There’s something about firsts — first gigs at new venues, first albums from rising bands, first moments when music hits you in the chest and makes you move. On November 6th, Oswald Slain delivered all three in one glorious swoop at Bristol’s Jam Jar, a venue I’d somehow never visited until now. That nagging voice of “Why haven’t you been?” was finally silenced — and what a way to make an entrance.
The night was a celebration, not just of Oswald Slain’s storming debut album Bucky, but of connection and creativity. The venue itself was a revelation — bright, artistic, and buzzing with anticipation. Outside, frontman Charlie Fitzgerald chatted with fans like an old friend. Inside, Get Down Services’ “Dog Dribble” thumped from the DJ booth, setting the tone for a night that would be anything but ordinary.
Cardiff’s retro rockers Pigeon Wigs opened with swagger and soul, celebrating their own album Plumpy (released the next morning) with stacks of vinyl and a set that felt like a love letter to fuzz, flair, and friendship. Their chemistry was present for all to see — Franklin Williams’ vocals soared with Plant-like power, while the band’s tight solos and cheeky Beatles nods kept the crowd grinning and grooving. “Radiation Blues” was a masterclass in build-and-release, and new single “Plumpy” came with political bite and punky bravado. A support slot that felt like a headline.
Then came Oswald Slain. With only three gigs under their belt, you’d expect nerves — but what we got was a band fully in their element. “Cranberry Juice” opened the set with a danceable pulse, and “Firing Line” followed with a sweet pop intro courtesy of multi-talented Cydney Brown, before erupting into a chorus that had the whole stage — and crowd — singing in unison.
Fitzgerald’s vocals were rich and raspy, his stage presence understated but magnetic. There’s no forced banter here — just genuine connection, playful crowd exchanges, and a sense that everyone’s in on the same joke. The music, meanwhile, was made for movement. Streaming doesn’t do it justice. Live, Oswald Slain’s songs breathe, bounce, and bloom.
“Bucky,” introduced as “a boring, sad song,” turned out to be a beautifully nostalgic ode to Bristol’s bar-hopping youth. And when “Happiness is Overrated” finally dropped, it was every inch the anthem fans had hoped for — a boogie-woogie kitchen dancefloor classic turned communal celebration.
The crowd wanted more, and Oswald Slain obliged — two encores, including a rousing rendition of The Band’s “The Weight,” with Pigeon Wigs’ frontman joining in for a finale that felt like a warm hug from the entire Bristol scene.
Happiness is complicated, but life felt simple and sweet in that room.
Words and Pics by Matt Barnes