It’s a proper gorgeous spring evening, so my date and I take the scenic route to the venue via Plymouth Hoe. There, sprawled on the grass around the lighthouse and the world’s weirdest Beatles monument, are several dozen knots of healthy, sun-kissed young people, tossing frisbees, skulling cans, grilling sausages, perfuming the balmy April air with vapes and merry laughter.
Leadworks, lurking down an unpromising backstreet, is – for all its many fine qualities – a different vibe. A long, grey cavern studded with a charming mish-mash of furniture, redolent of elbow grease and community get-togethers, pale scene kids and inexpensive sticky cider. I love it. My first visit, and it won’t be my last.
First on the bill, Last Kind Hour. Not for them the carefree frisbee toss and the fresh air. They’re all jet-black lyrics, severe haircuts and squalling guitars. Moody, garage rock – visceral slowcore. My date nods along approvingly from her plum perch on the chaise lounge, on the chaise longue.
Next up Moya Silk. They’re incredible. Lead singer Jaz Pearce, an electrifying presence, stares levelly into the crowd in a manner I can only describe as piercing (Pearce-ing?) And that voice! My word. A generational set of pipes, serving merciless enfilades of insolent glamour.
Her band are top-drawer too, for what it’s worth – props to the drummer mouthing along to his favourite lyrics, the dorky Coxon-esque lead guitarist scything out knockout riff after knockout riff, and matey on the bass bringing thunderous heat to this compact sweaty space. Tight as a gnat’s chuff, Moya Silk are – rigorously regimented and without doubt destined for bigger things.
Headliners Playwriter, men of the hour, amble agreeably onto the stage to a chorus of cheerful, familiar whoops. A nice young lady next to me speaks approvingly of lead singer Leo Cunningham’s Sweet Jeans nights, a real lynchpin of the scene, it turns out. “He also looks like the kind of guy who’d happily grab you a tin of beans from a high shelf.” Praise indeed. The vibe is warm, cuddly and collegiate. Playwriter’s debut EP, for which this is a belated hometown celebration, is all about coming to terms with life as it is – not triumphantly, as such, but with wit, tenderness and a wry shrug.
Sonically, Playwriter waft us aloft on ecstatic clouds of keyboards and sparkling guitars, rendering dainty ice-sculptures of pure tone. It’s all very aesthetic. Bookish, easygoing, preppy even. Leo’s a cracking frontman, even with a touch of hay fever (bless him), and the band rattle through their set at a lively clip. Fan favourites such as ‘Melt’, an irresistible black comedy, work well played a wee bit faster than the record, at least on a Saturday evening, by this reviewer’s estimation.
What saves it from plain prettiness is the rhythm section: loose enough to swing, firm enough to stop these delicate songs drifting off into the ether. Drummer Norman is a beast, pivoting from the wild-eyed focus of a minor cult leader, to nibbling contentedly on a banana in between tracks. Bassist Jon Fazal, a stylish cat, holds it all down with aplomb. Tom on keys – who founded the group with Leo remotely, when they were both (as Leo puts it) “ambient hobbits”, wins over the swaying room with charm and easy grace. An uplifting night out, my date concurs, as we sneak out in time for a bag of chips on the ride home.
https://www.instagram.com/playwritermusic/
https://playwriter.bandcamp.com/album/everyday-ep
Words - Andy Hill
Pics - Cal Baker
