The Birth of BonOyster, Catapult Club @ Amersham Arms, 16/03/07

*This post cannot be accompanied by photographs because unfortunately I managed to leave my camera at home. This was not without a moment of panic and frantic bag searching that was probably humorous to observe had your attention strayed to my direction.*

Middle act in tonight’s Catapult Club line up, skink-loving four-piece, The Birth of BonOyster, leap and bound ahead of the bloated hairstyle-punk pop on offer from the other bands. With a stage presence and sound already too large for the venue, the band, led by, appropriately enough, BonOyster produce artsy ska punk that simply comes alive live. This is no mean feat tonight; in all this reviewer’s years of gigging Catapult Club is one of the strangest nights I’ve ever been to. The crowd is full of people who, it seems, never go to live music and the tables and chairs are arranged much like a 1930s music hall; certainly not conducive to a night of rock abandon. Yet the band proves they are beyond such lacklustre trappings as this.

BonOyster – a mid-90s Billie Joe Armstrong had he been brought up in Tyneside not California – has a voice of rich depth and range moving from the feedback holler of Art to the gentle, searching sound of Yours Sincerely to the mash-up rap styling of Ice, Ice Baby and Let’s Get Ready to Rumble (you remember the one, it’s by those cheeky Geordie chappies Ant and Dec). Indeed the rap interlude is accompanied by hilarious rock-posturing and crotch-grabbing escapades that show BonOyster is perhaps not only hip hop’s undiscovered son but also that the band has a sense of humour. This is further enforced by Paul Stromdale, by day mild-mannered Physics teacher, by night hand-clapping, foot-stomping bass geek. Meanwhile lead guitarist Paul Langford has the nonchalant swagger of a man who has been round amps and booze for quite sometime. Indeed, he makes use of a brief pause in tonight’s set to jump off stage and get a fresh drink. And without wanting to promote over-indulgence (well, okay, maybe a little bit) if the sinking of a few beers keeps him sounding this good then who am I to refuse? Finally drummer Stu wears his punk glories on his (bare) chest; beating the hell outta the skins, all for our aural pleasure.

The enthusiasm of the band and the tightness of their sound – despite having only played a handful of gigs – make them infectious. Those with any sense in the room, shimmy, shake and cheer them on, and those who don’t seem to get it, well who’s losing out here really? It’s easy to imagine that with a more receptive audience and with an increasing band of repeat customers a sweaty pit of joyful abandon could form at their feet. Skink the night away boys!

Fortuna Pop! @ Brixton Windmill 12/03/07

An action-packed night at the Windmill with Fortuna Pop! gathering together some of their favourite people to play for our delectation. Opening four-piece Little Things (http://littlethingsmusic.co.uk) bound onto the stage and straight into the sort of melodic pop that hotwires your feet. Singing about animals, friends, love and putting the world to rights is a swell thing to do and if you can do it whilst making people dance then so much the better. From the gloriously silly (and Piney Gir-tinged) Animal House to the delicate beauty of Lullaby Little Things sing simple, pretty lyrics; matched by upbeat folk-countryesque musical arrangement – oh, and excellent kazooing. Start a springtime affair and let them be your soundtrack.

Face paint does not great music make; perhaps someone could mention this to The Bobby McGee’s (http://www.myspace.com/thebobbymcgees) next time they take to the stage. There’s nothing wrong with a band having a bit of swagger but know your audience. Walking on stage and telling the bunch of scrawny indie kids who frequent Fortuna nights that “We’re the Bobby McGee’s and you’re not, so shut the fuck up” really isn’t necessary. In fact it makes us even less inclined to overlook the fact that you are dressed like an old sea captain moonlighting as a boozed-up circus clown. It’s a fine line to walk between twinkly folk-pop and the wrong side of twee; this line is also found between ballsy edge and unabashed hostility. That The Bobby McGee’s manage to wobble like a new-born giraffe along both is actually quite a feat. “Please don’t dump me”; honey, we never had anything anyway.

Three fairly unassuming lads making 60s guitar pop filtered through the lyrical styling and cultural references of the present day; The Wave Pictures (http://www.thewavepictures.com) are The Byrds claiming to be the real Slim Shady. Keeping the chat to a minimum and getting on with the business of playing solid music The Waves Pictures nevertheless show their humorous side, introducing Blue Harbour as a song about the sturdy dad-shirt M+S range in which they are quite possibly attired. Although friends, and sometime collaborators, of Herman Dune, they keep their sound their own; these guys soundtrack lazy afternoons in beer gardens rather than Woo-Woo-harmonied road trips in a Campervan. The songs offered up by The Wave Pictures, stand apart from those of the other bands in tonight’s line up. This, of course, is no bad thing. It shows, rather, that label interests need not be insular and exclusive and are indeed much more exciting if they simply make nights like this a big, interesting, and talented family; even with M+S dads.

Filling every square inch of the Windmill stage the Brighton seven-piece that is Esiotrot (http://www.myspace.com/esiotrotschmesiotrot) can’t help but demand your attention. Singing about not always getting the girl has never seemed so much fun. Emotionally honest, or emotionally explicit, lyrics that say: “You know what? Sometimes you want something that isn’t right, or could be right but won’t happen. And guess what else? That’s okay”. Lead vocal duties are split between Duncan and Matthew; each imbuing their charge with their differing style. This is drawn together through Esiotrot’s fluid yet consistent musical arrangement. The resulting upbeat vibe has the room dancing almost instantly. This included, if I’m not mistaken, the staunchly-seated Windmill regulars who momentarily stopped their talk of boxing to shake their asses. From the sing-along pining of Emily Scott to the short and sweet Sally like the Beach Boys and the dance floor-shaking Marianne, Esiotrot have the crowd hooked. If you haven’t seen them live then I insist you go immediately. If only to watch my spasm-jig up front….