Real Estate, Twin Sister – Relentless Garage, London
A date with Domino Records' latest leftfield indie signings
Words Hannah Walker
It takes a strong line-up to tempt us down to Highbury Corner’s Garage venue; being as it is a large, featureless box sponsored by a revolting energy drink. But this three-pronged bill showcasing some of the newer acts to be ushered into the Domino fold is potentially a bit of a winner, so we’ve nipped down early put in some quality time with Trailer Trash Tracys, whose debut LP is due early next year after what feels like an eternity making the rounds on the London circuit.
With the exception of frontwoman Suzanne Aztoria, who looks and sounds like she’s gunning for a part as the lady in the radiator in an Eraserhead remake, TTTs are not much to look at onstage — in fact, they look downright miffed at being there. The Lynch comparisons don’t end there, either, with many of the songs squeezing plenty of mileage out of the Twin Peaks theme / ‘Song To The Siren’ axis that seems to be so fashionable of late in east London circles (for the record, I’m halfway into the second series at the moment). While the band sparks at moments, overall the show falls a bit flat, and the electronic elements seem a bit of a hapless punt in the direction of relevancy from a band struggling to make their undoubted virtues count.
Twin Sister also fail to find top gear tonight, leaving the distinct impression of a decent pop group struggling to emerge from jam-band trappings. Singer Anthea Estella hides meekly under a big floppy hat and shapeless parka jacket — a far cry from the blue-wigged siren that tweaked the bloggers’ interest last year — and the rest of the band seem similarly shy of busting out a truly standout lick. No doubt, that’s down in part to a setlist drawn largely from their slightly disappointing debut LP, In Heaven, but the odd flashes of pop genius and Estella’s indecently breathy, gliding vocals make us hopeful there’s more to come from this lot.
Last on the menu — and of principal interest to this writer, admittedly — are the wonderful Real Estate, whose new album Days has a quiet focus and lyricism that’s all but completely absent among their lo-fi indie peers, and reminds us of greats like Vini Reilly and Felt, whose ‘Sunlight Bathed The Golden Glow’ they cover during the encore. The New Jersey troupe has been dismissed as a somewhat beige proposition in some quarters, but as tonight’s perfectly poised forty or so minutes proves, the beauty of this band is how they succeed in taking familiar references and, underpinned by their sturdy sense of songcraft, make something that’s unaffected and expressive and altogether like a breath of fresh air. And from the Kafkaesque confines of our oblong prison, that sounds very fine indeed.
Photograph by Marine Gobert
