As the crowd dribbles into the basement of what is a well-known London nightclub, it becomes increasingly difficult to determine the vibe of the evening which is yet to unfold. Standing at the back next to a man who looks unsettlingly like Michael Gove, I give up guessing and wait for the lights to go down.
You rarely see decent crowds at opening acts – and I am curious as to why this night is an exception.
Walt Disco are going to be a long and – as it turns out – extraordinarily enjoyable wait away. Not one, but two acts precede them and in watching the three bands it becomes increasingly clear that for those of us with a taste for the alternative there is something here for everyone.
With damn near no presence on the internet, I’d be surprised if you’ve heard of the first group, so it is my pleasure to introduce them to you.
The Dinner Party is a band of six and their talent is astonishing. As a self-described songbird, the lead vocalist has the tonal quality of Marina (of Diamond fame) and the stage presence to back this. If you’ve only got time for one track, give Nothing Matters a listen. This is the sort of song which forces the crowd into motion and opening it with ‘this next one is – oh fuck – I forgot my tambourine’, while unplanned, just adds to the charm of the group.
All I really have to say is give them time. While it is hard to see past their youth, in time, this will be overwhelmed by experience and The Dinner Party will go far.
At the exact point where I have managed to catch my breath, my senses are suddenly under attack. At a glance, this new band on the stage looks like the cast of Peaky Blinders. But the second they get going, the feral quality of the performance comes to light.
Priestgate hail from the lesser-known town of Driffield, somewhere between Scarborough and Hull, and their visceral rage speaks to the underbelly of rural Yorkshire. This show is cathartic in the extreme. Their understanding of shapes and colour when navigating the stage makes for a satisfying spectacle. By their very nature, they unhinge the crowd, they have managed a feat which comes with vulnerability as even I – having been abandoned by the Gove look-alike but still toward the back – want to be and feel seen by them.
Now it is time for Walt.
Operatic-Glaswegian-punk-rock is hard to describe. It’s even harder to watch from a distance, so I make my way into the crowd and am submerged.
Walt Disco, known less mysteriously as James Potter, Charlie Lock, Jack Martin, Finlay McCarthy, David Morgan and Lewis Carmichael, are most commonly described as flamboyant, and I can see why. A mesmerising performance which channelled enough energy to result in a premature costume change by frontperson James. Now stripped down to little more than some intricately knotted tights the performance is liberated.
It’s taken just three songs before – and in much the same fashion as how cults gain followers – we are jumping and screaming along with Walt: ‘YOU’RE ONE OF US’.
In my notes app I frantically type the words ‘courteous skeletons’, an image which I feel accurately represents what stands before me. I can see the joy in their eyes as all on stage do what they have obviously found their calling in. They have created a space which shows who they really are – this is an open and eclectic crowd – there is no judgment here.
With the final crash of the drums, I am suddenly exhausted. The high Walt Disco has kept me on is taking its toll and the three-course show feels like a full-body workout.
Their tantalising refusal to give us ‘one more song’ means I’m just going to have to go again.
Words by Catherine Woolley