By the time I slid into Sneaky Petes, the first support act, Save Face, had already finished. A shame, as I listened to their track An Understanding i
Read MoreBy the time I slid into Sneaky Petes, the first support act, Save Face, had already finished. A shame, as I listened to their track An Understanding in the car on the way through and was intrigued to hear more. Ive since worked through everything they have available on Spotify - with shades of Divorces intertwined vocals and Big Thiefs emotional rawness, the Scottish six-piece have comfortably found a place in my daily rotation.
3p Slot Machine were a very pleasant surprise. Their set moved at a gentle pace, fully engaged but never frantic, with enough dynamic shifts to keep ears perked. There was a casual looseness to their playing that avoided sloppy, and a melodic sense that occasionally suggested Yo La Tengos calmer moments: guitars weaving in and out without ever crowding the space, while bongos and slide guitar added to the jazzy, mellow drift. One track, Chickpea, caught the ear of my friend beside me, who heard echoes of Captain Beefheart. Thats not a bad comparison; theres an off-kilter charm in the way the Edinburgh-based 5-somes riffs slither into unexpected places, and at their best it felt like they were letting curiosity lead rather than forcing emotion.
Sneaky Petes has always suited bands who need a room to push back against. Its a narrow, low-ceilinged sweatbox on the Cowgate - the kind of venue with nowhere to retreat, where strangers elbows become familiar. When Yowl took the stage, it felt like the right fit: a band built for rooms where the air thickens.
The Peckham 5-piece kicked off with little preamble and set about establishing their mood quickly. Gabriel Byrdes vocals sat front and centre, giving his lyrics a certain bite - attentive to detail, unsentimental, and often tense. The bands sound leaned heavily on interlocking guitars, with Ivor Manley and Mike Wride keeping things tight and slightly abrasive. There were stretches where the music locked into a familiar post-punk churn, recalling the wiry repetition of The Fall, while other moments opened out into something more melodic and reflective. Those slower passages, such as Milksicks A Birthday With David, carried a weightier tone, closer in feel to The National, built on restraint rather than release.
A few songs stood out for how well the band locked in together. Saturday Drag sounded especially at home, languidly stumbling through the verses before the 1-2 knockout chorus. The Machine really nailed the anxiety of running on empty, whilst Weedkiller, with its escalating chant and images of gardens gone to ruin, felt like the moment the set tipped from tension into release.
Walking out into the cool Edinburgh night afterwards, the sense wasnt one of having witnessed a band chasing reaction or spectacle. What Yowl offered instead was a focused, workmanlike performance that made sense of their sound in a live setting. In a city that sees its fair share of live music, that quiet confidence counts for more than a lot of bluster.
Review and photography by Fraser Doig.
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