Music / Alt rock
Review: Belly, SWX
When I were a lad, my Dad would pass unfavourable comment upon the rather loud strains of Belly thudding through my bedroom wall. Twenty-five years on, it’s more the strain of my own nascent belly against my t-shirt that warrants comment. It’s all part of the ‘Dad bod’ aesthetic – all bought and paid for – and much like youthful music listening in the early 90s, working on it has been a labour of love.
A quick glance at the demographic at SWX on Sunday night suggested that there were a fair few others present sharing the same essential past and present experience. It didn’t matter how enthusiastically bassist Gail Greenwood told us that we bounced and looked like teenagers from where she was standing. Apart from some laudable twentysomething devotees near the front (proof enough that Belly’s output transcends its 90s heyday), the vast majority present had lived with 1993’s Star and 1995’s King for the best part of a quarter century.
When Tanya Donnelly disbanded Belly in 1996, who’d have predicted they’d be back in 2018, especially with an album that sits so comfortably alongside their treasured early efforts? No-one seemed purely fixed on a nostalgia trip, as nine of the nineteen songs came from their recent album, Dove. On only the second night of their UK tour, some of these songs were extremely fresh to Belly’s setlist. The first half of their show ended with ‘Mine,’ receiving its second-ever live airing and ‘Faceless,’ about which Gail Greenwood announced, “This one has never been out of my basement before.” Despite the inherent hostage imagery, they properly set the track free, Tanya and Gail’s comedy genuflection afterwards indicating happy relief.
That both halves of their show began with tracks from Star was a canny audience-buttering move. Despite King being the bigger commercial success, Star clearly retains that first-time/first-love frisson. The night’s biggest roars came in response to that album’s ‘Slow Dog,’ ‘Feed The Tree’ and a beefed-up, juggernaut-jangle version of ‘Gepetto,’ to which Greenwood seemed to have leant a little from her time in L7. One of the glories of Belly was always that they could soothe, sandpaper and shred, all in the course of one song. Tanya Donnelly’s voice can still morph from breathy to banshee within a single bar.
“Don’t give up yourself to the sad man,” on ‘Artifact’ summed up the whole evening’s ethos – a Sunday night middle-age rampage, bulging predominantly with gratitude and exuberance.
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