Review: Slow Readers Club – Rescue Rooms Nottingham

Half dead by the day and whatever took it out of me I looked forward to some kind of salvation. The bus travel ticket I was given on way had its randomly generated word of the day writ big and bold bottom corner. I took pictures and posted and amused myself thinkin ‘Heart’ could be found in the strangest of places. I reached Rescue Rooms with a smile on my face;  A sold out room for The Slow Readers Club… with support from Desperate Journalist.

Desperate Journalist

I hadn’t banked on catching the support, I hadn’t bet on discovering.  Catching a space between dream pop and grunge, drawing in moments of Banshees, Echobelly and creating a wall for vocals to creep over and under and even leap off sometimes, I got caught up in the draw.

An untamed and friendly/unfriendly singer coiled in microphone cables and androgynous looks jerked note to note in larynx and limb. She wins over, underwhelmed and wins over again against backdrops of felt to pierce a light through and post punk to punctuate without concern by throwing her voice into highs without looking.

Guitar and bass can either play backseat or all four can prick for position. Annoyingly drums could not quite compete but I’m willing to blame my position. Between them they’re wrapped in their own lit-up world, a world you might ever only enter at risk. Welcome or wanted, there’s no guarantee but I like the sound from outside so I’m in. It’s imperfect, sure, but what perfect world isn’t and a fey wordplay vitriol gets slung through the songs.

Men in front row chant ‘Reeeaaaders’, they get sharply met with a ‘That’s quite enough.’ I fully agreed and we muscled our way through a closing song titled ‘Christina’. It’s the most biggest, most Banshees sounding song in set and the drums packed a new set of punches.

The Slow Readers Club  

The interlude moves to its end. The rocky montage music that raised air guitarists and sky punchers to life is replaced by The Readers’ stage-light drop and intro. Jefferson Airplane. Somebody to love. I think of my day. I think of my bus ticket. I think I… I think I got off at wrong stop.

I’ve taken a detour through Manchurian swagger and ended up here where balconies become terraces and fans require bands football shirts not required. I was looking for something with feeling included but I’m getting teased with over squeezed nods to New Order, Editors, Peter Hook and Parker Jackets but shy of the warmth at least most of those offered.

Killers and Kasabian get drafted in too, it’s tight and tight-fitting and it’s lifting the nation inside of this room but it’s not quite sitting with me. It’s got all the structures and answer back hooks but the communal ‘waaahoooo’s make me woozy. E strings and chants are delivered with the confidence of can’t get it wrong and I’m not the one who will argue. Polished to point of unsympathetic, a synthetic interest in past counter-cultures.

Delivery, check. Attitude, check. Mistake free and flawless… Play cocky because you can afford to be cocky (and with shows sold out like this one, why shouldn’t you be?), check, check and check. Danger of variation and danger of danger… receding to point of diminished.

I miss the imperfections of the previous band and I am one type of rock out-of-place.
-Will Wilkinson

The Slow Readers Club played Rescue Rooms, Nottingham on November 23rd.
With support from Desperate Journalist.

Find The Slow Readers Club @ theslowreadersclub.co.uk

Find Desperate Journalist @ desperatejournalist.co.uk