Far From Presents: 25/01/04

Peckham Audio, 25/01/2024

It was another typical Far From event, although thankfully rather warmer than the last one. Once out of the overground, past the nicest security guards at any venue in London, and down the stairs, the evening was in full swing from the moment the doors opened. There were vinyls, t-shirts, and jewellery for sale, and the stage was alive with films, shorts, and music videos projected onto the vacant back line. Meanwhile, the room inside and the smoking area outside were filling up with people wearing outfits and haircuts to suit any taste. 

And the theme of variation didn’t stop when the music started. First up was Oral Habit. The only way to look at Oral Habit is as a rollercoaster on many fronts. It was without question one of the most entertaining live performances I have ever seen, which is particularly impressive given that the band consists of only two people - brothers - which you could tell not only by looking at them, but by how tight they were. 
The drummer, essentially a long haired metronome who will still be keeping true time when the sun melts the earth, was a perfect foundation for his upright counterpart, who seemed to be busy avoiding the imaginary box under his feet. Having watched him successfully navigate this small obstacle for half an hour, I was left to wonder how it’s possible to get so many different sounds out of such a short pedal board, while simultaneously performing vocal gymnastics and jumping around the fretboard as if he was born with it in his hand. 

It is a testament to the variation in their set that, if I were to attempt to put Oral Habit’s style into one such imaginary box, it would be very difficult to know what to label it. 

One cigarette break later, and the stage had taken on a rather different composition. The two piece had been replaced by five musicians who, like the crowd in front of them, were a stylistic fusion that would confuse any pop cultural historian. Barely fitting onto the stage, the quintet was a tour de force of driven punk tunes plucked straight from the 70s, with hints of other more contemporary influences giving them a direct and yet unique sound. 
The singer’s raw vocals cut through the clamour of the basement, and was complimented beautifully by some magical guitar playing from either side of her. It was one of the most polished performances I’ve seen at this level - each member of the band holding their own without missing a beat. I was still humming the melodies on the train home. 

And there was still one last hand to be dealt by the white gloves of the stage director - Hot Face. The three piece created their own small diaspora; four strings on the far left of the stage, six out to the right. It seemed initially that this was to accommodate the wealth of cymbals of every shape and size that surrounded the drum kit, but the empty space at the front of the stage was soon occupied by a dancer wearing a mask and a rug, who proceeded to pray, dance and have a breakdown, all while trying to hold onto their headgear. It was as if Bez from the Happy Mondays had packed in the ecstasy and started taking DMT. 
The music itself refused, once again, to be confined to definition. The drummer, with a huge smile on his face throughout, put his sizeable share of the world’s metal supplies to good use with some exquisite drumming, guiding us through a breathless set that ranged from loud and rhythmic, through tidy and complex, to ambient, thanks to their faultless musicianship and warm harmonies from the whole band. With barely a break in-between each song, it’s a wonder they can remember it all.

-Written by Enzo Allen