (who’s to say that the O2 won’t have hosted an Idiotwin gig come, say, July?)). The Spice of Life stands out.
It peacocks out onto the ever-heaving hive of a junction that is the union of Shaftesbury Avenue and Charing Cross Road – an amateur marketing strategist would, without so much as blinking, assess such a position as opportune for footfall, come day, come night, come weekday, come weekend. Duke through the slalom of tourists posing for pictures by the grizzly façade of ‘Harry Potter and the Cursed Child’, divert away from the subjugating lurch of the hordes outside, and duck into the pub, which is exactly that – a pleasant London pub. But, spy a suggestion formed in the familiar glow of LED red: ‘LIVE MUSIC HERE.’
Camber down the stairs, the residual hubbub of the pub upstairs dwindling, and through the swing of a pair of wooden double doors. On the other side of them, is something different.
The pub evolves, slowly, but assuredly, into a hybrid between a homely inn, and cabaret-style seating. Leather sofas beckon from corners. Tables rest in the company of three or four chairs, equidistant from their neighbours, low orange flames flickering and humming atop each one, joining the dimmed lighting of the place to create an inviting liminality. The room itself is split into two sections; you enter onto an elevated plateau that is slightly dimmer than its counterpart, a level about four steps down, delineated further by the balustrades at the very edge of the upper part. A stage is situated at the front, backed onto the far-most wall of the lower half. It is suffused with a dusk glow of stage-lights, sometimes mauve, sometimes red, sometimes turquoise, but never over-bearing. Microphone stands rest, prominent, ready. An upright acoustic piano always catches my eye immediately.
It would be a wonderful space for independent comedy nights.
Idiotwin have performed at The Spice of Life a handful of times now, each show being a joy to be involved with. Substance Gigs (@substancegigs) have marshalled each one, tailoring each night as to best benefit each act, curating showcases of indie folk, alt. rock, or otherwise, forging an amalgamated audience who should enjoy every song from every set in turn.
Something inevitable with independent music is last-minute alterations. This particular gig at The Spice of Life saw a reduced service, with some unrehearsed cancellations. This is not to say that the gig was greatly hindered, or suffered any substantial detriment however.
Will Rouse (@_willcreative_) is a singer-songwriter I have met before. In fact, I interviewed him for Idiotwin’s social media pages; he was a wonderfully open, affable person, who spoke with the excitement befitting someone returning to live shows after something of a hiatus. To encounter him again, a testament to him continuing in such a vein, was a pleasant surprise. Will Rouse, when performing, is an embodiment of the intimacy that suffuses the music of an independent singer-songwriter. He sings alone, with his guitar, his voice quivering with frailty on higher notes, his teeth flashing. It’s endearing. I have never seen Conor Oberst of Bright Eyes and Will Rouse in the same room.
Nightfly (@nightflyy) are an ensemble to watch if you like fun. The folk of the evening is tidied away, its sentiments still reticently cowering into the vertices of the venue, before a big band floods the stage, almost dwarfing the room. A brass section canons out familiar motifs, or swells with sometimes warm, sometimes sweltering harmonies, with the decadent timbre that a brass chorus will always possess. A drummer pats out grooves, with flashes and fills for seasoning. A incredibly competent bassist flings themselves about their fretboard, never plodding, never stoic. A rhythm guitar erupts into an incendiary solo with the surreptitious flicking of a pedal. The tones of a keyboard blend seamlessly between lead, countermelody, and rhythm. Singers trade verses like models exchanging glances on a runway. Nightfly is at times hectic, but they are undeniably an alluring explosion of sound, especially in antithesis to the mellow storytelling of before. They are a statement by which to end a Sunday night gig anywhere in the city.
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Cheeky Chicos, 05.12.24:
Elephant and Castle is an area of London that is currently undergoing a process of gentrification, which leaves me with disjunct feelings. Does it make me more content to walk through such an area of London in the bitter dark of a windy winter’s evening? Yes. Does it, concomitantly, exile some of the authenticity of the place, leaving behind something that feels artificial? Yes. If both of these are to be true, it is a joy to discover Cheeky Chicos, sheltered away from a main road.
Cheeky Chicos is a Mexican restaurant that oozes personality, enveloped in vibrant oranges and pinks. Murals are emblazoned across the walls, and vines hang across ceilings lights and spindle across partitions, accentuating the establishment’s rustic charm. There is a buzz about the place – it feels like a local secret that people are, increasingly, doing an awful job of keeping quiet. Complimentary drinks and offers on food for those on the guest lists of performers were a cunning plus in maintaining the night’s buoyant atmosphere.
As someone who doesn’t drink, and as someone who suffers with allergies, I unfortunately cannot personally speak to the quality of either – but it all looked good. Additionally, when drinks are flowing, people are jolly, and, naturally, enjoying a catch-up with friends, it does pose something of a challenge for the musician trying to be heard. However, if everyone is having a good night, truly, what is there to object to?
This was a show of just two acts, Idiotwin hosting the occasion with support from Kiz and Kaz. The ‘Kiz’ of the ensemble is actually a friend we have known for some time, and so it was a bit giddying, in the way that sudden bursts of nostalgia can flummox you, to share a stage with them once again. Between a plethora of covers, what was truly tangible between the duo was pure synergy; it was something more than the acoustic guitar being passed back and forth between songs.
It was the shared looks, the sideways glances, the presence formed by both. A notable point musically is that of the vocal performances – ‘Kiz’ has long had a range commended for its lowness within the female register, so much so that I’ve seen her sing tenor parts on multiple occasions. Congruently, the warmth of ‘Kaz’s’ bassy tones was reminiscent of Stephin Merritt’s crooning. As I warned them after they had finished their set featuring a rendition of ‘Dreams’ by Fleetwood Mac, long may they continue without internal conflicts like the very same band. For an act regaling an audience for only the second time, I wish them all the best.
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:: connect with The Spice of Life here ::
:: connect with Cheeky Chicos here ::
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© Frederick Bloy
© Frederick Bloy
