CONTENTS UNDER PRESSURE ISSUE 2: PLATFORM
Welcome to issue one of CONTENTS UNDER PRESSURE, a zine about celebrating creativity, equality, and unity. This exclusive issue follows various bands across the UK about the importance of representation in the music industry, and how they handle it in each their own ways. Thank you for your support! Starring: The Tuts The Spook School Dream Nails Kermes Babe Punch Crumbs Happy Accidents Fresh Velodrome The Baby Seals Colour Me Wednesday Witch Fever
Welcome to issue one of CONTENTS UNDER PRESSURE, a zine about celebrating creativity, equality, and unity. This exclusive issue follows various bands across the UK about the importance of representation in the music industry, and how they handle it in each their own ways. Thank you for your support! Starring: The Tuts The Spook School Dream Nails Kermes Babe Punch Crumbs Happy Accidents Fresh Velodrome The Baby Seals Colour Me Wednesday Witch Fever
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CONTENTS UNDER
PRESSURE
THE TUTS | FRESH | HAPPY ACCIDENTS | DREAM NAILS | VELODROME
| KERMES | THE SPOOK SCHOOL | THE BABY SEALS | CRUMBS |
BABE PUNCH | WITCH FEVER | COLOUR ME WEDNESDAY |
PLATFORM:
THE EXCLUSIVE ISSUE ON REPRESENTATION IN MUSIC
Hi everyone,
Just wanted to say thank you for your patience and support
during the time it took me to complete this zine. I so
appreciate all the talented and lovely people who took the
time to sit down for interviews with me and let me stick a
camera in their faces for this project.
In the time since I completed the last interview, I got a job,
moved to New York, lost a job, and overall just have had a
lot going on. With everything that’s happened in the world
since then - most recently the Kavanaugh debacle, the
proof of XXX’s abuse finally coming to light, Trump’s attempt
to denounce trans people’s entire existence - makes
the topics here, sadly, still relevant, and they will continue
to be so for a while.
It does give me hope that there are people like those within
these pages who are advocating for safer spaces and
better acceptance in the world. I am grateful for them all,
and know their impact will be long-lasting.
Special thanks to everyone who supported me through this
exceedingly long process, and especially to Charlie, who
proofread all the words here.
Love,
Fran
Table of
Contents
the spook school
p. 006
dream nails
p. 017
kermes
p. 026
happy accidents
p. 036
the baby seals
p. 046
COLOUR ME WEDNESDAY
p. 052
the tuts
p. 066
babe punch
p. 078
WITCH FEVER
p. 088
CRUMBS
p. 094
FRESH
p. 100
VELODROME
p. 108
THE
SPOOK
SCHOOL
Edinburgh power pop
heroes The Spook School
always inspire a crowd as
they jump and sing along to
their upbeat and glittering
songs about mental health,
the spectrum of gender
that is far from binary, and
celebrating the sadness that
comes with life. Something
that will never go amiss at
a Spook School show is the
comedic banter between
the band and the crowd
(not surprising considering
three of the four members
met at a comedy course at
university in Edinburgh),
and was gleefully apparent
when sitting down with
them for an interview.
The Spook School
Entertainment is one of their
greatest goals in performing live,
as guitarist Adam Todd describes.
“I don’t think any of us have
particularly long attention spans
for watching music or in a live
setting, so we try and make sure
that a show that we would do
would be a show that we wouldn’t
get bored by.” Especially considering
the heavy topics covered by
their songs, things that the crowd
might be going through themselves
and finding it tough to get
through, it’s important to them
to offer not quite an escape from
them, but a celebration in spite of
them. “We really like making sure
that the people coming to the show
know that they can celebrate and
be joyous and that kind of stuff,”
drummer Niall McCamley adds;
“It’s easy to wallow, when it’s
really fun to fire tiny party glitter
things on yourself and roll about
on the floor.”
In addition to that, they write
songs for people to relate to and
feel less alone when they hear
them, and then take the next step
to make the space feel safer for
everyone involved. Diet Cig, who
they toured around the UK, Europe
and the states with for a good
couple of months last year and
Drummer Niall McCamley at Belgrave
Music Hall in Leeds on their album
release tour (May 2018)
at the start of this one, are wellknown
for being one of the many
bands now requesting gender-neutral
toilets to be made available for
attendees, and it’s there that The
Spook School learned just how far
they can take control of not only
the show but the venue they play it
in. “Trying to do things at our live
shows, even if it’s not a part of the
actual show,” guitarist Nye Todd
says, “to make the space welcoming
for people is important.” Niall
agrees, and links back to Adam’s
point on taking what would make
them feel comfortable to implement
in to the entire atmosphere of
a show.
The Spook School
“It’s easy to
wallow, when it’s really
fun to fire tiny party glitter
things on yourself and roll
about on the floor.”
The band have recently released
their third album, Could It Be Different?,
receiving widely-spread
and well-deserved critical praise
for another record that handles
topical issues ranging from finding
the empowerment to walk
away from an abusive relationship
(see the infectiously catchy
and teeth-grittingly angry “Still
Alive”) to mental health in various
forms (see the sweet indie-pop in
“Less Than Perfect” and “Body”).
Recorded and produced by the
talented MJ from Leeds’ Hookworms,
he brings a new shimmering
shine to the band’s grit but
without hiding it away. “He gives
us the time and he doesn’t treat us
like kids, even when we act like
it,” Niall says with a laugh. “It was
a very welcoming environment.
It felt more comfortable in terms
of less of an imposter syndrome
maybe, being in this magical
studio where you shouldn’t touch
anything should it break.” Nye
agrees: “It’s also working with
someone who’s excited about the
music that you’re making, and
believes that it can be good, which
is nice. That definitely helps.” As
a band that finds an accessible atmosphere
such as this important in
many other aspects, it’s important
to find someone who
The Spook School
implements that same control and
acceptance in a space they might
not feel comfortable.
Accessibility in other forms, however
seemingly unattainable at this
point, is something else the band
points out when asked what they
would change about the industry
as a whole. Adam wishes there
would be more funding going to
the arts that aren’t just classical
music and ballet (a place where a
large majority of it is going to at
the moment), in order “to make
doing music in a professional
fashion something that’s attainable,”
he explains, “particularly
for people from lower-income
backgrounds.” Bassist AC Cory
agrees, and builds on the idea of
taking pop music more seriously:
“There’s also that culture of music
not being proper work. As in, you
should be grateful you’re doing
this and enjoying it in your spare
time, and you’re not deserving
it; it’s free money or whatever,
because it’s a hobby. It’d be nice
to see an attitude of it being real
work that is good for society.”
Seeing how hard this band, and
the others around them, including
those behind the scenes making
the festival run, it’s no wonder
they’re still working towards and
hoping for better treatment from
onlookers who consider them to
be “hobbyists.”
For now, though, the band are just
hoping to continue to write and
continue to tour, though whereabouts
after their album tour might
well be unknown. “We tend to
be a band that says yes to a lot of
things,” Adam explains (which
is how they ended up continuing
their tour with Diet Cig, only
meant to be in the UK originally),
“so a lot of the time, we’ve not
particularly planned what we’re
doing that far in advance, but
someone will say, do you want to
do this thing? And we’ll be like,
oh yep!” No matter what they do,
though, no doubt it’s going to be
just as fun as the band always are.
Guitarist Nye Todd
at Belgrave Music
Hall in Leeds on
their album release
tour (May 2018)
“Trying to do things at
our live shows, even if
it’s not a part of the
actual show, to make
the space welcoming for
people is important.”
DREAM
NAILS
Dream Nails, a four-piece riot
grrl band out of London, are
enthusiastically DIY and selfproclaimed
“punk witches,” at
each famously riotous live show
putting a hex on misogynistic
figures and conservative politicians
with their deeply infectious
riff-heavy tune “Deep Heat.”
Their mix of chunky basslines
and sparkling harmonies are
reminiscent of “The Ramones
meet Bikini Kill” with a whole
new updated outlook on the
industry, and how their songs
and actions as a band can
change it for the better.
DREAM NAILS
For their song about “hating your
job,” they recall an event at their
Leeds show opening for Cherry
Glazerr where a member of the
crowd dropped to his knees, raised
his arms to the sky, and exclaimed,
“That’s my life!” Three months later,
he messaged the band to say that
he was inspired to quit his job, and
then at Christmas time informed
them that he now runs a pet-sitting
business and it’s the best decision
he’s made in his life. It’s this kind
of deeper change that Dream Nails
are working to inspire in everyone,
from quitting a corporate job, to
hexing horrible politicians, to creating
a safer space for women and
nonbinary people.
They advocate for a “girls to the
front” initiative, taking time in their
set to invite women and non-binary
to approach the front of the crowd,
and sending men to the back, in order
to encourage a safer and more
fun atmosphere, in the setting of a
punk show where the weight of a
patriarchal society is often emphasized.
Bassist Mimi Jasson notes
that creating that safer space at the
front of the crowd is for the band
as well: “When you see the women
and nonbinary people coming to
the front, it actually is so mutual,
because I feel a lot safer with them
being there as well. This is our
space!”
Creating that safe space at shows
is top of the list for them: “I want
women and nonbinary people to
feel safe, to feel that is their space
and no one else’s, and to feel like
we are on their side,” says lead vocalist
Janey Starling. If that can’t
be achieved on the side of the men
in the crowd, the show will be
stopped; “We’ll take our instruments
off and refuse to play,” bassist
Anya Pearson explains. If they
can’t create a safe space physically,
their songs can’t complete the process
emotionally, by encouraging a
release of anger and emotions in a
fun environment that is their greatest
pursuit by performing these
songs. Screaming along to “Deep
Heat” (“nobody cares if your dick
is on fire”) or “Joke Choke” (a song
about how rape jokes are not funny)
are two completely different
releases of emotion, but either way
are two “really extreme releases of
emotion that are really therapeutic
when you do it publicly and collectively,”
Janey explains. Crafting a
breathable space for people who
perhaps struggle to find that in this
world is so powerful, and so important
to them.
dream nails
They take using their platform as a
band in the public eye very seriously,
which Anya points out scares off
a lot of bands in fear of losing popularity,
somehow. “It’s important to
write songs about someone’s emotional
space and communicate that
side of things, but I think it’s weird
to, once you establish yourself as
someone with a voice, not to use it
to share the stories of other people,
or to identify campaigns that need
attention and help and energy, because
that kind of thing can really
help.” They are currently proving
this by using their platform to sell
a zine (something they make to go
along with every release) about reproductive
justice and raise money
for Abortion Support Network, an
organization that raises money to
support women coming over from
Ireland to seek a safe and legal
abortion. It goes much further than
that, however, and the topics raised
in the zine range from this, to parental
rights to women who go to
jail while pregnant, to healthcare
rights as a trans person.
“Our whole approach to feminism
is a lifelong journey of learning
and listening,” Janey explains, and
she wants the people listening to
“Our whole
approach to
feminism is a
lifelong journey
of learning and
listening.”
them to partake alongside them.
“I want people to learn about this
stuff and to think about things that
they haven’t considered before,
and to understand the scale of violence
against women and the diverse
oppressions that women are
facing.” Drummer Lucy Katz notes
how often bands use this pursuit of
activism in their music (alone) as a
branding exercise. “We’re all quite
cautious of a lot of bands appropriating
certain political movements
or ideas or even feminist ideas and
concepts, and then taking them,
sanitizing them, making them
empty,” she says. “It feels such a
shame and such a waste,
dream nails
Dream Nails playing The Bread Shed stage
at Manchester Punk Festival (April 2018)
because for us, it’s so important
to have substance behind that, and
that’s something that we’ll never,
ever let go of. And the minute we
let go of that, we won’t be a band
anymore.” Janey’s still very aware
of the fact that art is not nearly
enough in regards to activism or
political movements. “It’s a really
important cultural platform,” she
admits, “and it’s an incredible way
to reach a lot of different people in
different locations, but ultimately,
it doesn’t really contribute to that
much structural change. It doesn’t
really put the work in motion that’s
needed for liberation. It’s a step on
the journey, but I think it’s pretty
preliminary.”
For now, they’ll continue pushing
for the safe spaces and the
breathable spaces, while calling
out people who treat them wrongly
(shout out to mansplaining sound
engineers). They have each other
to rely on, to laugh it off with,
but it’s still so much more of a slog
than for men. “You have to be a lot
stronger,” Mimi points out, “and
you have to deal with a lot more
shit, and so it’s just like walking
through mud or something, whereas
the guys just have a nice paved
road.” “And are worshipped,”
Lucy adds. But they’ll keep slogging,
and fighting the good fight,
because that’s what it takes to be a
woman in the music industry. For
now, we have a new album to look
forward to, which they can promise
will be “all killer, no filler.”
Here they come,
the emphatically
funny and incredibly
talented
four-piece band
Kermes, out of
Leicester. With
a debut album
out from earlier
this spring and
a drive to make
music that invites
those most
marginalized in
society to feel at
home and welcome,
they’re
making long
strides.
KERMES
kermes
“There’s a meme that’s a panel
from an anime,” Emily, lead singer
and guitarist from Leicester fourpiece
Kermes, tells me, “and it’s
the two men wearing the same trilby,
and they’re both going ‘SAME
HAT’ and that’s what I always think
of. ‘SAME HAT!’” She’s speaking
about visibility and representation
of queer people in the music scene,
and the importance of recognizing
yourself in a setting that perhaps
you wouldn’t normally, what with
the cishet white dudes permeating
the stage as of late.
We’re sat in a circle just outside
The Red Shed, a Labour clubhouse
turned music venue for Wakefield’s
Long Division festival, on a cool
early summer evening, giggling at
a slew of silly anecdotes that seem
to be one of two levels acting as the
theme for this interview. The two
levels seem to mirror Kermes’ outlook
on how they hope to impact
their audience – share that feeling
of ‘same hat!’, feeling a connection
between two people in a room full
of the majority where you’re the
minority, but also have a whole lot
of goddamn fun while doing it.
As a band with a wide pool of influence,
each member drawing
on their respective and unique
backgrounds and interests in music,
they’re creating content that
doesn’t quite sound like anyone
else. With a synth-esque guitar
sound that Cass, bass player and
newest member of Kermes, describes
as somewhere between
K-pop and eighties hair metal but
with a boogie, a depth that adds a
swampiness, plus angry screaming
over the top, there’s an onslaught
of influences that have brought
them to the sound they’re playing
with now. “I think in a lot of ways,
we’re just a rock band, but on a
more granular level, I don’t think
we sound like one thing specifically,”
Emily says.
When Emily first started making
music as Kermes, it was as a folk
band, mainly focusing on sadder
and slower songs. “I was just doing
solo stuff that was really miserable
and slow,” she tells me. “It was
sad boy jams, because I was still
pretending to be a boy, and I was
sad. And then I got angry.” What’s
stayed the same is Emily’s journalistic
approach to writing lyrics, taking
her experiences as a queer person
and trans woman, both positive
and negative, and pouring them
into heartfelt songs over groovy
tunes. Now, they’ve released their
first full-length album, We Choose
KERMES
Pretty Names, full of urgency and
tumult and sheer loudness, something
that defines their live shows
like nothing else.
“I think because we started so quiet
and slow and almost folky, that was
part of why I started screaming,”
Emily says. “You’re just trying to
get people to listen, trying to make
yourself heard. Volume is a radical,
political act.”
Experiencing a visceral connection
with someone in the crowd, that
‘same hat!’ feeling when you recognize
yourself in another human
being, especially when you’re a minority
in a crowd, is a big goal for
their shows. “Sometimes at gigs,
you’ll just see a person who’s really
into it and, not to stereotype, but
they’re obviously queer,” Emily
explains. “They’ve got an undercut
or colored hair or something, and
you just make eye contact and it’s
like, yeah, this is a shared moment
of just understanding.” Feeling less
alone in a crowd full of people who
might not understand or accept you
encourages these people, especially
younger people, to put themselves
out there more, to have more fun if
they observe other people they re
Kermes playing The Red Shed at Wakefield’s
Long Division Festival, June 2018
“Volume
is a radical,
political act.”
KERMES
late to doing just that.
“With about 90 % of our gigs,
there will be a point in the evening
where someone will come up to
you and they’ve obviously really
vibed with what you’re doing,”
guitarist Tom says. “They’ve obviously
really connected with it on an
emotional level, an almost primal
level where they’ve just gotten really
involved in it.” Whether that
be with the music, with the atmosphere
they create, the acceptance,
it doesn’t matter so much; where
that feeling can’t be explained by
rational or critical reasoning, it’s
just important to them that the audience
feels something.
Even barring their insistence that,
as small of a band as they are, they
don’t truly have a platform (at least
in the sense of how some musicians
do), the stage gives them a
certain “hierarchy of power,” putting
them in the forefront of everyone’s
eyes for twenty to forty-five
minutes of a set. Even something
as simple as “oh, yeah, the trans
woman can do a cool thing that I’m
on board with and respect,” says
Cass, “it can change their mindset
about how they see trans women.
If it’s just something as basic as, I
really liked the guitar or the bass,
saying that was cool, just reshuffle
my head about just how the representation
is.”
“Most people are nice and most
people are well-intentioned,” Emily
points out, “but they don’t understand
stuff because they have
never been presented with it.” And
with the high concentration of
middle-aged dads at rock shows,
it’s important to have this sort of
information to be accessible to the
demographic who might not have
been privy to it previously.
“That’s the thing about platforms,
though, as well,” Cass says, “about
palatable platforms.” Bringing
up these issues and speaking out
about the marginalization of queer
and trans people is important in
any form, but putting it in a pleasingly
consumable form attracts an
even wider audience. “When I just
sat down and read all the lyrics on
the Kermes vinyl, it just hits home;
it’s really powerful. I think it’s just
better for being put over a groovy
thing,” Cass explains. “It almost
sticks in your mind better, as well,
the important stuff.”
As many people come to Kermes
shows for the serious and the sad,
drummer Jordy points out, just as
KERMES
Kermes playing The Red Shed at Wakefield’s
Long Division Festival, June 2018
many come because of the fun the
band have whilst playing. “I think
if we just go onstage and try to be
as positive and as loud and as energetic
as possible, then that’s all you
can really ask for in a live band,”
he says.
Come the next eras of the band,
one may not recognize Kermes as
the band they are now. Constantly
in flux, they hope to explore new
genres and sounds as they progress
forward in their careers. “Our
album is so much different to anything
that we did before, in a good
way,” Jordy points out. Not only
do they hope to go new places musically,
but physically as well, he
continues. “Personally, I just like
seeing new places all the time, and
just lingering in places you haven’t
been.”
“We just really love doing this, and
every time we do it, it gets better,
and we get better as a band,” Emily
says. “I think we just want to keep
playing and meeting people and
having a connection. I’d play a hundred
shows to drunk middle-aged
dads for every show where you can
an actual connection with a queer
person in the crowd.”
Look out for Kermes; they might
just be wearing matching rainbow
dungarees at their next show.
Also, Emily asks you bring your
dog. “There’s not enough dogs at
shows.”
HAPPY
ACCIDENTS
On the tail end of a UK tour in celebration of their
sophomore album, Everything but the Here and Now,
released earlier this year, the summery indie-pop band out
of London-via-Southampton are on the way to something
great with stunning growth into themselves and expanse
into a new place sonically. Appropriately, then, they’ve
nestled themselves amongst decorative house plants
onstage, both a beautiful sight and a metaphor for the
path they’ve found themselves on towards something new
and bigger.
HAPPY ACCIDENTS
Happy Accidents are long-standing
members of the Southampton DIY
scene, starting their career playing
shows at the coastal city’s stronghold
The Joiners. From there, they
were invited by El Morgan (of
Personal Best and & the Divers)
to play a show in Portsmouth, and
from there began playing in London,
where they’re now based.
This is something so important to
DIY scenes between cities; play
one show, and it leads to another,
hopefully connecting the dots
across the UK. “One little spark,
which leads to another spark,” is
how Rich explains it. “I think it is
important to have that scene in every
city,” Phoebe says, “but it’s just
scary. More cities are seeing it die a
little bit, and you can’t connect the
dots as much.” With important collective
venues shutting their doors,
not only in the UK but across the
world as well – Silent Barn in
Bushwick held its last show at the
end of April, adding to the growing
list of spaces in New York shutting
their doors, amongst places like
Shea Stadium, Palisades, Death by
Audio, and 285 Kent – many bands
and people connected to these venues
are losing their connections
that allow them to pursue music
“There’s a lot of
little things that
don’t seem super
harmful, but they
do still,”
for fun on a smaller scale. “Without
those small, sort of grassroots
venues, you just don’t have places
for people to learn to play live and
just have a go,” Phoebe points out.
“It’s a great way to grow organically.”
Rich agrees: “If you didn’t
have that base layer of live music
on the smallest scale, it just seems
unattainable. You don’t have anywhere
to start.”
It’s here they’ve met all the people
inspiring their music, and experienced
all the social interactions
that Rich takes into account when
writing lyrics. “I get influenced
watching other musicians, and
“Calling them out has a
negative connotation, but
it’s just standing up for
yourself.”
HAPPY ACCIDENTS
then I get a creative energy from
other people,” Phoebe explains,
“so I guess when you (Rich) are in
a good creative mindset, and we’re
both writing together, that’s where
I’m at my best, and we’re creating
something cool.” Playing shows,
getting involved in the politics of
DIY, and meeting people all over
the UK and Europe where they’ve
toured has been a big inspiration
not only for their writing and their
creative drive, then, but for the
movements they follow. “The DIY
community is so supportive in getting
in people from all walks of
life,” Phoebe says. “I don’t want
it to die, so hopefully it won’t, because
I know there’s a lot of people
kicking back against that.”
Happy Accidents aren’t outwardly
political, at least in songwriting
content compared to other bands
playing the festival, but that doesn’t
mean they can’t take their platform
for good use in the industry. “I feel
like it’s important to, not send a
message straight-up, but to lead by
example,” Rich says, “live what
you want; rather than say ‘this is the
message’, show people.” For Phoebe,
it’s the same; by playing drums,
onstage, as a woman, it’s hard to
avoid politics by simply that, and
by pursuing this in a world where
she faces prejudice, she’s setting an
example of empowerment for other
women watching her.
Referencing an interview with Gem
from Colour Me Wednesday from
the film So, which band is your
boyfriend in?, Phoebe encourages
overcoming the double-whammy
of stage fright and sour looks from
sour men who think non-male performers
can’t do their part for the
others like her in the crowd watching.
“You think maybe there’s a
kid or a girl in the crowd who is
also scared to play, and then if
I’m scared to play and not showing
them that it’s fine to play, then
there’s no hope,” she says. “So
sometimes, just being there and me
playing, as a woman, I guess it’s
good for me to be doing it. Because
I know it took me so long to get in
a band, when probably should have
been in a band from, I don’t know,
age eleven.” Where Rich was jamming
with his brother from that
age, Phoebe didn’t take part until
she was eighteen, but she hopes
setting the example will inspire just
one more person to do the same.
While the politics aren’t so much
apparent in the music – “it’s a part
of the scenery of the music,” says
Rich – they’re still working on be
HAPPY ACCIDENTS
ing strong enough to call people
out. As a woman, it’s not a surprise
that Phoebe’s simple presence has
caused uncomfortable comments
from staff and concert attendees.
“Calling them out has a negative
connotation, but it’s just standing
up for yourself,” says Rich. “You
have to just maybe be disliked, but
stand your ground,” Phoebe says.
“People might just want to know
they’ve said something that’s not
appropriate.” In another instance,
seemingly innocent but threatening
all the same, a fan in Germany
came up to compliment Phoebe on
her drumming skills, but finished
off his sentence, again, unnecessarily,
with, “I just love watching
while you play, you just look
so sexy.” It’s little bits and pieces
like this, things that are absolutely
inappropriate in these situations
because not only are women being
treated differently to (and as lesser
than) guys, but it becomes threatening
and discouraging for young
women to continue to pursue music.
“There’s a lot of little things
that don’t seem super harmful, but
they do still,” Phoebe says. “The
broader picture is, there’s a lot of
sexism around. It’s important to try
and change it.”
For now, they’re going to make
more music for the future, though
it looks like what they’ll make will
be an even bigger step forward
than Everything but the Here and
Now. Having just started work at
a recording studio, there’s been a
big change for Rich in that his job
also touches on his creative output,
instead of just office jobs. “I feel
like there’s not as much pressure
on the band now,” he says, “because
there’s loads of other aspects
in my life that have come together
a little bit more. It’s not all or
nothing, which means I feel like
it can be more creative and less
stressful.” Within that, something
he’s hoping to do is make a record
in terms of “how someone in other
art forms might think about it – just
detach every other aspect of being
in a band form it. I just want to
make things for the sake of making
things.” Happy Accidents are moving
forward in a beautiful-sounding
way, and hope they bless your ears
with their sweet sound very soon.
The Baby Seals are all about
making genres to call themselves;
for their first and only EP to date,
they call themselves “empower/pop/punk,”
which sounds a
lot like “Spinal Tap with tits” (a
compliment in many minds, and
really quite accurate).
THE BABY SEALS
THE BABY SEALS
For the next EP, which lead vocalist
and guitarist Kerry Devine
confirms as being “an-femme-ic”
(anthemic), a name her sister and
drummer Amy Devine came up
with, will sound a lot more like the
closer on the aforementioned first
EP, the bluesy bass-driven “It’s Not
About the Money Honey” about
equal pay in the gender gap. Above
all, however, it’s in the band’s
greatest interest to go back to their
roots of just “dicking around” in a
pub, not giving a fuck and having
a good time, as well as embracing
your body as it is; “Don’t worry
if you’ve got hairy nipples or lopsided
labias,” Kerry explains; “It’s
fine. Embrace it.” And if you don’t
find yourself singing along (na-nana-nipple
hair) to the related songs,
you might need to extra embrace it.
“Porn has got really shit over the
last ten years,” Kerry says to a tittering
crowd before launching into
“Yawn Porn.” “It’s really formulaic.
We know how it’s going to
end: he’s gonna come in her face.
Let’s make it more female! Come
on her elbow!” It’s like this a lot
of their songs are introduced, before
moving into a grinning crowd
singing along to lyrics celebrating
the carefree attitude in which many
of their songs are written on observations
made as women. The band
were searching for songs that were
“joke-y, not man hate-y songs,” as
Kerry says, when they decided to
come together as The Baby Seals.
Now, though, they’re looking to
move forward to something perhaps
not serious, but something
you can more get your anger out to,
as is exemplified in “It’s Not About
the Money Honey.” “It has quite a
heavy feel, and it allows me to kind
of express myself in other ways as
well onstage,” Kerry continues.
“It’s evolved as still having a message,
but just playing with the
THE BABY SEALS
sound a bit more.” Bassist Jasmine
Robinson agrees: “It’s hard to get
your frustration out when you’re
just doing ‘la la la la,’ whereas,
with the last one, you can rock the
fuck out.”
On a deeper level, when writing
about heavy political topics like
The Baby Seals hope to do, it’s
hard to be sensitive and appropriate
when your sound goes along those
lines. “This year, there’s been some
really big political things in the
news that we wanted to reflect on,
and doing that in a poppy way can
sometimes undermine what you’re
trying to say,” Kerry explains.
“We’ve written about the Harvey
Weistein thing, and that’s definitely
got more of a dangerous sound.
Having a song about sexual harassment,
you can’t be like, ‘la la la!’”
Conveying humor and a fun atmosphere
through their songs about
below-average porn and body hair
seems to be working well for them,
though.
It’s refreshing for a crowd to hear
songs about these observations,
especially when they themselves
have perceived them and felt alone
in their self-judgment. After a
show in Peterborough, a woman
approached the band to express
her gratitude for writing a song
about something she had been so
ashamed of in the past. “She was
nearly crying, saying she’d been
worried about her body and nipple
hair, and hearing us play that song
made her feel better,” Kerry says,
“and I said to the girl, that’s why
we’re doing it. That’s it – that’s
the whole thing.” It seems taboo,
talking about things like body hair
and the shapes of genitals in public
because of how society has perceived
these topics for so long, but
when people do begin to talk, just
as The Baby Seals have, it opens
up the floodgates, encouraging
conversation and acceptance. The
beautiful thing about delivering
such messages in a fun manner,
then, is reaching an audience in
an accessible manner that doesn’t
come across as “teaching” them
anything. “You have to remember
the audience you’re delivering that
message to probably already know
that message,” Kerry explains.
“It’s like me sending a message
on Facebook saying ‘racism is
bad’. Everybody who I’m friend
with knows that it’s bad.” Instead,
they’re reaching out to the people
who are also searching for that validation,
and pursuing an attempt at
reevaluating their own internal misogyny.
COLOUR
ME
WED
Presenting
the genre-bending,
the anti-capitalist,
the provoking
Colour Me Wednesday,
a four-piece band out of
Uxbridge on the edges
of Greater London
attempting to breathe
life back into the area’s
arts and culture scene
and bring hope to those
pushed out by the
machismo of politicallycharged
music.
NES
DAY
Colour me wednesday
“It’s kind of interesting that the people
who criticize anti-capitalism or
anarchism or communism or whatever’s
being too idealistic, that we
don’t have a clear idea of what it is
that we want. But I think the unrealistic
thing is to have a clear idea,”
Jaca, drummer for the Uxbridge
four-piece Colour Me Wednesday,
tells me. “You can point out the
bad parts about what’s here, and it’s
good to have a good, clear plan to
what your ideal world would be, but
that’s also the unrealistic part of it
as well, so it’s pointing out the flaws
but being like, well what would be
left over? Maybe it would just be
nothing.” We’re talking about the
ideas that emerged from their sophomore
album, Counting Pennies in
the Afterlife, a genre-bending, immersive
glance into the anti-capitalist
and feminist ideals that the
band hold dear to themselves, and
subjects that rise to the surface often
for a band made up of a group
living in an area of London that’s
all but been leached of its DIY music
and arts culture.
The very last stop on the Metropolitan
and Piccadilly lines – a
full hour’s journey from where I
was staying in Putney – Harriet
tells me on our quick drive to their
home from the station about their
attempts to bring a spark of culture
back into the area where decreasing
arts funds from the council have
made cuts to these programs, leaving
many of the youth in the area
high and dry without any community
centres or creative outlets. “People
talk about a scene or community
in Uxbridge, not realizing that it is
just us,” she says, then laughs. “I
always fantasize about, imagine if
there was somebody we didn’t know
about…” We’re truly on the edge of
London, the edge of the scene that
exists within what many may consider
the greatest hub for music in
Europe, even the world – perhaps
over the edge itself? It’s what’s inspired
‘Edge of Everything’, one of
the songs vocalist Jennifer Doveton
wrote for the newest album, existing
in this space many people ignore
or have never even heard of.
We’re sitting on various pieces of
furniture in Jen’s canalside home,
perched on the edges of her bed,
nestled in an armchair, and me
sinking into a beanbag on the floor.
Gray sunlight is trickling through
the many windows on this overcast
early-summer day into the oneroom
accommodation that was an
extension from the family’s boathouse
just a few steps from the door
here, where Jen and her sister/band-
Colour me wednesday
Harriet grew up. Jaca and guitarist
Laura now live in the neighbourhood
as well, near enough to Harriet’s
other bandmates from The Tuts,
and they pride themselves in having
attracted more and more musician
friends to move away from central
London out to Uxbridge.
The majority of people living in
London, especially those who
moved into the city and are living
centrally as transplants for the
convenience of closeness, are completely
unaware of the outer boroughs
like Uxbridge. Where East
London has the culture of East-
Enders and cockney accents, easily
recognizable by most of the wider
world, West London seems to get
lost in the crowd, some believing
Westminster or even Chelsea are
the furthest western reaches of the
area, even though the majority of
the workforce in the centre commute
from similar distances. It’s not
as though West London hasn’t had
its due influence on the culture, despite
it being erased in the last few
years: the EMI factory where the
Beatles’ vinyl was pressed is just up
the road, the BBC centre is nearby,
and Southall had its thriving years
as a hub of the punk scene, churning
out bands like The Rats but now
having fallen into oblivion in that
regard.
With Ealing Council in one of the
biggest deficits of all councils, due
to the Tories’ continuous victories
driven by the promise not to
raise council tax, the plunging of
the council into deeper and deeper
debt means funding for the arts has
been all but completely decimated.
Youth centres, days centres, music
venues, anything: it doesn’t exist
here in West London. Events may
happen in Shepherd’s Bush or Ealing
itself, mainly larger concerts
that forget about the local scene,
but Uxbridge seems to exist as an
island high and dry away from the
saturation of arts and culture, at
least disregarding bands like Colour
Me Wednesday and The Tuts,
attempting to breathe new life into
the area and put Uxbridge back on
the map. “About every ten years,
some naïve idiots like us will try
and make something happen,” Harriet
explains. “We’ve tried to put
on gigs, and we put up fliers at the
schools and really encourage young
girls to come to things, and it’s just
so tricky. Don’t regret doing it – it
was cool – but hard work.” Even
with all their drive and dedication,
it’s still difficult to draw a crowd
from the area.
Even with Brunel University nearby,
supposedly a perfect pool of eager
young adults to pull to shows,
they’re fighting against the greater
desire to go all the way into the city.
“They’d be spending all their money
going to London because they
think nothing happens here,” Jen
says. “Stuff does happen here, but
you have to go to it – you can’t just
keep going into London.” Laura
will put the odd house show on, and
look out into a crowd consisting of
only the band members playing
COLOUR ME WEDNESDAY
the night, and a few friends having
commuted in from central London.
Where the local scene there is dying,
Colour Me Wednesday and
their friends are trying to prop it
back up, giving it more life.
“A lot of people say we’re in the
dystopia now. This is the dystopia,”
Jen continues on from Jaca’s
thoughts. “Can we get any much
worse than this?” Harriet adds. Jaca
chimes in, “Yes,” then laughs. “Anti-capitalists.
That’s us.”
Jen’s lyrics on Counting Pennies in
the Afterlife handle a lot of capitalist
ventures, from the draining of
funds from the arts and culture programs
in their area, to the “general
critique of things like capitalism
thriving in the patriarchy,” Harriet
describes. “The whole album is
critiques of things that are consuming
people.” In a world where you
can’t turn your head two degrees
in any direction and not catch a
glimpse of detrimental capitalist
pursuits breaking someone down,
it’s a tempting idea of many to blow
it all up and start anew, hence the
focus on a post-apocalyptic theme
throughout the album, but, like Jaca
said, what would be left over? Destroying
Uxbridge’s council, the
cause for the lack of arts programs
in the community, might get rid of
whatever is holding their citizens
back, but may also destroy any
communal structure needed to support
the arts in the first place. Perhaps
destroying the world will vanquish
corrupt politicians, greedy
businessmen, bigoted and horrible
people in power, but will any good
be saved in its wake?
A song-by-song explanation reveals
depth and analysis behind Jen’s insightful
lyrics, with varying levels
of thematic content which are clearly
well thought out and show civil
intelligence around social issues. ‘I
Thought It Was Morning’ deals with
seasonal affective disorder, paired
with the “abstract anxiety that it
brings out in you,”Jen explains.
“You then have nightmares about
the end of the world, because that’s
how anxiety works. It’s nonspecific,
and then you’ll have a nightmare
about something that’s the worst
thing that could possibly happen.
But then, in some ways, you quite
enjoy apocalyptic dreams, because
it feels like everything’s so tense
and everyone’s working so hard,
and it just would be nice to be free
for one night.”
‘Boyfriend’s Car’ handles this subject
through the scope of this
colour me wednesday
machine, working perfectly and
smoothly for those it benefits, and
detrimentally for those who conveniently
don’t have a voice to speak
out against it. “The people who
it’s going wrong for don’t have a
voice,” she says, “but they’re the
people that could take it down.”
Namely, the band and others like
them using their platform in the
public eye to speak out against the
situations and people marginalizing
those less powerful, by making others
feel less alone.
There is a kind of power in a community
like this, empowerment
through a group of similar-thinking
people, especially when their peers
speaking about similar anti-capitalist
ideas are part of the niche group
of men in punk. Aggressive and
“shouty,” as they have been for decades,
they’re not exactly inaccessible,
but the oft-violent nature of
their shows push people away. Colour
Me Wednesday, all quite femme
and making less classically angry
music, work in the hope “to subvert
that aspect of what punk means to
lots of people, that it doesn’t have
to be fighting each other in a mosh
pit to really fast, loud, heavy music,”
Jaca explains. “It can be fun
and supportive and catchy, and that
hopefully women and trans people
“The people who it’s
going wrong for don’t
have a voice, but they’re
the people that could
take it down.”
can feel more included in the stuff
that we’re saying, which, we know
from all the millions of documentaries
and articles and whatever about
how inaccessible male dominated
punk scenes are, that there needs
to be more of that. We’re hoping to
sort of be that, or be able to have
that sort of conversation with people
who listen to our music with
Colour me wednesday
people like us, queer women and
trans people.”
“And the way of sending that message
out is something that’s not relatable
to a lot of people, but it’s the
same in activism,” Jen continues.
“Feels like the only valid form of
activism is one that’s supposedly
fueled by anger, but if you want to
be a good activist, you can’t exist
in a constant state of anger. It’s just
not possible. You won’t get anything
done. You have to have moments
of calm and clear-headedness
to be able to actually tackle issues
like that. It feels sometimes disingenuous
when people say that the
only way you could get that kind
of ant-capitalist message across is
through aggression, and a lot of it
is machismo, isn’t it? And, in that
way, it’s hard to be taken seriously,
even if we have the same messages.”
They’ve faced misogynistic and
strange adversity in the face of
concert-goers, especially when
grouped with other bands that perhaps
speak on the same subjects,
but perhaps don’t sound so similar.
Recently having supported Propaghandi,
a show which they enjoyed
despite much of the crowd being
white cis men (a commonality at
“If you want to
be a good activist,
you can’t exist in a
constant state of
anger.”
these kinds of shows), reviews
written afterwards detailed a message
that was no doubt a product of
that crowd. “’It was just a bit too
nice, they sound too nice for me,’”
Harriet sneers, quoting the reviewers,
“and this man had clearly just
rejected our messages because it
wasn’t masculine enough.”
Women and nonbinary people in
bands will recognize this: the very
same compared them to Blondie, a
lazy point of reference that seems
to be the only one in the repertoire
of these men absorbing music like
this. “It’s so lazy, but it just goes to
show they can’t connect with it because
they’re so stuck in that way
of being able to connect with critical
punk music, it has to be coming
from mostly men to them,” Harriet
says. “They’re almost like, no, it’s
too sweet, it’s too nice, it’s frivolous.”
Jen agrees: “It’s like, it’s feminine,
therefore it’s soft, therefore it’s ineffective,
otherwise our message
isn’t strong enough.”
Others find solace in accepting the
messages as their own. “Our fans
are actually quite shy,” Harriet
“It’s feminine,
therefore it’s soft,
therefore it’s
ineffective, otherwise
our message isn’t
strong enough.”
COLOUR ME WEDNESDAY
says, indicated by the soft-spoken
nature of their responses to the
band’s songs and lyrics. “Online,
I wouldn’t say it’s not like there’s
hype hype hype with loads of interactions,
but when you do find
them, it’s like finding someone’s
diary entry.” Self-searching on
Tumblr, for instance, means they’re
met with a slew of under-the-radar
blogs detailing how they’ve found
a theme to relate to in Colour Me
Wednesday’s lyrics. ‘These lyrics
are me!’ “They listen to it in a very
personal-to-their identity way,” she
continues. “They pay real attention
to the lyrics, and don’t reject our
messages.”
The music itself helps listeners
relate their own experiences in a
broader sense, especially with the
band’s knack for making contradictory
atmospheres between serious
topics and catchy melodies. “It’s
good because you can write a song
that’s essentially quite sad-sounding
in terms of the lyrics, but then
have it in a major key, makes it
sound a bit more hopeful,” Laura
says. “Listening to sad songs is nice
as well, and cathartic, but listening
to some lyrics about maybe something
similar to what happened to
you as an experience or an identity
thing, and then it being in a pop,
uplifting sound could bring you out
of - I dunno,” Harriet continues. “I
just feel like it could help people,
maybe mentally. I feel like it helped
me, anyway.”
There is no doubt that Colour Me
Wednesday have touched a great
many people across the globe, their
reach extending across continents
in an attempt to lift up those who
perhaps do not realise they have a
voice against marginalisation, in
any form. They’re facing erasure as
a band in an area of withering arts,
and in the face of the largely male,
cishet music world, but they’re doing
everything in their power to
change that. “It’ll go down in a little
niche bit of history. It’ll be like,
oh, yeah, in Uxbridge there were
these bands!” Harriet says. “Footnote.
We reference stuff like that
in our stuff, like “Heather’s Left
For Dead” about women in musical
history as tiny little niche. Man,
man, man, man, man, and then the
footnotes at the bottom: everyone
else.” Moving in these great strides
towards greater change will hopefully
mean change for the better –
Uxbridge and Colour Me Wednesday
will be going down in history
through this group’s efforts, and not
only as a footnote.
THE
TUTS
Today, The Tuts are dressed like TLC and Destiny’s Child
in matching white/pink/purple camo, singing “No Scrubs”
through the course of the short photoshoot as the sun
emerges in perfect timing. “We love fashion, and we can
make a conscious effort with our fashion and still be taken
seriously for our music and our message,” lead singer
and guitarist Nadia Javed says enthusiastically. It’s in this
passion and dedication that they project their signature
message on tri-tone activism and intersectional feminism,
delivered with a healthy dose of empowering bubblegum
pop/indie punk fusion.
THE TUTS
They’re not just limited to that,
however; not only do they play the
more obvious punk and indie festivals,
but are delving into various
crowds. They’re popular within
the ska crowd because of a tour
they did with The Selector, and are
playing more South Asian events
in order to access a demographic
that is, sadly, sorely lacking
in straight up-and-down punk
circles. “As a three-tone band, we
also want our audience to look
three-tone,” guitarist Nadia Javed
says, “because we want to make
a movement and send this message
out of uniting the races and
cultures together from all minority
backgrounds.” By bridging the
gap here, they’re attracting people
– specifically women, and more
specifically, women of color – to
their shows who, not too long ago,
were absent at these shows.
Their greatest goal is to empower
people listening to their music,
to pick up instruments and play
themselves, to become a part of
something bigger, to feel safer
and more comfortable. “We want
women in the crowd and people
from minority backgrounds to feel
like bad bitches,” Nadia says. “We
wanted them to feel empowered.
We want them to think, look,
there’s a brown girl onstage. I’ve
never seen a girl like that before
playing guitar. I want to do that.
And just to feel confident and do
shit they’d only see white dudes
doing.” They’re well aware of
the importance of representation
in the arts, as well as in wider
society, but while we’re seeing an
influx of women musicians taking
over places that were previously
composed of entirely male lineups,
it’s still almost entirely white
lineups. It’s notable to comment
on the fact that, amongst all the
bands interviewed over the weekend,
Nadia and drummer Beverly
Ishmael were the only women of
color I encountered and spoke to,
and some of the very few involved
in the festival.
It has to be something to do with
pigeonholing that happens too
often within the music industry.
Within the genres that see more
of a diversity in ethnicity – RnB,
hip hop, grime – helps people of
color feel less out of place. The
Tuts have gone completely against
this in an attempt to bring greater
representation to more guitar-driven
music genres, which is why
they find it so important to use
their platforms as musicians in the
public eye to speak on these
topics, and encourages others to
do the same. “What’s the deal?
I could be watching anyone, I
could be doing anything, but why
should I be watching you?” Bev
says. “What’s your message? Why
should I care about you? You need
to give something for people to
care about, because the world is a
bit fucked up right now.”
It’s important to seek out this
same representation and appropriate
use of platforms within
journalism and the media, because
many reporters are still white and
from upper-class upbringings, “so
probably won’t have that under-
THE TUTS
“As a three-tone
band, we also
want our audience
to look threetone.”
standing of what to represent and
what needs a platform, because
they haven’t felt it,” Nadia points
out. Bev agrees: “Then that
doesn’t get the word out about
certain things that need to be
highlighted.” Behind the scenes is
something that’s harder to control,
though. Subconscious prejudice
and institutionalized racism and
misogyny is still rampant. “People
come up to us and start talking in
an Ali G accent,” Bev says, “and
that is just… what are you doing?
Assuming that’s what we’re into.”
Not only do The Tuts fight the battle
of being women in music, but
have to fight the battle of being
women of color as well. “It’s not
just about being girls,” Nadia says.
“It’s about taking into account our
race, our religion, our culture, our
class, all that.” It’s at the highest
levels of corporate greed in the
music industry that these considerations
(for the worse) are seen: by
not being hired, by being fired, by
being paid less or not at all.
That’s one of the many reasons
The Tuts pride themselves on being
completely DIY, managing all
admin work for the band on their
own, a decision taken, understandably,
after the inspiration for one
of their songs. “1982” was written
THE TUTS
about a past manager who promise
to get them connections, but did
nothing up until they fired them
after realizing he hadn’t known
anyone of importance since ’82.
Living in London as well, where,
as bassist Harriet Doveton points
out, “you think every gig is a
corporate con,” finding the DIY
scene there allowed them to take
part in a system where promoters
were actually paying people fairly.
It does take a toll, however; as
many in a DIY scene can understand,
and as another proudly DIY
band Dream Nails said recently,
being a band that runs yourself
means 95% admin and 5% actual
music. The Tuts realized this with
the release of their debut as well:
“When we released Update Your
Brain, we were so busy emailing
people about magazine features
and stuff, that we fucking forgot
about being a band and writing
new music,” Nadia explains. “We
almost took the fun out of it for
ourselves, and The Tuts is about
friendship and having fun, and the
three-tone message, and so we felt
a little bit overwhelmed.”
While they are working on new
music, though, they’re avoiding
the same course and focusing
more on the music. “We didn’t
want to fall back into bad habits in
the anticipation of releasing new
stuff,” Harriet says, “and if we
do it, we have to go into it with
a healthier mindset.” That’s why,
where often they say what’s next
for them is world domination, this
time it’s “world domination, but
have mental sanity as well,” as
Bev says. “Instead of Update Your
Brain,” Nadia confirms, “Take
Care of Your Brain,” which might
mean everything from taking time
for themselves, to spending more
time with their friends and family,
or putting more of themselves into
the music. Nadia wants to make
more material, but also “making
sure that it’s true and genuine, and
comes from a good place, because,
when you’re constantly on social
media, you can start to compare
yourself to other people, and you
get jaded with what you’re seeing
online. I don’t want to produce
stuff of what is expected of me. I
want to produce stuff that I want
to do, and is true to me.”
For Nadia, on top of work with
The Tuts, that means delving more
into an acting career. Recently,
she was approached by ITV to be
interviewed for a new series called
Young, British & Muslim, which
has aired now since the festival,
and is another facet of encouraging
other young people of color
to pursue paths they might not
have because of a lack of diversity
within them. “They’re delving
into breaking stereotypes of how
Muslim people can actually have
different and cool careers without
their religion interfering,” Nadia
explains. Other than that, she’s
been offered two roles – one of
which, as it seems, is the story of
a possessed bride, shot entirely on
Super8 film – and is expanding
her reach past music and into the
other art forms as well.
Image by Iona Skye
BABE
PUNCH
the Nottingham punk outfit
taking back the power with
dreams of conquering the
whole world in the process.
Images by Iona Skye
BABE PUNCH
There’s laughter and chatter
coming from the room we’ve
rented out at Dance Studios
Nottingham for the day. Glitter,
flower petals, and chalksketched
posters sporting empowered
feminist messages litter
the floor. We’re filming a video
for Babe Punch’s song “Stanford,”
and fans and friends have come
out in droves to support the
project.
Written “many, many moons
ago” and recorded in 2017,
“Stanford” was forged in outrage
against rape culture as a whole,
inspired at the time by Brock
Allen Turner and the Stanford
rape case as it developed in
California in 2015 and concurrent
years. “We were getting to
that age where a lot of stuff like
that was going on, and we were
hearing a lot about it,” vocalist
and lyricist Molly Godber tells
me later on that day. We’re sitting
at a bar down the road from
the dance studios, gear piled up
on a table behind us, in a sort of
euphoric daze after the five-hour
shoot. “Even in our hometown,
everywhere, not just in America,
it just seemed to be everywhere,
and I think that case was so horrific,
because it really just opens
your eyes to how corrupt the
system is.
“It really just shocked me into
action. I think we couldn’t
ignore it and not talk about it
anymore,” she continues. “We
just couldn’t ignore it and not
talk about it anymore. We need
to raise awareness about that
sort of thing, because the words
just came out so easily for me,
because it was something that
was bubbling up over time. the
conversation wasn’t being had,
so we just needed to take it into
our own hands.” They wanted to
bring the conversation into the
music, especially into a scene
saturated with women being
taken advantage of: that strange
feeling of privilege male audience
members seem to get by
watching women onstage that
somehow allows them to touch
the performers, or to punch
and push women in the crowd
because it’s at a concert.
VELODROME
Putting these values into practice, not
only in their music but their lives as
well, is important to the band. They’re
embodying the role models they looked
for growing up, not only in the messages
they send but in the way they act
between each other. “We’re very odd
people, so I think I wanted someone that
was a bit more like what we are and how
we interact with each other and stuff like
that, and I didn’t see anybody like that,”
Molly says. “I think we’re filling a little
gap there for someone, because if I saw
a band like us when I was a kid, I think
I would have been pretty happy, and I’d
have felt like there was somebody like me
in the industry.”
“If you want to make people aware of
matters like that, then you can do it,”
guitarist Carys Jones adds. “Like how we
were maturing and forming these opinions,
if there’s young people listening to
us, we can send them that.” Whether it
be about feminism and basic respect for
fellow humans, or important things in
our current climate like voting, the band
can use that platform, in person or on
social media, to speak out about it. “If
you’ve got people listening to you,
then you might as well try to make
a difference.”
For the “Stanford” video, they
wanted to speak up about assault,
but their working idea of a narrative-led
story didn’t quite fit
the message they hope would come
across. To achieve more of an empowering,
unifying feeling, focusing
on the support they hope is available
for victims of sexual assault, rather
than the act itself, they put out an
open call to their friends and fans to
participate in their own way. “I think
that was the most important part of it
as well,” Molly continues; “it’s not the
actual act that matters. It’s how we as a
society take it and do what we do with
it afterwards, and we want to be a part
of the positive movement that comes
from these horrendous things.”
With the Kavanaugh debacle permeating
all our minds at the moment,
it’s important that we take the time
to stand in solidarity with those who
have experienced this, or are at a risk
of falling victim to it. Stand in solidarity
with us, and revel in the glitter
and flowers we went through during
the filming. Keep an eye out for Babe
Punch’s inevitable world domination,
as well; this is a determined group of
talented people.
Images by Iona Skye
WITCH
FEVER
There are few bands who
can stand up to the
unapologetically fierce
energy that is Manchester
four-piece WITCH FEVER.
The riff-driven punk group
are a staple of the local punk
scene, despite only having two
songs recorded and
released to date. As a live
band, they are infamous for
their raw, thrilling honesty
and entrancing performances
full of punchy in-your-face
riffs and shrieking vocals.
Their shows, as you can
guess, always seem to offer a
rush of empowerment, which
is exactly what they aim for.
Moving to Manchester to do
music, as the whole band seems
to have done, they all discovered
that things were sorely lacking
in quite a few key things:
a punk and metal scene, and
women in music. “I was keen
to be with girls and make loud
music,” lead singer Amy Walpole
explains, and so WITCH FEVER
was formed, and does just that to
this day. Branding themselves
as all-girl punk is important to
them, she explains, but they still
face issues as a band, as many
bands do with one or all female
WITCH FEVER
“It’s difficult
because you’re
trying to please
every kind of
feminist.”
members, in the formation
of genres simply in regards to
gender. They often get placed on
the same bill as bands who sound
nothing like them, just because
there’s a girl involved.
Just as others before them have
experienced, they use their
platform to talk about these
experiences, amongst others in
the same vein, but do feel the
pressure from their peers and
audience. “I feel like we’re
scrutinized, like people are
waiting for us to call something
out or something, and they
just want us to be a hypocrite,”
Alex explains. Amy goes on:
“Someone commented on one
of our posts saying that we were
the maidenhead for the ship
of feminism. And as much as
that’s really lovely and really
nice, I read it and was like, oh
god! I don’t want this kind of
responsibility, because sometimes
it’s difficult because you’re
trying to please every kind of
feminist, every kind of woman or
nonbinary person.” While using
a platform is important for many,
WITCH FEVER
it’s also incredibly important
to remember that music is what
these bands are doing, and they
can’t be expected to cover everything,
without any mistakes; they
are human, too, after all.
Recently, though, the band did
use their platform to call out behavior
at an all-dayer in Bristol.
It seemed like classic behavior
for men towards women in a
band, only to a whole greater extent
– quizzing them on whether
or not they knew how to use their
equipment, asking them to take
off their shirts and give the crowd
members lap dances, saying they
were going to wank off at their
set – but what was so shocking
to them was how “it was such
a large amount in such a short
space of time,” explains Amy.
“Usually, it’s just one incident a
gig, but it was so many all at the
same time.” Alex agrees: “It felt
like a really negative space.”
“It just seems that as soon as
women onstage show any part
of their body, they’re considered
a sexual object in some light, or
people immediately start to think
about shagging them,” Amy
points out. “I get that you’re attracted
to people and you fancy
people, and that’s fine, but it’s
not cool to come up to us and
say you’re going to have a wank
over us, because that’s just really
threatening.” Many have shown
their support for the band during
this time, despite a few disrespectful
comments on the post
they made about the incident, but
it’s occurrences like these that
prove there’s far to go for women
in the industry facing these
wrongdoings.
WITCH FEVER are far from
scared off from performing,
however, and have a string of live
dates lined up through the summer,
attempting to hit as many
cities as possible before they
reenter the studio. An EP is in
the works, Amy confirms, along
with videos to go along with the
songs, and an album within the
next year (we hope!).
CRUMBS
Leeds/York poppy post-punk quartet Crumbs
doesn’t quite fit in with any one genre, with
influences from a variety of different sources.
With the fractioned-yet-intertwined scenes
that exist in Leeds, between various venues
hosting their own respective styles of music,
Crumbs are one of the few bands within the city
actively achieving cross-pollinating. They have
had a longstanding hold in the Leeds music
scene, with drummer Gem Prout putting on DIY
gigs in the city for over a decade and the rest of
the band being equally as involved in both Leeds
and Manchester for the course of their music
careers. With a bass- driven, funky and fuzzy
grab-bag of rhythmic unique sounds, complete
with just enough cowbell and energetic snarling
vocals, they easily win your hearts and ears with
toe-tapping goodness.
They aren’t governed by what
others want to hear, which
might be partly because of their
long-standing relationship with
the music scene, amongst many
other reasons. “It’s like that
with any kind of creative thing,”
bassist Jamie Wilson says, “if
you’re not going to be happy
with what you’re doing, then
what’s the point? I think that’s
why, a lot of the times, we end up
being the ‘weirdest’ band on the
bill; not a conscious thing, but
as in, we don’t fit with the same
structure.” That means they’re
CRUMBS
“If you’re not
going to be happy
with what you’re
doing, then what’s
the point?”
invited to play a load of shows
and get involved with a variety
of scenes, playing with punk
bands at this festival, but delving
into more and different scenes in
other circumstances.
They’re currently in the process
of writing their second album, in
between touring with Cowtown,
another Leeds powerhouse, this
summer, a slower process than
Mind Yr Manners, they tell me.
“All the songs we have on our
first album are all the songs we
wrote since we started,” Jamie
explains, “and I guess it’s not
really a time pressure thing then.
Suddenly, everything that we did
became a song, but now it’s more
comfortable.” Many of their
songs now are about “quite bleak
subjects,” Gem says, “but they’re
covered by the poppiness;” in
the past, they’ve described their
debut album Mind Yr Manners
as dealing with “the art of coping
with not coping” and the
anxieties that come along with
this. Vocalist Ruth Gillmore is
also the lyricist of the group:
“I’m just saying things that are
CRUMBS
really important to me,” she
says, “but I like to leave it open
to people to listen themselves.”
As with others, Crumbs are
more about letting their actions
do the talking than their song
lyrics. “It’s about not taking shit
at shows if something happens,
like calling people out,” Jamie
points out, something Ruth references
as the golden rule: “be the
person that you want to see at
gigs.” Ambiguity in the songs,
while sometimes getting them
strange reviews (a song about
death being mistaken as a song
about turtles?), gives them the
flexibility of delving into the
more pop side of the songs.
“There’s plenty of politics in the
songs and in the lyrics. Just,
consciously, I wouldn’t describe
ourselves as an anarcho-punk
band or anything; it’s never
been a political thing in that
sense,” guitarist Stuart notes,
but it’s in other ways that they
get involved. “There’s a political
element, especially in the scene
we’re involved in. It’s more of a
DIY thing, the fact that anyone
can do it.”
The DIY scene, especially
in Leeds, as they tell me, is
extremely supportive. “You can
be in the best, biggest band,
or you can be the newest band
in Leeds, and it doesn’t matter
because everyone is like, that
was really great! Keep doing it!”
Gem says. Watching their friends
start and play in not even necessarily
good bands is an encouraging
way of getting engaged
and feeling like you’re a part of
something. “It makes you feel
like everybody has got something
to say,” Ruth points out, “or everyone
can have a go at playing
an instrument or putting something
together, and it doesn’t
have to be amazing. Anything is
valid.” Gem notes that the DIY
scene creates a call-out culture
far apart from the toxic one that’s
been building itself online, and
instead creating an honest atmosphere
of learning together. “It’s
not phony; it’s real in that sense.”
FRESH
FRESH
Fresh play an enthusiastic set of “scrappy,” “bubblegum-grunge,”
a diverse combination cobbled together to
execute their short and punchy songs about mental health
and sexual identity. In both lyrics and in action, they
advocate for equality in the industry and strive for the
strength of DIY within it.
They’re on tour for all of summer
and fall, supporting names
like The Beths and Camp Cope.
“We just feel like playing shows
is the best way to write and learn
songs,” says lead singer and guitarist
Kathryn Woods, “so it kind
of goes hand in hand; shows first,
and then the work comes out of
that, because that’s how Fresh
started.” Barring even Kathryn’s
impending move to Switzerland
to teach English there, they’re
still planning to tour, using
the opportunity to play around
mainland Europe as well, which
they’ll be doing for the first time
this summer at various festivals.
It’s a great goal of the band, as
they tell me, to travel and to continue
to learn more from the DIY
scene, more about people and
“identity politics,” that they never
would have done outside of it.
With all the touring coming
along, it’s inevitable we’ll be
hearing more from Fresh, because
they’re planning to record
new things as a follow-up from
their debut self-titled album from
last September. “Traveling and
meeting people and being open
to new things is a really good
way to keep your brain always
thinking about stuff,” Kathryn
says; “I don’t think I realize how
much it influences me until I’m
writing. Just hearing a turn of
phrase or something, there’s no
way you can plan that or seek it
out.” Drawing from their mem-
FRESH
ories as such – even though
Kathryn writes the songs, she
brings them to the group to collaborate
so, as bassist George
Philips says, “we’re able to add
a little bit of ourselves to them”
– allows them to paint a picture
in people’s minds by triggering
the senses that memories always
seem to be made up of.
Being a songwriter, especially
as a young woman, can be quite
daunting, as what Kathryn thinks
is often considers a “gatekeeper”
of the ideas she presents in her
songs, even though some songs
might be about absolutely ordinary,
mundane experiences that
should be accessible for any to
listen to. “Whether I want to or
not,” she admits, “if you’re a
woman playing punk, everything
you do is going to be political, so
might as well make it your own
politics and roll with it.”
“If you’re a
woman playing punk,
everything you do is
going to be political.”
Drummer Daniel Goldberg
points out, “Kathryn, being a
woman with a microphone,
doesn’t have the luxury of not
being questions on anything that
FRESH
often than not, it seems that,
when given a platform as a woman
or nonbinary person (or of
another minority identity of any
kind), you become the spokesperson
for everyone also within
that minority. They reference Em
Foster, lead singer of punk band
Nervus, as being treated as the
spokesperson for all trans people
in music (along with a plethora
of Against Me! Comparisons,
despite sounding nothing like
them). A DIY space is a safe
space to avoid such questioning
eyes, where “people look at me
like I’m a lab specimen or something,”
Kathryn says; even fellow
women seem to show misogynistic
attitudes, no matter how subconsciously,
as they reference an
instance where a woman praised
Kathryn for not wearing makeup
or showing cleavage, “because
that’s apparently what women
in bands have to do,” says Dan.
But it’s not only middle-aged
women who grew up in “that
time” who experience these ingrained
misconceptions; even
Kathryn, along with no doubt
countless others still have to deal
with internalized sexism and homophobia
thanks to these perceptions
still running amuck within
and outside of this industry.
It’s good, then, that Fresh’s goal
is to inspire those watching and
listening to them play. “I want
other people, especially other
women and nonbinary and queer
people, to just know that being
in a band, anybody can do it,”
Kathryn explains. “You don’t
need to have some kind of innate
talent even; you just need to have
a bit of confidence.” Just as many
bands in this DIY scene do, she
has other, older people within the
scene to thank for where she is
now, and hopes to take a place
in encouraging others to pursue
this rewarding path. They reference
Ducking Punches, a Norwich
band that played just after
Fresh, who spoke about looking
after younger people within the
crowd. Too often it seems that
older fans in a punk crowd will
look down on newer additions to
the scene, but it’s in a punk attitude
to protect impressionable
younger people looking to fit in.
Katherine Christie Evans, previously a bassist in Dream
Nails, is pursuing her solo project under the name Velodrome
by mixing a wide variety of genres. From funk to
garage rock to psychedelia to classical roots from her training
as a youth, her pursuit of a blurring of the lines between
genres also extends to her medium as well; in the spirit of
DIY that many others also work their art through, she’s
putting her arts degree and experience in theater design to
practice by incorporating theater into her live shows and
videos, truly the definition of interdisciplinary.
In May, Kate released her first
of a series of singles: the flexible
and dynamic Baroque-influence
“His Physique.” Where
the genres she incorporates
into her songs transcend traditional
boundaries, the topics
on which she writes also cover
a wide variety of experiences
and disciplines. Mental health
awareness, feminism, economic
status, the impact of all of these
on Kate’s art, are just a few of the
topics she writes into her music.
“It’s hard not to be intersectional,
because you’re writing about
all your perspectives,” she says.
“There’s a lot going on in ‘His
Physique’, but it’s a whole bunch
of issues colliding for me. It’s a
bit of body dysmorphia, which
is from my anorexia, and then
there’s also the gender issues.”
In the video she starred in and
wrote herself, Kate dresses up
as men from various paintings
ranging from medieval to
renaissance eras, as well as more
modern icons, to play out her
gender fantasies and explore the
interplay between dysphoria and
dysmorphia. “Anxiety, I feel it
comes across in my music; it’s
very complicated, layered music,
which really is me.”
VE
LO
DRO
ME
“It’s hard not to be
intersectional because
you’re writing about
all your perspectives”
VELODROME
Her next single, “Steady Girl,”
deals with the interplay of OCD
and anxiety and how those impact
living as an artist with limited
funds, something that still
seems a bit of a taboo around it.
“People don’t want to talk about
how they’re poor, because there’s
a shaming attached to it,” Kate
says, “and it’s really important
for people from underrepresented
groups to be out in front
of people. I don’t always find it
easy performing, but I think it’s
empowering.” Coming from the
margins of society and standing
in front of a crowd both makes
her visible and encourages
others from these underrepresented
groups to pursue such a
noticeable career path, inspiring
them to be confident with who
they are.
This goal extends beyond the
physical stage for Kate as well.
PR in a DIY manner means
handling everything herself,
and that took the form of teaser
videos in Instagram and Twitter
posts speaking about the topics
covered by “His Physique,”
which also means admitting to
struggles some of her friends
didn’t know about previously.
“I’ve come out with my sexuality
years ago, but I feel like I’m
only coming out to my friends
now around this release,” Kate
explains. “I’ve had to dig really
deep with the social media
campaign to put across what
the song’s about, and I’ve been
posting stuff on Instagram, like
eating disorders and mental
health, and I’m realizing a lot of
my friends probably don’t actually
know this. They’ve known
me for ten years, but they don’t
know Kate’s had anorexia since
she was seventeen. Only my
closest friends know that, and
it’s just not something we talk
about.” As Velodrome, Kate is
putting herself on a vulnerable
stage, literally and figuratively,
in order to bring better to light
the importance of mental health
awareness.
Being in a band has to make it
somewhat easier, just as it makes
performing more comfortable;
you’re up there with friends,
VELODROME
and you have someone to turn
around to share a smile with and
to bring your hopes up. When
you’re a solo musician, especially
a solo female or nonbinary
musician, it’s so much more
discouraging. Kate can see the
difference clear as day. “There’s
no one to turn around to and
say, I feel really shit, and, maybe
he’s right, I don’t know anything,”
she points out. “Knocks
still hurt me, but I think I’m just
a bit more rational about it now,
and I’m more aware that a lot
of people talk shit. People have
a lot of confidence in their own
opinion, and I’m just aware to
take it with a bit of salt now. I
think it’s just being a bit more
thick-skinned as a solo artist. It
is hard, and it’s the same thing
with going onstage; it’s fucking
hard. I wouldn’t ever claim anything
other than that - it’s really
hard.”
Much of these knocks come
from the idea that women
carry different standards than
men. “If you’re a woman, you
might be called something like
‘cocky’, whereas if you’re a guy
that would be called ‘assertive’
or ‘confident’,” Kate notes. “I
think I’m just learning from past
experiences, so whereas before I
might have let something really
knock me, something that a guy
said to me about a song, like
this isn’t good enough, and it’s
been so long since I wrote my
songs now, and I really let it put
me off for so long, and I’ve just
got to this place where I’m like,
actually, no? You’re not going to
stop me. I think I’ve just kind of
reached a place now where I’m
a little bit older and I’m more
self-assured.”
Kate is also pursuing another
facet of music wherein women
are sorely lacking: production.
Currently in the process of completing
a B-tech in music production,
she hopes for her future
music to avoid going through
a man before reaching an audience,
something her next single
“It’s really
important for
people from
underrepresented
groups to be out in
front of people.”
“His Physique” actually did. “I
really want to be more and more
in control of my music, because
I’ve played all the instruments
on it, I’ve written it, I’ve written
the lyrics. It’s all mine, and then
there’s this kind of irony that you
then take it to a guy,” she says.
Not that guys are incapable; it’s
just too often that songs like
this pass through some kind of
“male filter” before reaching the
outside world. Tove Styrke, an
up-and-coming pop artist from
Sweden, spoke before about how
she’d only work with one other
female producer in the past,
and this seems to be the same
for all musicians. There just
aren’t enough women producers
working on others’ music, and
not just they’re own (not knock-
VELODROME
“If you’re a woman,
you might be called
something like ‘cocky’,
whereas if you’re a guy
that would be called
‘assertive’ or ‘confident’.”
ing you DIY ladies producing
your own music; keep it up!). “I
think it’s literally just girls aren’t
cultured,” Kate notes. “We don’t
tend to be given a drum kit or
we don’t tend to be given music
production software, and then
it just gets harder and harder,
because the older you get, you’re
intimidated, because guys are
using all these technical terms. I
think, oh my god, I’m never going
to catch up, but then luckily
there’s this stronger half of me
which is like, no! This is why I
must catch up!”
It’s time to find and encourage
more women to pursue these
career tracks; it’s hard now to
find even a woman sound engineer
at a gig, and many note
they’ve only worked with one
in the past. Creating this more
comfortable and integrated atmosphere
would greatly benefit
more women looking to pursue
this career.
contributors
The Tuts
Members: Nadia Javed, Beverly
Ishmael, Harriet Doveton
thetuts.bandcamp.com
Instagram: @thetutsband
Twitter: @TheTutsBand
Babe Punch
Members: Molly Godber, Abbie
Roberts, Carys Jones, Adam
Fletcher
soundcloud.com/babe-punch-1
Twitter: @BabePunch
Instagram: @babe_punch
Witch Fever
Members: Alisha Yarwood,
Alex Thompson, Amy Walpole,
Annabelle Joyce
witchfever.bandcamp.com
Instagram: @witchfever
Twitter: @WITCHFEVER
Dream Nails
Members: Mimi Jasson, Janey
Starling, Anya Pearson, Lucy Katz
dreamnails.bandcamp.com
Instagram: @dreamnailsband
Twitter: @yourdreamnails
Fresh
Members: Kathryn Woods,
Myles McCabe, Daniel Goldberg,
George Philips
freshpunks.bandcamp.com
Instagram: @freshpunks
Twitter: @freshpunks
The Spook School
Members: Adam Todd, Niall
McCamley, Nye Todd, AC Cory
thespookschool.com
thespookschool.bandcamp.com
Instagram: @thespookschool
Twitter: @spookschool
Happy Accidents
Members: Rich Mandell, Neil Mandell,
Phoebe Cross
happyaccidents.band
happyaccidents.bandcamp.com
Instagram: @happyaccidentsuk
Twitter: @HappyAccidentzz
Velodrome
Members: Katherine Christie
Evans
velodromemusic.bandcamp.com
Instagram: @velodromemusic
Twitter: @VelodromeMusic
The Baby Seals
Members: Kerry Devine, Amy
Devine, Jasmine Robinson
soundcloud.com/thebabyseals
Instagram: @thebabyseals
Twitter: @thebabyseals
thebabyseals.co.uk
Kermes
Members: Emily, Jordy, Cass,
Trigg
kermes.bandcamp.com
Instagram: @kermesforever
Twitter: @kermesforever
kermesforever.com
Colour Me Wednesday
Members: Jennifer Doveton, Harriet
Doveton, Jaca, Laura
colourmewednesday.bandcamp.com
Instagram: @colourmewed
Twitter: @ColourMeWed
colourmewednesday.com
Crumbs
Members: Gem Prout, Jamie Wilson,
Ruth Gillmore, Stuart
crumbscrumbs.bandcamp.com
Instagram: @crumbsband
Twitter: @crumbsband
All portraits, interviews and
layout design completed by
Francesca Tirpak unless
otherwise noted
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