Spirited Followers + Kim Fisher
In the spirit of full disclosure, I came along to support the support act, but left valuing the serendipitous discovery of an extraordinarily talented band from Wales.
JF Kennedy famously said that success has many fathers, but failure is an orphan. I wonder how many people now congratulate Simon Nunn on the wisdom of hosting experimental entertainment in the basement of a bookshop halfway down Laurence Steps off St Benedicts. Far more, I imagine, than now admit to telling him it was a bonkers idea.
The Holloway is fast becoming one of Norwich's most treasured, beloved venues, certainly among those who seek out the weird and the wonderful. Recently reconfigured, it's now less a bookshop and more a private members' club for oddballs. Alongside Curious Directive, the Puppet Theatre and Anteros, it's a venue that typifies the wilfully eccentric side of Norwich that we keep secret from the rest of the country. What better place, then — apart from Green Man, who should snap them up if they haven't already — to host Spirited Followers, a Welsh band almost impossible to classify.
First off, however, was Norwich band Kim Fisher. Judging by the swelling audience, it was an act folk had come to see. Curiosity alone would have been enough to draw people to the band's first live performance, but as their eclectic, borderline eccentric set moved on, curiosity was swiftly trumped by surprise and engagement. Taking no prisoners from the outset, Soundless Collision impressed with its bold, uncompromising repetition overlaid with Tom Lincoln's monotone delivery. The work of Steve Reich immediately sprang to mind, but there were hints of Laurie Anderson in Natalie Griffin's staccato counterpointing vocal.
Then, just when we had settled into what was on offer, Alex Scerri followed up with a keyboard-heavy folk song that teetered close to — brace yourself — Coldplay territory. Thereafter, influences, whether intended or subliminal, tumbled in. Kraftwerk, Stackridge and even Bob Dylan popped into my head along the way. Lincoln swapped guitar for bass, handing the former to the patiently waiting Ian Collins. Mark Scerri's drums became ever more insistent (the switch to brushes for one song is surely the way forward in such a small venue), while the addition of bass added welcome texture.
I did worry at times that it felt as if this was the Alex show with a backing band, so that's something they need to watch out for — not helped by a band name that is also a person's name. When Vincent Furnier called his band Alice Cooper, he didn't envisage that he would end up christening himself. I understand that Alex is the main composer, but in a live context you want to see more of a collective ensemble. I'd have liked Natalie Griffin, who obviously has a fine voice, to take the lead vocals on occasion. And give poor Ian Collins something to do when he's not playing guitar. Even Bez has his maracas.
These are minor quibbles to be sorted out in subsequent performances, as will the sound the band finally decide they want to make. Eclecticism is all very well, but cohesion matters too. Clearly increasing in confidence as the evening went on — Natalie Griffin was beaming from ear to ear by close of play — this was an accomplished debut warmly greeted by an appreciative audience.
A cohesive sound is something central to a Spirited Followers performance, despite their all-too-brief set, which was no mean feat given the bewildering range of instruments involved. Dulcimer, bouzouki, cello, guitar, drums and tiny keyboard were just some of the ingredients dotted through a fusion that really shouldn't work. The fact that it does — and so brilliantly — is all the more impressive given its improbability. Try though I did, the individuals involved are hard to pin down — perhaps they want, as the cliché would have it, the music to do the talking.
What I can say is how evocatively the band blend Appalachian folk, Indian classical and Greek influences to produce a sound that harkens back to the best progressive rock had to offer. This was, I suppose, a fusion of world influences, though that rather reduces what was a powerful emotional experience, a mile away from abstract clever-dickery that distances the audience from genuine connection.
Intriguingly, I was told by two different people that hearing them live elevated their appreciation of the band. There was a hint that their recordings simply don't deliver in the same way. Having witnessed the visceral commitment of all the musicians in the uniquely intimate surroundings of The Holloway, I find that easy to believe. This shouldn't be taken as a criticism of the recordings. It's more about the importance of keeping the live experience alive.
In the spirit of full disclosure, I came along to support the support act, and I'm very glad I did for all sorts of reasons. One very significant reason was the serendipitous discovery of an extraordinarily talented band from Wales, whose lead singer confessed to being surprised that anyone had turned up. If that's not reason enough to take a punt on a band you've never heard of, I don't know what is.
