Gig Review - Guillemots

Guillemots
Corn Exchange, Brighton
Sunday 29th October


There is a certain sensation swirling around this cavernous old venue that is hard to place. It may be the fact that half the audience are attempting to drink foul-tasting Black Star Ale, or perhaps pure Sunday night blues. But something isn’t quite right.

When the man with the best name in music – singer Fyfe Dangerfield – meanders onstage with his band, little is done to dispel this. Opening with the gentle sentiments of Little Bear, Fyfe’s voice generates such fragility it may break at any moment.

Before there is time for this though, it is the sound equipment that breaks. Fyfe appears distraught when learning his special red microphone is beyond repair. Nevertheless, he manfully fills the time with an individual take on death metal, armed with only his guitar and the ability to scream extremely badly.

This sets the tone for an evening of unexpected pleasures. Guillemots are a band whose very nature suggests a refusal to conform. While most bands are following a well-trodden path to mediocrity, Guillemots include a saxophonist, double-bassist, and at one stage a woman dressed as a wicked witch in their group.

Getting over the early mishaps, soon the crowd is well and truly gripped, thanks to an early airing of the luscious Made Up Love Song #43. The simplicity of lyrics proclaiming “the beauty of an empty Coke can” nestles snugly into the complexity of a plodding double-bass mixed with soaring synths.

This combination of styles is evident throughout, with the musicians as comfortable subtly providing support to Fyfe’s heartbreaking voice as they are producing electrifying samba rhythms. Annie, Let’s Not Wait and Trains From Brazil sound more suited to carnivals than the Corn Exchange, but it somehow fits.

On occasion, certain ideas don’t quite succeed, such as Fyfe’s attempts to jump from keyboard to guitar with increasing regularity, making both seem disjointed. Also, selecting three consecutive ballads mid-set leads to a momentary lull in the crowd. Nevertheless, it is easy to forgive a band trying to break the mould.

Sheer fun radiates from the stage; there are dancing penguins on the screen behind the band, while their devoted audience dances like penguins in front of them. The fittingly epic finale Sao Paolo typifies this, as 17 people fill the stage, using stepladders and dustbin lids as drums. The unexpected is accepted when watching Guillemots, with the only guarantee being a unique experience.


Greg Rose