As always, you get the most out of Sound City by going off the beaten path. It’s practically what the event has built itself on, where the micro-venues on Liverpool’s Seel Street and the surrounding areas are the hotbed for discovering something new. The possibility of just wandering into somewhere and finding something ear-catching has been maximised. Early on Saturday afternoon, stumbling into the Jacaranda’s basement finds Fraya Ofoeme rounding off her set, incredibly no-frills with an acoustic R&B setup, but with a voice that genuinely isn’t too far off prime time. A fairly faultless cover of H.E.R.’s Best Part establishes that with certainty. It’s the same with crysometimes later on Sunday evening, whose indie-infused pop-rock, without question, has a Pale Waves support slot in its (hopefully near) future.
It’s likely what Sound City’s predominantly older clientele finds most attractive. It’s a good start to fill the bill with the sort of music you’d expect to appeal to that crowd—a lot of post-Britpop indie; post-punk; alt-rock with at least a thread of ‘90s worship. But also, it plays to an audience that isn’t wholeheartedly concerned with trends or keeping up with the mainstream landscape this very second. On a similar wavelength, the generational stereotype of “there’s no good music anymore” is pitched as far as can be. The overwhelming vibe is one of enthusiasm for something new, and having that compiled on the doorstep of people for whom extensive travel might not be feasible anymore is always a good thing.
Nevertheless, the names at the top are curated to appeal more to taste than timbre-of-the-moment excitement. Once again, the main stage sets up shop in Grand Central Hall, the only Sound City venue that could actively be described as ‘lavish’ (even with its feel of a ‘70s working men’s club), and sees fit to represent that through the bigger names to make their way up through the festival’s food chain in the last couple of years. It’s the only area of the lineup that seems almost exclusively tailored to the whims of the punters, and does rest on that—for lack of a better word—‘corporate’ element. Both The Royston Club and Dylan Scott Thomas played in 2023, and clearly went down well enough to justify bolting them as headliners. Neither really fit those larger-than-life expectations—with Britpop revivalism and everyman singer-songwriter fare, respectively—but they aren’t lacking in popularity or receptiveness from the established base. Might as well throw Overpass in with them, a band whose breezy, genial indie has unsurprisingly been profiled immensely by slots exactly like these. At least the echo of the room sends them booming out to a crowd who are totally game for it at all times.
If we’re talking bigger names, though, Grand Central still finds room to thread in good stuff outside of the typical indie ecosystem. Nieve Ella deserves to be among these, although the fact that nothing but a bashing drumbeat comes from the first song initially could almost put paid to that. Some visible frustration and a short departure from the stage later, there’s a visible ripple of triumph to see it all play out. With roots in emo and pop-rock, it’s the most explicitly youthful that any of the big-stage players this weekend can deliver. Brògeal’s further exuberance is found more through Celtic folk, armed with a banjo, accordion and bouzouki for Grand Central’s most diverse bout of instrumentation. Their indie backbone certainly helps, and even if there’s not a tremendously huge crowd to appreciate it, appreciate it they certainly do. With a Gerry Cinnamon-esque feel and frontman Daniel Harkins sporting a Gallagher-brand bowlcut and sunglasses, alll the necessary bases are covered.
It’s Rianne Downey who once again proves her high-billing worthiness most deftly, though. Not only does she have the benefit of hometown glory on her side (she’s Scottish, but a self-professed “adopted Scouser”), but her country-pop clop is still as much fun as it ever was. With her white dress and high-tied hairdo in what might as well be an old-school Dolly Parton cosplay, she’s leaning into it hard. And on a bill that’s not exactly wanting for solo singer-songwriters, one emboldened by this much gloss and glitter is a welcome turn. Downey might have the freshest presence of anyone at this scale on the lineup, likely hewn by her current role as Paul Heaton’s co-vocalist (made physically manifest in a cover of The Beautiful South’s Rotterdam), but by no means limited to it. The degree of magnetism that Downey carries ensures she’s absolutely the real deal.
But again, for the real gems, you need to dig deeper and investigate the fairly sprawling undercard that Sound City has to offer. This year especially, the core of strength leaps out and makes itself known at almost every turn. Well, maybe not with BL!SS, the solitary island of metal on this year’s bill, likely because they’re local, they’ve played before, and it was convenient to get hold of them. All traces of effort has been fed into an impressively heavy sound for up-and-comers, meaning there’s not a hint of memorable songcraft to be found past workmanlike covers of Break Stuff and Cherub Rock. Even their singer’s most ardent hair-flips can’t shake off the stink of local alt-metal tail-chasers. At least there’s no way for PEVOVA to be as uninteresting as their single line of description on the Sound City app reads (“a female-fronted rock band based in the UK”—riveting!). Their measured, dynamic alt-rock may be fighting for space with a lot of others, but it’s not hard to see how capable it is of sticking the landing.
Take another step up, and you arrive at the acts for whom treading the boards of pub basements shouldn’t be usual practice for much longer, and there’s plenty of them. EVER already have a packed room to work with, and even a queue outside the door who physically can’t fit in. It isn’t too difficult to see why, when their grungy, cavernous rock sound with some enormous presence has been solidified and fine-tuned far more than from your typical small fries. Better Joy is, likewise, remarkably fully-formed, to where the summer festival readiness of her big, buoyant pop-rock draped in snakelike indie cool can’t be overstated. Imogen And The Knife, meanwhile, pride a darker allure, a pseudo-goth-pop sound made all the richer by trumpet and baritone saxophone to bejewel the bass, keys and clear, mellifluous vocals. The loud chatter at EBGBs’ bar is the furthest thing from optimal (“D’you reckon they know there’s a gig going on?” Imogen quips), but the atmosphere is too thick to shatter.
A special mention needs to go to Disgusting Sisters as the act of the weekend by a country mile. For starters, they’re visually distinct in a way that the 200-cap EBGBs isn’t always privy to from its performers. In their matching blouses, visors and two-toned hair (on mirrored sides of each other, of course), you’d never peg Jules and Josie Hopkins’ electro-pop / pop-rock project to be only about a year old. Forget ‘finding their feet’; they’re already at the point of integrating choreography into what their scruffy pop-punk allows. The music, too, is phenomenally fun, particularly with some tighter new wave and synthpop stabs like on Killing It. Their half-hour rockets by, the intended result of a performance and presence that—again, just over a year in—are realised to a ridiculous standard. An incredible find, and one that you shouldn’t hesitate to pay more attention to.
Finally, Sound City’s contingent of punk deserves its own mention. It’s weird that this isn’t an area delved into much given the onus on DIY risers, but the efforts to rectify that lately haven’t gone unnoticed. Prima Queen are more ‘punk’ through technicality than output—the pared-back sound and the fact they easily generate a sweatbox atmosphere in the garden shed that is the Kazimier Stockroom—but it still counts. If nothing else, that’s down to the concerned direction of their work next to the indie-rock they could be grouped with. You won’t find a collection of sharper, stickier hooks and harmonies on this lineup than here, the post-punk slink cranked up to its extremes on Chew My Cheeks and Oats (Ain’t Gonna Beg). Later on, Panic Shack deliver a more standard punk affair, a dress rehearsal of sorts for their own headline show in the Arts Club Loft only about a week later. Don’t presume a lack of effort, though; they’re topping this stage tonight, too, and the constant thrumming, thundering rhythms and the venomous range of singer / shouter Sarah Harvey make that well and truly known.
It’s intense, though not quite to the level of Roko Mouth, whose song Open Your Mouth might be the heaviest thing to see a stage this weekend. With a brick-cracking hardcore and garage-rock palette, topped off by the peak of tunefulness and bassist Jordan as their loose-cannon-in-chief, they’re another runaway highlight. They also play to about 20 people, a hallmark of Sound City’s underbelly that might seem disheartening on the surface, but makes the electricity all the more concentrated when on the ground. Roko Mouth themselves clearly don’t mind; they’ve got unflappable poise throughout. And for the lucky few who are here—and for many of the other great shows over the weekend—it’s absolutely a rewarding way to truffle out these brand new bands. Discovery is key, after all, and it’s what keeps Sound City so worthwhile, time and time again.
Words by Luke Nuttall
