On a dark dark night, down a dark, dark street, we wandered, Ben Broomfield and I, searching, yearning to find The Milton Arms. After a considerable journey round the houses and backstreets of Mile End, we arrived panting in time to catch the latter part of ONE MORE GRAIN'S set.
Through the pub's warren of stairs and passages, we reached the cellar; people were spilling out into the passage, and crammed into every nook andcranny of the room to see the band, their heads avoiding looping bunches ofwires, a single bare bulb casting striking shadows. This was perfect for One More Grain – as underground a scene as ever I've seen. The music reverberated
in the darkness with an intensity The Cure would have been proud of, building up in heavy punk-disco-y waves.
I wasn't sure where the crowd stopped and the band began, but there was a drummer in the corner somewhere,a bassist playing a cool upright, lead singer and guitarist Daniel Patrick Quinn filling the room with Stone Roses style energy, and another guitarist . . . um, I peered around the cellar, trying to see where the other guitarist could possibly be, who I could clearly hear playing. With a craning of the neck to see between the heads, and around the snogging couple, I saw not another guitarist, but a trumpet player, making incredible noises with the aid of a barrage of sound effects, which lent the song a dark eeriness well suited to our little whitewashed dungeon.
|
I wish I had seen the whole gig, as One Man Grain's stage presence and energy was spellbinding, and it takes musicians of verve and imagination to sweep a whole crowd up and hold their attention so vividly. This is definitely a band to go and see again.
|
