Over the years, I’ve probably met a hundred people who’ve told me that seeing this or that band was “a religious experience”, and had to work hard not to roll my eyes. Here though, I want to write about why a gig I went to last night was probably as close to that as I will ever get.
An old friend once described me as a “fanatical atheist”. From the outside of any established faith, listening to this band play 20 feet away from me, with a few hundred others, had an impact that I find hard to explain, but I feel devoted to.
Over those 2 hours, this performance smothered what has honestly been a horrendous period of ill-health for me, over many months.
It made me feel a joy that turned many other seemingly-important aspects of day-to-day life into white noise.
It renewed my commitment to keep making things myself. Despite the fact that the music and writing I do only spins out to an absolutely tiny orbit outside my studio, this experience made me feel like I have something I’m “called” to do.
It also felt like I joined the rest of the audience in a moment of collective epiphany and fervour. There was a community, a solidarity, between a band playing in their own (and my own) city.
Oh, and it also happened in a church, vaulted ceiling and stained glass included.
I do want to talk about why this specific band, in this specific room, hit me so hard, but I have to caveat that by saying that the experience was more than the sum of its parts.
WU LYF are not actually my favourite band, and I don’t think they are necessarily the most accomplished I’ve ever heard, but their songs are certainly stunning, and every element of the band worked incredibly well together last night.
The drums sound like they suited an orchestra, making a standing tom sound like a timpani drum, and played with incredible care for the dynamics of the rising and defusing instrumentation.
The bass managed to offset the airy tone of the guitars and vocals, with a little grind that kept the hysteria grounded. This then let keys and guitars soar around the venue’s vaulted ceiling.
I actually don’t even follow a huge amount of Ellery Roberts’ lyrics (this isn’t unusual for me – I have had the same experience, and a similar love, for the vocals of Farris Badwan from The Horrors). The wailing tone of Roberts’ voice often already carries all the emotional weight the songs need.
So last night I was able to experience the beautiful WU LYF, playing in the beautiful Albert Hall, in my beautiful city of Manchester, and it has lifted me out of myself.
Perhaps other faiths are capable of being more profound, but I don’t see how my love of music in moments like this could be any more important a metanarrative surrounding a life.
