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Nothing sluggish about Sheffield’s Slow Club
Words Lauren Strain / Image(s) Lauren Strain
Slow Club are: boy shivering in Russian hat, girl shivering in tartan rug. Slow Club are: girl whacking green glass bottles, boy lashing an acoustic guitar. Slow Club are: Sheffield’s Charles and Rebecca, 19 and 21, with hedgehog hair and glowing goldilocks; with songs like boisterous picture books, all quick smart answers (him) and coy retorts (her).
“We don’t really go together, musically,” says Becky, “but we reached what we wanted to sound like straight away. There’s no massive spiritual thing; we just know what each other thinks.”
“We can be really honest,” Charles agrees. “If we don’t like something the other’s done, we can say so.”
“It’s in our interests to make it work...”
“...for the greater good. Like a cult.”
A cult of friendship, maybe? Their upcoming debut record features mates bawling their lungs out, playing musical saws, throwing paper aeroplanes off bridges...
“We’re just about the party!” Becky blurts. “Our personalities are all about not caring. About making music ’cause it should cover everything: being happy, sad, in love, with your friends - all of that in one equals a party.”
“We played in Anstruther in Fife last year,” Charles remembers. “When it got to 3am and people started leaving, Becky just banged drums till everyone turned back... It wasn’t about trying to prove anything, it was just about having fun.”
And if old school rollerskates, fairy cakes and boxer dog puppies (all of which figure in videos) scream “TWEE!” to you, you’re partially right. But there’s an idiosyncrasy to their situational lyrics that sets them apart from just some cutesy duo, and if the muted trumpets and Becky’s show-stopping soprano on ‘Apples and Pairs’ don’t get you, dear reader, there ain’t no beating lump of mushy red muscle behind yer stony-cold ribs. See doctor.
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