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Review: Stick in the Wheel, Strange Brew – ‘One of the most original and exciting bands’
The atmosphere is quiet and sombre as I arrive at Strange Brew, in contrast to the queue round the block for death metal band Blood Incantation who are playing down the road at Electric.
But the crowd gradually builds, as does the excitement ahead of Stick in the Wheel’s headline appearance.
Support comes from Faith Eliott, a singer-songwriter originally from Minneapolis, now based in Edinburgh. It’s storytelling of mythic proportions, told sweetly through the medium of Eliott’s seraphic voice, gliding and melting over delicate arpeggios.
Faith Eliott’s one fried egg sock winningly matched the shirt she was wearing – photo: Lucy Langley-Palmer
There is some gorgeous imagery in the lyrics, but at times it is in danger of being caught up inside itself. The structure can be difficult to follow and songs seem to finish abruptly, like an interrupted thought.
A highlight of their set is An Ode of Unrequited Love from a Hagfish to a Giant Isopod – a ballad of such acute yearning it’s like a shard to the heart. It’s beautiful and evocative, but also full of gentle humour. Eliott seems to come alive as they introduce the song and we see a twinkling of their wit.
They play a stripped back version of Snowglobe from album Dryas, but without the orchestration and effects it loses its haunting quality and depth, and is left feeling a bit flat.
The same can be said of a few songs from the record. Eliott plays them live in a straightforward singer-songwriter, person-plus-guitar configuration, skipping most of the atmospheric soundscapes that make the album so interesting and give it its sense of epic, glacial timelessness.
Their set comes to an end with a brief foray into looping and layering of sound, which just starts to feel like it is going somewhere interesting, when Eliott cuts it off abruptly with an apologetic smile. This is one of the rare occasions in which I enjoy the record more than the live experience.
Eliott’s live show feels flat compared to the electronics-augmented soundscapery of their recorded material – photo: Ursula Billington
Not so with Stick in the Wheel. The band’s stage presence brings an extra dimension to their music and it’s the best reminder of why live music matters.
While I love their records I had never seen them live before, and I wasn’t prepared for the deadpan swagger of frontwoman Nicola Kearey. She has the air of a world-weary tough-as-nails matriarch with whom you do not want to mess.
She makes and sustains eye contact with me a few times during the set and, frankly, it’s slightly terrifying. She’s cool, aloof and punk as fuck. She throws out a dismissive “Alright?” to the crowd before launching into their set.
Vocalist Kearey’s onstage presence is captivating, if unsettling at times – photo: Ursula Billington
The trio take us on a wild ride through latest album A Thousand Pokes, with a peppering of old favourites too.
There’s a thread of brooding darkness weaving through the whole set, from the shadowy menace of Brisk Lad – “there’s a number of jobs to be done, my brave lads” – to Hush which brings to the fore all the dark undercurrents that usually lurk below the surface of a lullaby.
Then there’s the metallic industrial unease of Steals the Thief, with its subtle electronic flourishes and autotune on Kearey’s voice used to haunting effect.
There’s a certain sweetness too, especially in the simplicity of the melody in What Can the Matter Be, in which Emma Holbrook’s drumming drives the syncopation and the guitar, vocals and drums weave around each other, ducking and diving with the flair of a flamenco dance.
While Kearey’s magnetic persona might steal the limelight, guitarist Ian Carter’s presence is warm and solid, providing ballast in the form of delicious motifs and a shimmering ethereal wall of sound.
This band, and each member, has a vast range of expression, and they seem far greater than the sum of their parts.
A silent presence stage-left, Carter’s resonator provides the drive and groove that back up Kearey’s intense vocals, in turns haunting and swaggering – photo: Lucy Langley-Palmer
They take us seamlessly from the sixteenth century in a song based on a secular carol (“Everyone’s favourite ballad about Lent from 1582”), to the post-rock apocalyptic nightmare of Robot, based on a short story by Tom Cox, in which Carter’s guitar rumbles ominously beneath Kearey’s incantation, building in intensity to an eventual crescendo and then ebbs away to a residual unease.
The crowd can’t get enough, and they hang on Kearey’s every reluctant word. They draw the band out for the encore, apparently against their will, with Kearey muttering “It seems a bit unnecessary”, before finishing the show with a flourish and retreating to the merch table where she barters happily with fans.
Stick in the Wheel have a certain kind of dark glamour that leaves the audience enthralled. They stride confidently across centuries and genres, refusing to be bound to any one dimension.
Like all the best bands they defy categorisation, but one thing is for sure: they are one of the most original and exciting bands you could hope to see live.
Main image: Lucy Langley-Palmer
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