Vivers: Somewhere, there’s always a soundman going crazy. Buffalo’s, at least tonight, is called Ed, and he nods silently when offered a drink. There’s a Haiti fundraisers-worth of musicians playing tonight and every one of them must die. Sorry, soundcheck. “I just don’t like people turning up unannounced with two clarinets.” We’ve all been there Ed. It’s okay. When they do come on, Arctic Circle are pretty fantastic: a lovely, heartwarming, homemade indie racket full of shambolic guitars, vocals that just hang there, intermittent trombone parps, much instrument changeovers and, finally, double woodwind action. They also have the added stamp of quality of featuring Super George of Fringes, Earthfall, Balky Mule and all other good Bristol bands. A happier Ed will later claim “I’m the Aspies Columbo!” but that’s a different story.
Keef: Arriving customarily late yet still, it turns out, 45 minutes or so before soundcheck finally finishes is an odd sensation. Plenty of time to observe the wry resignation of a soundman who’s patiently shuffled 16 or so musicians on and off-stage already daring to ask the opening band how many they number only to be told “seven, and the drummer’s left-handed”. Priceless.
Time enough also to mentally establish exactly who is and isn’t in a band. Half a dozen of the younger, thinner attendees take the stage around 9.45 in classic post-rock formation. Female violinist, natch. Influences (Explosions In The Sky, M83) emblazoned across chests. So far, so predictable? Maybe, but Among Brothers possess a little of the power to surprise, even if it’s not wholly realised at this stage. The skittering laptop flurries underpinning the songs may not be revolutionary but rather than seem bolted on or perfunctory, as is often the tendency, they’re knotted throughout, integral to the end result. Likewise, the vocals are pointedly given more emphasis, reminding you why you heard flashes of the yearning qualities of Twilight Sad or Efterklang in the recordings. They’re a shade overblown for my liking, if anything, but should temper that with time.
Vivers: While Yucatan were surfing the national kudos that greeted their 2007 debut ‘Un Cyfle’ I could never find a way into its cold, glacial charms. Their set tonight is a much warmer experience, an example of small victories made through high volume, upped tempos and a, er, buxom string section. Songs like ‘Y Gwacter’ still maintain the mumbled vocals and rumbling, building guitars of so much moody, sweeping post rock but the violins take swipes at hard hearts and gruff arses get metaphorically kicked by amped up men in woollen hats. Swish, mostly.
Keef: Plus, let’s not forget that the bassist out of Yucatan praised the handsome DJs for playing Datblygu. Chap. Now, if there’s one thing you’d expect to be able to rely on tonight, it’d be Benni Hemm Hemm sending us into the night with one last set of sweeping, big-hearted pop. That, and a really nice jumper or two. Yet here’s our man, taking the stage alone in smart black suit, red tie and furrowed brow to carefully pick out an acoustic ditty in Icelandic. Contrary bugger must have read my confident assertion that it’d be an upbeat set in the JC preview. The opener sets the tone for the set, the considered, spare songs given big daubs of colour by the doleful accompaniment of a two-man horn section but otherwise left to slowly unravel before winding back around your heart.
It’s a testament to his oddball charm that a good hour of acoustic folk-pop, largely in a foreign tongue and with midnight approaching on a Sunday, doesn’t lose the attention of a decent crowd. With gently self-deprecating humour and a throwback pop sensibility reminiscent of Jens Lekman, he offers a sweet encore of first album standout “I Can Love You In A Wheelchair, Baby” and with a shy bow shuffles off to be greeted by a handful of smitten punters. Job done, and no soundmen (or musicians) harmed.
