THE GREAT WESTERN 2022

Now, as students of Glasgow University we all must admit that the city’s West End (where the majority of us study and live) is not historically the most culturally vibrant side of town. Like the ‘West End’ of most cities throughout the U.K, that belonging to Glasgow is widely regarded as the gentrified, well-to-do stomping ground for the Waitroseshoppers of Scotland’s finest city. This is, by no means, a bad thing. The West End provides us students with a wonderful bubble of architectural splendour, outrageously-priced meal deals and housing crises. However, there has undoubtedly been a notable effort over recent years to inject some of the cultural and artistic electricity that one might find in the centre of town into our beloved West End. Not least of which is the annual Great Western Festival, a one-day celebration of the best alternative music from Glasgow; Scotland; the U.K.; and the whole wide world. Employing locations along and around the West End’s own Great Western Road (as you may have gathered from the name), the festival aims to bring light to Glaswegian artists with a particular emphasis on supporting local gig venues, pubs, and cafes (a much-needed effort following the unthinkable losses the city has suffered throughout the covid years).

This year, I was lucky enough to get my ears and eyes on some of the most exciting live acts going. Headlining were Russia’s notorious anarcho-punk-cum-hyperpop extravaganza Pussy Riot, alongside the likes of groovy Spanish instrumentalists Los Bichos and the infectious hardcore big beats of SCALPING, an act I was devastated to miss due to a clash. This said clash, however, made the devastation fade away in an instant; the smooth, clean tones of a lonesome guitar hung against the sultry croon of the most heart-breakingly powerful voice the U.K. has to offer in its place.

Anna B. Savage

Into Maryhill Road’s finest and only church, containing no more than around 30 people, walks Anna B. Savage, barefoot and humble. For those of you unfamiliar with Savage’s genius, I will provide you gallantly with a brief run down. Hailing, probably, from somewhere in the south of England, Anna is a singer-songwriter with a uniquely guttural and delicate voice that can often make her sound like she’s on the verge of tears (she, in fact, often is – I have now seen this total stranger cry in front of me at least thrice). The real draw, however, is her harrowing melodies combined with beautiful yet devastating lyrics that talk of love and loss with such straightforwardness one might assume her a sociopath. She is, however, as I shall hereby decree, far from that. She looks around, and rather timidly announces herself. ‘Hi.’ She begins to play. This shocks me a little – having seen Anna B. Savage before play to a crowd of around ten times the size, I was expecting a little more audience interaction from the get go – such has become a staple of her shows. Perhaps, I think to myself, she just needs to get warmed up.

Oh, and warm up she does. Woven between a host of her most well-known songs (the likes of Corncrakes, Baby Grand and Since We Broke Up among further deep cuts and fantastic unreleased tracks) is found an exercise in establishing a community, one undoubtedly of music but also of friendship and sadness and Glasgow, like nothing I have seen before. Savage, noting the sparsity of the crowd and the brooding atmosphere of the church, decides a few songs into the set that all the lights in the room are to be turned off, to add a little mood. At some point in the set, among her sharp-witted jokes and casual flirting with a charming heckler named Owen, she also announces that, at some point during the set, she is going to try something ‘experimental.’ This experimental thing, it turns out, is a communal singing exercise, in which everyone in the crowd takes part. Anna steps down from behind the microphone and, rather like a preacher, begins to stroll down the aisle, explaining the rules of the exercise. Everyone must pick a note – any note – and hold it for as long as possible. They must then choose another note – one they cannot hear in the room, and do the same thing. Finally, they do the same with a note they can hear in the room. What emerges from this is a three-minute-long slice of heaven. It didn’t sound particularly nice, admittedly, but the sense of connection and communal passion in the room was indeed a feeling to behold. This was the cherry on the cake of Anna B. Savage’s capture of the very spirit of Great Western Festival – the desire for a community drawn together by the power of music

‘Fit For Work’, released last year, is another characteristically powerful song that has the audience screaming the hook back at Frontman Zak’s snarled vocals. It’s at this point, looking round that I’m thinking, come on people get moving! Alas, it was too early in the day, and too cramped a fit for the archaic moshpits I wished were occurring. That is, until Zak clearly gets tired of this and steps into the crowd, pushing us around in a frenzy. The message is clear - DO SOMETHING. About four of us oblige, jumping and pushing as instructed. An excellent start to the Festival that again, I believe deserved a later slot. It’s all hilarious fun. Until someone, irritated by our exploits, pours his drink on my head. Ah well, you can’t please everyone. All’s fair in love and mosh.

The Bug Club

Deadletter

At 2:00 in the afternoon, in a tiny underground basement of The Hug and Pint, absolutely packed wall to wall (people literally hanging off the benches on the sides) with punters, Deadletter - the punky, jerky pride of South London kick the day off with an electric performance that I wish had involved a bigger room and a couple of pints more later. Every time I’ve seen them, they’ve given the exact same levels of tight intensity that cannot help but make you bounce on the balls of your feet. They seem to epitome the present day sound style so widely dubbed ‘‘post-punk’’ - a term which some readers may roll their eyes and shudder, it being so offhandedly applied to every band making the circuit these day, but Deadletter are incarnate.

Their explosive new releases were on parade, including ‘Hero’, a personal favourite from the set. Their growling, ‘it burns, it burns, it burns’ was absolutely incendiary, serving well the warmth of that tiny basement tucked into the bowels of the earth - it did indeed feel like Hellfire club.

Frontman Zak’s antics are hilarious and enthralling; shaking, twitching, lashing and jumping, he characterises the insane but tightly controlled energy they’re known for - snapping dogs held back with a leash of steel.

The Bug Club is another band I was particularly interested in seeing again - having watched them open for Bodega in Mono last year, I was particularly taken with their rock ‘n’ roll rhythms and catchy hooks. This year, they were situated in the slightly odd venue of Maryhill community centre, a large dance-hall type venue. At this point, it was around 5 in the afternoon, and things were slowly getting a bit groovier. People were mellow, circling, laughing and holding drinks. For the early afternoon, it was a decently comfortably filled space, Bug Club clearly having a solid group of listeners. They spark into action on stage, and I’m pleased to say that I didn’t misjudge their sound. It is very much rolling. Everyone knows the words, and it’s a pleasure to see the delight both audience and band take from that. They’ve drawn a mixed crowd - not just students, but those slightly older too, and it’s a nice compliment to the fuzzy, funky sounds from the stage. Masters of harmonising, they’re coherent and cohesive, bobbing to the beat with a really lovely and refreshing energy.

If there’s one point of disappointment, it was the omission of my personal favourite - ‘All Of The Scariest Monsters Live in London’. Its soft, slightly mournful sounds also would have broken the admittedly slightly repetitive rhythms- giving Bug Club credit where they’re due, they indeed know their sound and they stay consistent for it, but after a certain point, the songs begin to sound ever so slightly samey. A good band to catch in the middle of the afternoon.

Los Bitchos

Los. Bitchos. Are. Hot. Better yet, we catch them at a time when things are really starting to swing. Finally heating up with the night, pushing through the sweaty, weaving masses of people, we are funkified under the samba-like beats of the crew. You feel this in your body and your soul. No wonder they describe themselves as ‘Evocative and playful.’ We manage to catch a flow of people to the front, and from there it’s 45 minutes of pure funkadelic bliss. Coats are thrown off, bags are put down. Los Bitchos manage to communicate something incommunicable, fantastically with very few words in their songs. They’re hugely beat based, which adds to the party-ish, carnival energy, and the crowd absolutely lap it up. November freezes are melted under the red lights and warm sounds. A name I’ve been hearing for the past couple of years, finally seeing the ‘Panteras’, and in such a joyful and vivacious atmosphere, for a brief moment I was transported from Maryhill Community centre to somewhere far, far away. I’m delighted I got to see them, and on top form none-the-less.

Scalping

From there, it’s quick-step to the other side of the community centre, and it’s like stepping into a completely different world. Where Los Bitchos were warm, fiesta filled funk, I am now in a place of cool, pounding techno. From a hot bath to a tub of ice, this is an excellent shock to the senses. In the most excellent way possible. Scalping are, for me, the unequivocally unexpected gem of the night. Like Los Bitchos beforehand, they too aren’t exactly lacking in words, because it doesn’t feel like a space that words could or would need to fill. They have come as we are, electronic noise movement. Built for tireless raving, they hit the sweet spot of the climax of the night. Some standing at the back in a mellow relaxed state, some diving right in to bounce and shape it out at the front, you could see yourself staying there forever. Just hand me a pair of sunglasses and a strong drink, I could’ve been there for hours

Pussy Riot

Pussy Riot is an interesting recollection from the festival. To begin with, they are about an hour late to begin. Seated at the sides, watching the expectant audience slowly droop and become bored, you can’t help but be disappointed with the incendiary Russian group who’ve fled arrest and their home country to create their ironic, aggressively political music. Even after about 40 minutes of waiting, their manager comes on stage, monologues about their achievements for 15 minutes, then inexplicably disappears into the crowd, like Moses parting the red sea. Except Moses is a russian manager and the red sea is a group of once expectant and now slightly wilted punters. At least Pussy Riot knows what’s going on. When they meant to go on, we were still soundchecking, and having a hilariously one-sided conversation across the room with the sound desk. If there’s one thing that cuts, it’s being publicly told to ‘please read about sound effects’. And no-holdsbarred being their style, they’re right, the sound has been fuzzy all day, and having travelled the world and traversed the law to be here, Pussy Riot aren’t going to accept anything less than what they deserve. Everything they do is for a reason, and it’s for their best interests. They are excellent. Just wish I’d been able to see more before having to leave ten minutes later to get the last subway home

[Andrew Taylorhe/him]