The Strong Devoted

You get a lot of bands in London. Sometimes it seems like you can’t move for swarms of drainpipes and meaningful haircuts. They’re everywhere. You can’t go to Sainsburys without tripping over a Jing, a Jang, a Jong or whatever the fuck they are, or a winkle-pickered synth-rocker making sure the walk down the High Street hasn’t undone all that hard straightening work.

What’s more, the vast majority of them are absolutely appalling, and I say that from a position of some experience. There was a time not so long ago when it seemed all I was doing when I wasn’t sleeping, eating or selling my soul to the devil was going to see friends in bands in the vast gallery of London’s toilet venues. Most of said mate’s bands were okay, but they tended to share the bill with some horrific excuses for people that come together to make music that others might enjoy. The odd excuse might have a redeeming feature, like the lot that had a bassist who was the spitting image of Diana, Queen of Hearts (God Rest Her Soul), despite being a chap. And the steady Chinese water torture drip of earnest young men with acoustic guitars, and a following of his family and friends from the Home Counties. They were always quite entertaining, in a soul crushing way.

To make matters worse, most of these terrible, terrible bands tend to think they are the future of music, and are on the brink of that first deal that will propel them onto the inevitable road to international mega stardom that their undisputed talent so richly deserves. Whether they believe that because they have absolutely no taste whatsoever, are completely and utterly clueless, or just need to justify their petty existence so their world doesn’t fall in around their ears, I don’t know. But yes, you get a lot of awful, terrible bands in London.

So it was genuinely unusual to overhear a conversation between two band members that was concerned with what they were going to do on stage in about half an hour that wasn’t deluded nonsense, but a truly nervous desire to do what they could do, and hope that the assembled throng would understand that it was good. They weren’t going to force it down throats, they were going to put it out there, and leave it up to you to decide. And so it was that I witnessed such a thing walking down the street in front of two Broken Records, on the way to see their first gig in London last Tuesday at the Soho Revue Bar.

Those with their ear that tragically close to the ground may well have caught a previous whisper about a band causing a bit of a stir in Edinburgh over the last year or so, and though such types are thankfully few and far between (myself obviously included) there were still enough of them (us) to fill a strip club to the point where people had to stand on the poles and podiums to get a decent view. Those whispers that had been popping up here and there seemed to include a lot of mentions of Arcade Fire, but once the band begin, it’s pretty obvious that those comparisons are a little bit lazy.

Yes, there’s an indecent amount of instrument swapping going on. Yes, there’s a slight vocal similarity. Yes, there are accordions and strings, and all kinds of things – but, believe it or not, people were doing this before some splendid Canadians appeared a few years ago. In the hands of Broken Records, the sound is far more indigenous – violin, cello and trumpet combine for moments that remind of Belle and Sebastian. On a new song (sorry, didn’t catch the name), piano and trumpet come together to evoke the melancholy of Christmas EP Mogwai. When things pick up pace, it may even get a bit Celtic Soul Brother, although probably less soul, more pop. And with it all, there’s just enough mishap to stop it all getting far too shiny far too soon. Lyrics are earnest and wrought with intent, without straying into wincing teenage soul searching. The two Broken Records were right. It is good.

There are still a couple of moments that remind you that it’s relatively early days, and that there’s still a way to go. The inexplicable and repeated breakdown in A Good Reason seems incongruously shoe horned in the absence of something better to do, and the occasional bass line or melody pops up that needs a bit more thought rather than settling on the easy option.

But that’s probably being a bit harsh. You get the feeling that these things are already getting sorted out as we go along, even if we get just a 25 minute set that’s truncated because at the moment, there’s nothing more to give. For a first foray into London’s unforgiving pit of mundanity, it’s actually a bit of a triumph. You just have to hope it’s not all happening a bit quickly, that the already signed single deal with a nicely positioned small yet perfectly formed label doesn’t make it all seem a bit too easy. You just really, truly hope.

If you have a look at their myspace, you can still order their first home made EP, and to tempt you here are a couple of reasons why you should. But better still, get yourself along to one of the increasingly long list of toilet venues they’re playing in the foreseeable while you still can - they’re not going to be playing them much longer.



Broken Records – If The News Makes You Sad, Don’t Watch It

Broken Records – Nearly Home


Edit: Song By Toad has put up an acoustic Broken Records session, and it is a corker. Find it here.

Tiny Dancer


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