Nottingham is broiling. With sun heat. And with humanity. The pubs overspill beyond the pavement, into the road, as hordes of Nottingham Forest fans prepare for the final game of the season, sinking gallons of carbonated amber liquid. Unrelated, in Old Market Square a sizeable gaggle of the ill-informed and ham-faced, waving England flags, face off against a counter-demonstration, divided by ranks of fluorescent police. And every available venue is hosting Dot To Dot, a festival showcasing fresh musical talent.
Begun in 2005, Dot To Dot is a multi-venue affair, like Camden Crawl or The Great Escape, but which takes over Bristol one day and Nottingham the next (and, until COVID, also Manchester). Unfortunately, we don’t arrive in time to see the intriguingly named Rainbow Frog Biscuits but, grabbing a pint of the locally-brewed Endless Summer ale (4.5%), our first band of the day, in the low-ceilinged Black Cherry Lounge, is Yes And Maybe at 2.30 PM.
They’re decked out like Reservoir Dogs, black jackets, white shirts, black ties, a French band fronted by a bouffant-haired Scot (named Maybe, apparently, pictured left). They play a tightly constructed pop-rock that’s occasionally new wavey, albeit more The Knack than XTC. They drift unfortunately close to The Killers. The guitarist (stage-named Yes) is notably talented and, also, notably handsome, dashingly moustachioed with a flop of dark fringe falling over one eye.
Mostly too FM radio slick for this writer they, nevertheless, have songwriting pep and it’s easy to imagine them playing stadiums. Their snappy songs take in comparatives ranging from the light skank of The Police, to the Gallic nouveau yacht rock of Oracle Sisters, to the falsetto zing of Scissor Sisters, and they close with an undeniable banger, the MGMT-esque “Bloody Madness”.
Dot To Dot takes place in 19 official venues, almost all within a 10-minute walk of each other. Eight of them are part of the same architectural complex, centred around the storied perennial Rock City. This is where we spend most of the day, not through laziness, but because it’s where bands that appeal are playing, mostly half-hour sets each.
Next up, we head to Stealth for New York duo KatzPascale (pictured above). Jenna Pascale, on cello, wears an I HEART BRISTOL tee-shirt, her mop of black curls falling across her face. Seated next to her is Sammi Katzmann in black leather jacket, on sax. Their set consists of three ten-minute songs wherein they use pedals to create spaced tone music, then add mournful cello, wheezing sax, and, sometimes, Pascale’s melancholic vocals.
The place is full and, aptly, a hazy murk of dry ice and low pink lighting. The stage is the same level as the audience, and the pair constantly lean down from their chairs to press floor-level buttons. They’re hardly visible, but this suits their opiated bong dirge, swirling and smudging brains to swaying reverie.
After sitting in the sun in the tabled area outside the venue complex, sinking another Endless Summer and a pint of Poretti Italian lager (4.8%), it’s time for Ugly Ozo (pictured above) in the Black Cherry Lounge. Hailing from the Isle of Wight, they’re guitarist-singer Jess Baker and her bassist sister Elizabeth (AKA Boo), backed by a male drummer. They fire out a set of Nirvana-meets-Hole grunge-pop. The tunes are there, as are the loud-quiet-loud dynamics. Too derivative to hook me, they nevertheless hold the room.
But now it’s the performance I’ve been waiting for (again in Black Cherry Lounge). Michelle Baker’s new album Somebody Help Me, I’m Being Spontaneous is the rock debut of the year so far, but can she give it the charisma and heft in concert that bleeds from the record? To see her, I’ll have to miss righteous, rising Leeds indie-dance sorts Adult DVD, who are next door…
Tatted, clad in a white tee and black football shorts, with a blond feather cut not a million miles from Amy Taylor of Amyl And The Sniffers, stuffed into a baseball cap, she emanates excitable energy. Her band’s set slams through cuts from the album. Again, grunge is a heavy seasoning but Baker’s lyrics have a snarky pithiness, tales of rented room debauch, desperation and a messy love life. They’re nailed to songs rich in attitude, which stay in the memory.
The whole set is a treat, but highlights include “Slugs”, where slugs in the cupboard of her rundown Newcastle housing are a counterpoint to all she loudly, ragingly desires (to “be brave”, to “grow old”, and so on). Her guitarist has the chops to match, and the set closes with “Why Would I Want to Be Just Like You?”, which Baker precedes by telling us she had an ill-attended, unhappy set in Bristol the night before and that today makes up for it. The band concludes with a fiery, punkin’ riff-off. Pop life is rarely fair, but I hope someone with money gets behind Michelle Baker. This music deserves to be heard.
We follow this with a dip into the last two songs by Los Angeles rockers Rocket, in Rock City (that's a whole lot of rock); yet more grunginess elevated by the Suzi Quatro vibes given off by frontwoman Alithea Tuttle (pictured above), and by their penchant for shoegazey guitar freakouts. Then it’s time for a few botlles of Vietnamese Bia Hà Nội beer (4.6%) and a bowl of spicy tofu noodles in a pavement restaurant, the bustle of central Nottingham noisily parading past, before returning, yet again, to Black Cherry Lounge for Bristol outfit Grandma’s House (pictured below).
They are a thematically queer, post-punk-flavoured unit consisting of Yasmin Berndt on vocals and guitar, clad in baggy black, Poppy Dodgson on drums and vocals, in shorts, white shirt and black tie, Zoë Zinsmeister on bass, in a pinstriped shirt buttoned to the top, looking like a po-faced, sunlight-avoidant Debbie Harry in platform DMs, with guitarist Polly Jessett adding extra sonic wang.
Berndt’s vocals have growly grit which Dodgson matches by going sweet’n’high or offering Siouxsie Sioux yelp. “Shall we have a little mosh?” Berndt asks and the crowd obliges, with songs such as “Body” channelling lived anger into dissonant guitar attack. Comparatives might include Witch Fever, The Fall, and L7 and, with “Dog”, they showcase a catchily memorable crossover number.
Lambrini Girls are the big noise today, playing Rock City, but I can probably see them elsewhere this summer whereas Montreal dance-punkers La Sécurité, not so much. They’re playing the Rescue Rooms and are the day’s climactic energy flash, accompanied by a couple of JD&Cokes. Their set begins aligned to the classic New York punk-funk of Liquid Liquid, ESG, Bush Tetras, et al, but less pared-back, fatter, more frolicking, as they have two guitarists (Laurene-Anne Charest-Gagné in seed-sack dungarees and stripey vest top, and Melissa Di Menna in black’n’white-striped ESL sports shirt, mini-skirt and knee-high stocking socks).
Lead singer, Éliane Viens-Synnott (pictured right) is a ball of wild energy, hair up, wearing a vest top emblazoned BONK in garish pink, her glasses soon coming off as they become too steamed up. She’s matched in zest by lithe, tattooed, crop-haired bassist Félix Bélisle (who’s also in tasty Montreal outfit Choses Sauvages). At the back drummer Kenny Smith, with a blond thatch like one of The Seeds, pins down propulsive, hip-moving beats.
They keep chat to a minimum although Bélisle makes an amusing comment about how the whooping Brit crowd-cry of “Come on!” sounds like “Jambon!” to these French-speakers, so it’s like someone repeatedly yelling “ham” at them. Mostly, though, they stick to thickening their dance gumbo as the night progresses (a 45-minute set, this one), showcasing cuts from their imminent new album, Bingo!, growing increasingly frenetic and punky amid stroboscopic green lighting. Viens-Synnott adds Hawkwind-ish synth whooshing, jumps about, and lines up with her female compadres to wave shakers in unison. Vaguely redolent of Gossip, they’re an urgent party and great way to end Dot To Dot before stepping out to the still warm pavements and tropical night.
Below: watch the video for "Deny" by La Sécurité
