TTSSFU

The Moth Club

 Words & Pics by Captain Stavros

It was the night of The Great Escape (Festival’s First 50) but over at Musos’, we were planning to break in. After an exchange of tenuous communiques between promo and label teams, it was still quite uncertain if we’d find our way into the gig; you never wanna be without a chair when the music stops. As we queued up, we noticed The Moth was absolutely heaving and quite a few humanoids were still sluggishly shuffling forward like a dessert into an already bursting gut. By this point, many had adopted a rather cavalier attitude when announcing they were on the list. Most, if not all, were turned away which did not bode well for yours truly. When it was finally our turn, announcing ourselves before the gatekeeper as NAME REDACTED, predictably our fate followed the trend; ‘not on the list’. As a last-ditch effort, and ashamedly in the meekest of voices, we uttered, ‘try under Captain Stavros?’ Still not on the list, but this moniker caught the attention of one statuesque blonde parked a few feet away, en route to snagging a margarita pizza across the street. ‘He’s with us’. Enter one Xenia ‘The G’ Owens of Partisan Records, formally of Brace Yourself Press and friend of the blog. Her supernatural hearing, and timing, whilst interjecting herself into a supremely chaotic situation, is the stuff of legends That Totally Saved Shit From Undoing. After a few pleasantries (mainly groveling), we negotiated our way cautiously through a packed house to the front of the stage to behold Manchester’s proud daughter and sons, TTSSFU.

The set opens up with ‘Strange and Careless’, a possible euphemism to describe the spectacle before us and their performance largely as a whole. Not a criticism, friends. It takes a lot to blend into the Moth’s crinkled tinsel strewn backdrop with giant sparkle encrusted lettering, but Tasmin’s heart-shaped candy apple red sparkling guitar does a fantastic job of doing so. The trio of energetic bandmates, plucking bass strings, hammering percussion and squelching high frets, with Murphy shoving his guitar into the amp conjuring ghoulish feedback, is juxtapositioned with languid strumming and warm vocals that seem to shrug off the surrounding distractions with a natural nonchalance. This really stuck with us throughout the gig.

Arguably, Britain’s music scene is one of the most saturated in the world with pure untapped talent, and one of the hardest to break into. To wiggle your way up, even if extremely talented, is no small feat. Getting representation and signed to a label (the likes of which PJ Harvey, Idles and Cigarettes After Sex grace) makes it almost forgivable if the band in question might have a slightly inflated ego after traversing this musical gauntlet. One normally has to wade through performances patiently as an insufferable cavalcade of speeches and antics clomp by, all just so you can hear your favourite tracks performed live. Not so with TTSSFU, they used their newfound platform to embrace and infect the audience with an unfiltered, ego-deficient performance. And perform they did, in weird and wonderful ways. Fuzzy, wobbly sounds in drop-D tuning and static fuzz remind us of cassettes recorded over far too many times with the same flair of watching Johnny Cash’s psychobilly Cadillac roll on by. With endearing and peculiar charm, Tasmin makes known, “this next one’s a classic” as they ease into ‘California’, released a few years back as a single.

‘I Hope You Die’ is the penultimate track, of an entertaining set, largely made up of yelling non-lexicals. Before us unfolds a confusing scene, a mystic conjunction of precariously placed drinks laying spilt over electrical components that stubbornly refuse to quit. This, coupled with what we thought was a stadium crowd sampled and laid over the track instead turns out to be an un-hinged audience losing their collective shit over this song that resonates with them so profoundly. The set rounds off with ‘Remember’, where Tasmin thoughtfully introduces Paddy Murphy (lead guitar), Matt Deakin (percussion) and Reuban Haycocks (Bass), each of whom shone in their own merit. The track, and set, both culminate in Tasmin asking the audience to, “Look after your friends”, before launching herself into the audience shrieking at the top of her lungs. An infamous ending to be sure. TTSSFU is finishing up touring with English Teacher and coming back strong in 2025 with a host of new music and tour dates. You might, at this juncture, be asking yourself, what’s the draw? I guess it is an intrinsic dichotomy boiled into a band of wild wallflowers meet subtle exhibitionism. Tasmin and company tick a lot like a Swiss watch but more diabolical, if you know what we mean.

 Curses

 @ The Lexington

 Words & Pics by Captain Stavros

Curses are a funny thing, aren’t they? Sometimes they take the form of a bicycle with a dodgy back wheel. This unholy mode of transportation, or vile demon spawn in this case, having already broken two spokes on two separate occasions in a week, nearly claiming your life at a busy intersection, thirsts for blood. Which then relentlessly continues to demand, and get, a bloodied sacrifice to return to a somewhat functional mechanical asshole once more, type of curse. Or perhaps, and probably a tad more relevant to our review in this case, a curse can take the form of a string of empty venues whilst on tour. Not only that, but having to deal with a sparse audience being unruly, talkative and restless throughout a performance which is plagued by equipment failure and mild-to-medium electric shocks when your lips get too close to the microphone. Fortunately dear and valued readers, only one of these would be the case, and it wouldn’t be the latter. Enter, Curses.

Luca Venezia, born in the states but currently residing in Germany, by night known as Curses, thrives in the choppy and uncertain waters of a demanding international touring schedule; “I love the mystery of walking into a club and not knowing how the night will go.” Well, if one had to hazard a guess using support acts Corpus Milner and Nuovo Testamento as a metaphoric barometric gauge, it would’ve read smooth sailing all the way. At once, the set kicked off and we were all struck by the deep growling bass reverberating from the electro chop block propped on stage; all corporeal beings in its path were felled. Well-balanced accoustics enveloped the audience in a thick fog that’d put pea soup to shame. Curses, clad in psychobilly attire poured himself into the mic, while the music boxed our ears with a cutting brutality, in contrast with his vocal finesse that literally made the hair on his arms stand at attention. The same could be said for that of the hair on the back of our necks.

It is so satisfying trying to process, in hindsight, the atmospheric melodies of a dark-romantic, cinematic new wave set juxtapositioned against a DIY knotted nest of vipers in the form of aux cables, and strung instruments arranged around a chop-block-tableau centre stage. Luca, now part of the Italians Do It Better Family (no strangers to gooey eyed delights in the form of uber slick visual and audio) is out promoting Another Heaven, which was released last month. Curses, who also DJs and has been in-and-out of bands since his teens, has amassed a rich tapestry of influences and aliases in equal measures, but has quite literally found his voice when he dropped label expectations, embraced and learned from his many failures, and started making music for himself. This rich history entwined within his music and identity really helped build a relationship of trust between who we saw on stage and the audience below, tossing single roses into the crowd probably helped a little too.

‘Elegant Death’, with its throbbing and rolling bass really showcased not only Luca’s vocal range, but nodded to former label mates Chromatics. It was our set favourite, his compositional prowess really shone through. With the horizon in sight, Curses calls out to their manager, “What’s our call time tomorrow morning? I wanna know how hard I can go tonight.” “6am” was shot back but that didn’t take the wind out of his sails. Far from it, as he dove into the latter part of the set with equal measures of zeal, seemingly powered by an otherworldly source; flair. There is no doubt in our mind that the celebrations did indeed carry on into the small hours of the night. Sure, they would be met with regrets of biblical proportions, but we had none after a satisfying set. Catching up with the in-house sound tech at the end of the night they could not, nor could we, fathom how such talent is seemingly flying under the radar. I guess if you know you know, and now you know too.

Efterklang

@ The Barbican

 Words by Captain Stavros

Pics by Jac Taylor

Danish trio, Efterklang, currently composed of Mads, Casper and Rasmus, and hot on the heels of their latest release, Things We Have in Common, take the stage at the Barbican Hall. Legendary musicians such as Iggy Pop, Lambchop and The London Symphony Orchestra to name a few (that we’ve seen here, low-key brag), have all graced the stage  at one time or another, in what used to be Europe’s largest performing arts centre.  Over the past 20 years, Efterklang has had a roster of rotating members as their sound has evolved. The latest three albums, Altid Sammen, Wildflowers and the aforementioned Things We Have in Common, explore themes of belonging, the human condition and spirituality. Tonight, they will not only play from their latest albums and back catalogue, but also invite former members and new friends to join them on stage.

Efterklang spill out into the hall like loose crayons shaken out of the box. Clad in various forms of pastel (is pastel-core a thing?) garb, the aesthetic is upbeat and mellow. A few songs into their set, ‘Dreams Today’ and ‘Alike’, form the inclusive melodies that echo and bounce off the towering ceilings, launching rich, enveloping acoustics that wrap around the fanned-out audience in their rake seating much the same as the rich, mahogany walls of the hall do. It’s the last sunny day here in the big smoke, with a forecast of showers and thunderstorms for the rest of the week but, tonight, the grey and dark is pushed back one last time by the shimmer resounding in front of us. On the near outskirts of the stage shone a satellite of vocal and cello excellence with seemingly effortless skill, Mabe Fratti (of opening act Titanic) blows in with bandmate Hector Tosta mid-set, adding a layer of musical umami.

The performance thus far, albeit wonderful, started to feel, for lack of a better word, indulgent. In a sickly-sweet sort of tooth decaying way. Pontificating non-sequitors and theatrics by front man Casper deep-throat sucking and blowing on what looked like a mechanical w(h)ine bladder instrument was in a monogamous relationship with himself on-stage. Rather than engaging with his audience and fellow bandmates, he leaned heavily on theatrics and pandering. In what was confirmed to be an audaciously nauseating and shameless display of self-love by fellow Muso’s contributor Jac, Casper at one point retreated to the back of the stage and began banging away on a stool, poorly complimenting (massively detracting) from ace percussionist Tatu Rönkkö’s performance. A low point on a raised stage. Tatu’s (honestly, with a name like that how could you not become a drummer?) performance was massively underappreciated, subtlety rarely isn’t. We’ve never seen a snare muted with an oversized French cut work wear shirt, but we’re here for it. He was the unsung hero of the evening and easily blew away the lot, without upstaging a single member. Casper seemingly, on the other hand, could not stand being upstaged, even if inadvertently, and squeezed his way into an already anemic spotlight, poor show.  Even Mabe had a hard time keeping a straight face as Casper blathered sophomoric lyrics into the mic.

If you could get over the mother of all muffin-top set midsections however, Efterklang really did manage to pull off a great set after reining it in during the encore. What we feared was going to be an indulgent and gluttonous return to stage turned out to be the highlight of the performance. The audience were treated to an alfresco performance (no, they stayed in the building and didn’t go outside, just out-stage, you know what, just shut up, you know what we mean) with the band hopping off stage, weaving itself between the hall’s seating, and stripping down to an acoustic kum-ba-ya session where Casper begrudgingly dropped the theatrics and leaned heavily on sincerity. The audience ate it up and we were no exception. For the duration of the encore, those who were physically able to, stood up and danced throughout the last leg of the performance.

By the end, the sit-down performance received a standing ovation, from us too. What started off with caricature-sized classical guitars slowly evolved into something much larger, pulling in cellos, saxophone, keys, sensational percussion. Even founding member Rune Melgaard, who seemingly appeared out of nowhere and like an apparition with the voice of an angel, belted out a few bars. Special shout-out to Hector Tosta and Mabe Fratti of Titanic who opened and then joined Efterklang completing the line-up. Sum up, an engaging and heartfelt performance where an entire hall was brought together and harmonised all whilst standing up at a sit-down venue for the entirety of an encore which lasted longer than 20 minutes with zero complaints. An unmissable performance? Debatable. A message and show swathed in pomp, theatrics and top-shelf musicians worth remembering? Undoubtable.