Music / Reviews
Review: Doves, SWX – ‘Less a gig, more a communion’
Rarely in my ten years here have I heard a Bristol crowd roar like SWX roared for Doves.
It was a full-throated, Friday, end-of-the-week roar. And it kept on coming, song after song. Proper twelfth man stuff. Everyone here was invested. Everywhere you looked, arms were raised.
Part in celebration, part supplication.
is needed now More than ever
It was Doves’ ability to induce The Big Feelings that did it. These songs are big, anthemic things. There’s room to roam – space (and perhaps, for some, permission) to feel the joy, hope, sadness, fear.
A communal catharsis – Doves brought all the feelings to SWX on a Friday night
And maybe relief, too? Pre-match nerves were understandable, for fans as well as the band, with three new members bedding in and lead singer Jimi Goodwin absent.
But any doubt dissipated quickly, and third song Words set the tone: a kind of widescreen, euphoric defiance.
It wasn’t all air-punching, mind. Here It Comes felt slower than usual, and more tender for it.
“This is a call”, drummer Andy Williams sang, “it goes out to those who’ve been there”. With its wistful harmonica it seemed a lament for times past, good or bad.
Caught By The River swelled and swooned, life ballast in song form, reminding us the undertow can grab any of us, anytime: “Son, what have you done, you’re coming undone.”
Usual lead vocalist Jimi Goodwin has taken a step back due to mental health issues but the rest of the band are ploughing on with a new album and tour
And there were romantic moments, too. Like on Snowden, and new song Last Man Standing, another Andy vocal, which he introduced with a quick “this one’s for Jimi!”. That was the only reference to ‘events’. For all the emotion swirling around, Doves don’t seem the type to wallow.
That much was clear from the start, as Firesuite slowly ascended and a video of a lighthouse casting beams of light over us gave way to words on screen, a mantra of the late DJ Andrew Weatherall: “Fail we may… sail we must.”
It’s perfect for Doves, this belief that living bravely is both duty and reward. Resilience as the path to possibility.
That spirit was everywhere. You felt it whenever guitarist (and Andy’s brother) Jez Williams stood centre-stage to take on Jimi’s vocal duties. You heard it in the urgency of instant classics Renegade and Cold Dreaming, and in a yearning, building Kingdom Of Rust (“I long to feel some beauty in my heart”).
And, midway through, in Pounding, the point where the gig took off. “This one might be good for a Friday,” said Jez. “So, why / Is it so hard to get by?” went the bridge, life’s struggle contrasted once again with a soundtrack of pure release.
Cue that roar again.
It was a triumphant return for a band that hasn’t toured for 15 years
With that, it finally dawned on me what it is Doves really took from acid house. For all the skyscraping melodies and electronic textures, what counts is the sense that music is a shared experience. The mutual support between band and audience. The Williams brothers are still here out of dedication to the idea of Doves, what it can offer people.
It’s why this felt less a gig, and more a communion.
After the final, urgent pulse and escape of Black And White Town, first encore The Cedar Room sounded somehow both enormous and intimate, Jez’s notes rippling out over the swaying crowd.
Then, finally, inevitably, it was There Goes The Fear, ending in a carnival of percussion, lives momentarily lost (and found) in the riot of rhythms.
These are songs that coax out the feelings buried in your chest. This gig was communal catharsis on a Friday night.
It made sense of the lighthouse in those visuals, too. Doves are a band to navigate life by.
All images: James Caig
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