The Sick Man of Europe

The George Tavern

Words & Pics by Captain Stavros

We were told to see the light. Nobody mentioned the strobe lights and migraines. Yes, it’d be a night of unexpected horrors and delights inside The George, drenched in retinal red, The Sick Man of Europe (a man the spitting image of Buffalo Bill) took to the stage not like a band but like a warning. A man in sleeveless black, howling into the void, backed by players who looked more like revenants than musicians. The lights flared like police raids. The air hung thick and sour from the ghost of the warm-up acts, sweat pooling before the first bass note landed.

What followed wasn’t a set so much as a not so ubiquitous initiation into a cult. This wasn’t the usual charming DIY fare the George offers up; there were no winks, no whimsical solos, no clever banter between songs. This was darkwave initiation. Cold, exact, and weirdly religious. It felt like being buried under dry ice (cold but burning) and waking up fluent in post-industrial dread (making ends meet in London).

The recorded material hadn’t prepared us for this. At home, TSMOE can come across like a monologue muttered through a vent; minimalist, maybe even too studied. But live, it hit like revelation. The guitars weren’t just strummed; they slashed and came at us. Drums, even when programmed, punched like they’d been sharpened beforehand. The vocals were there, in the room with you, moving air. No distance. No polish.

They played ‘Obsolete’ early, or maybe it just felt early, time was already melting, and it landed hard; a hymn to everything we discard in ourselves and each other. “At what point do we become obsolete?” asked the track. Fair question. By that point, my shirt was sticking to my spine and the couple next to me had stopped trying to talk over the music and simply stared, rapt.

The songs blurred, not due to sameness, but because of momentum. You could feel it in your gut: the set was speeding up. Each track felt faster, leaner, more aggressive than the last. Whether that was by design or delirium didn’t matter.

By the time they hit ‘Sanguine’, the supposed centrepiece of the record, we were all in it together; drenched, blinking, locked in. On record, it’s almost clinical in its restraint. Here, it hurt. The kind of song that drags you through the mirror, tells you you're already someone else, and leaves you to deal with the consequences.

There was no encore. Nobody needed one. Not for lack of want but because anything more would’ve broken the spell. The heat, the pace, the sheer intensity of it… mercy looked like the better ending. Two gigs in a night, one city across; it was enough.

And here’s the thing: we almost didn’t stick around. We talked about ducking out after the openers, grabbing a drink somewhere with airflow. But we stayed. And The Sick Man of Europe reminded us why you stay. Why you sweat. Why you let your eardrums take the punishment.

Because it’s the ones you don’t expect that get under your skin. That re-write the music you thought you already knew. That make you listen to the album again the next day; not for the first time, but like it is.

Daffo

The George Tavern

Words & Pics by Captain Stavros

A Feverish Dive into Country Chaos

The George Tavern is packed to the rafters. The air is thick with anticipation and the scent of denim, both literal and metaphorical. Daffo, the name on everyone's lips, is set to take the stage, and the crowd is buzzing like a hive on overdrive.

The theme of the night? Denim. An unfortunate choice given the sweltering heat, but fashion waits for no one. As we waited, pressed against the stage like cheese in a toastie, the atmosphere was electric.

Daffo emerges, cowboy boots several sizes too big, exuding a charm that's both endearing and chaotic. Gabi Gamberg’s voice comes in rich and full, her country twang cutting through the room with clarity. A heartfelt "We love you, Daffo!" pierces the air, met with a humble acknowledgment.

"Slow doooaaawoon," Gabi sings, the drawl stretching wide and low. She shares, "This is my first time in the UK ever, super stoked to be here. This is also the first time in my life I've sold out a show, which is really cool." The crowd erupts, knowing this won't be the last.

The audience is feverish, locked into every note. Gabi introduces a new track, ‘Sideways’, requesting a ton of reverb on the vocals. The song dances with itself, the band members swaying as if with phantom partners. The drummer, glued to the kit, seems ready to burst free.

Next up, a winter song is introduced to cool down the room, a miscalculation, as it only turns up the heat. It’s likely the unreleased ‘Winter Hat’, a track that brought more fire than frost.

“I will kill a spider if it gets too close”, Gabi sings. The crowd erupts, joining in word for word. It's ‘Wednesday’, a standout from the 2021 EP Crisis Kit, and the singalong is visibly moving for Gabi and the band, the kind of communion that makes a night feel significant.

"When I'm in hell," Gabi declares, "Let's face it, we're all probably going to hell, but it's gonna be a party!" The fretwork backflips, a rolling lurch of sound that crests and crashes in a sharp, deliberate drop. The audience, far from winded, yells their approval straight through the final note.

"Can everybody bark?" Gabi shouts. The crowd obliges without hesitation. ‘Go Fetch’ launches, a thundering, upbeat tune full of crash-heavy chaos. Picture a mess of distorted dog faces flapping in a frenzy, total absurd joy.

"Cheers everyone!" Gabi hollers, taking a deep pull from a pint. "This next one's about God." The crowd already knows the lyrics to ‘Good God’ and belts along, voice for voice, nearly drowning the band out. The applause afterward is long and loud, the energy unrelenting.

Throughout the set, Gabi’s vocal control is unmistakable; gritty, elastic, but never faltering. The band’s sound has that homegrown garage feel, like someone duct-taped the pieces of a busted Weezer Blue Album and a Kurt Vile B-side together and then let it all play at once in the back of a hot van. Raw and real.

The band's reactions to the crowd’s energy are wide-eyed and ecstatic. They're visibly overwhelmed, exchanging glances of disbelief and joy at every cheer and singalong. The heat only fuels the delirium; by the end, it felt like even the air was sweating.

For the penultimate track, Daffo pulls a volunteer on stage, someone to play harmonica with no real expectation of talent. The result? Total chaos and great fun. The song, ‘Doe See Doe’, was a crowd favourite with the sharpest lyrics of the night.

Setlist Highlights:

‘Sideways’

‘Winter Hat’

‘Wednesday’

‘When I'm in Hell’

‘Go Fetch’

‘Good God’

‘Doe See Doe’

Daffo's performance at The George Tavern was a testament to the raw, unfiltered energy of emerging country-infused indie rock. A night of sweat, sound, and unbridled enthusiasm, a gig that won't be forgotten anytime soon.