Last night I saw Slow Club thumping and chanting in Liverpool Barfly. And they were rather wonderful.
They were supported by a rosy-faced cherub by the name of Thomas Speight, and also a charming young lady in skinny purple jeans. I think she was called Roxanne.
I've seen Slow Club a few times before, but last night they were extra special. For two people, they can make a lot of noise. They feature a quirky assortment of percussion, including the chair at left (legs sawn off for easier transportation). They can sing beautiful harmonies. They can even go off mic and keep all eyes on them. They're also from Sheffield. Go Sheffo!
My boyfriend declared that, as is, they are too quirky for mainstream success. But if they were 17 years old, instead of hawking their own CDs from a cardboard box at the end of the night they'd be up there with Laura Marling by now. Although I'm sad to admit it, he's probably right.
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