Lawi Anywar plays at Bristol’s Strange Brew with Support from Foot Foot and Eli Dayo: Gig Review
It’s ice-cold, outside and in. Frost already glitters on the ground, breath clouds, and the keen draft blows through Strange Brew’s doors, uncurtained now that the venue’s open for the evening. Lawi is wrapped up at the table in the doorway, flanked by friends, crossing off names as wristbands are doled out. Various band members from tonight’s line-up drift through, smoking in tight groups, sipping tea from somewhere behind the bar. Early-birds filter in and dot themselves around at tables, still scarfed.
Lawi Anywar by Francis Beaumier
Strange Brew always feels like a bit of a parallel universe, its rotating array of guest artwork offering regular new vistas; tonight we’re met with clear melted lamps like upward-wriggling jellyfish (by resident artist Joe Evans), along with low glowing orbs in purple and green, snaking light tubes, and the glitterball huge and sedate like a sleepy eye.
Soon, the five members of Bristol band Foot Foot step up, spread out on the wide stage, exuding friendly nonchalance as they launch in. Esther Pollock, on vocals and guitar, is cosily off-hand as if playing an impromptu song in the living-room; the band proceed to offer their dazzling instrumentals, pointed forms, and unpredictable time signatures. Despite their natural ease, they are honed and in-step, synchronisation like a magic trick. Esther’s candid vocals are sweet but edged, with lyrics vernacular, opaque. The violin and saxophone whirl and insist on noise. Songs dance between folky dreamworlds, blustery improv, and maximalist blasts, everything going at once. Melodies slope at warm, weird angles. No one knows how much time they have left. It’s a joyful, loose-feeling affair, and it’s Lawi, calling over from the back of the room, who has the job of drawing things to a close.
London artist Eli Dayo is next on, joined by her drummer and bassist. Playing from her 2023 EP Full Form and her stack of singles, Eli brings a gleaming energy, and the room is drawn in. Her work takes in a wide scope: thudding, raking grunge; spare, light-filled arrangements and intricate patterns of percussion and claps; vocals that ribbon and curl, twisting around and back in on themselves, flatly soft but strong and pliable. A few songs unfold into pleasingly surprising shapes, inviting us to expect fuzz and murk, suddenly flipping to something more angular. For the listening brain, it’s exhilarating. Eli’s guitar measures out clean notes, paced, instrumentals keeping a low profile as the whole sound stays hushed, restrained. Less is more. And at times, more is more, noisy alt-rock layers building to a tower of sound. Too Much creeps in with slinky bass in climbing double-steps. It’s rhythmic, vocal-focused indie, multi-layered and irresistible for dancing feet. Lover opens with a hum, drums off-beat, click-clack, the anthemic vocals overlaying in a deep groove.
There is audible disappointment when she announces her last song. “But… Lawi!” she replies, generous.
And before we know it, the room is full as Lawi Anywar and his four bandmates take their places on stage. The upward-spilling synth that opens Centenarian, the title track of the new album, cedes into a thoughtful, bumping sway. It’s a raw, introspective piece, full of accountability and plain-faced truth. Its lyrics hit you straight in the chest: I don’t dread the kiss of pain / I won’t dance around the real, with courage in their humility, melodic and gentle over strings and bold slabs of bass. Apparent now, the bitter truth / I’m a child who needs his mum is so honest, it aches, like much of the album – inspired, according to the notes, by Lawi’s conversations with his estranged father and his great-aunt.
Most of tonight’s set is geared towards the Centenarian album, which was released in September – only a couple of songs (including Grey Tints, my top favourite from 2021 EP Everything’s Fine) are earlier work. And the new album is a beauty. In style, it’s a record of bright shapes and repeating patterns, constructed with a conscious use of space, leaving room for heavy stretches of dissonance and artfully placed darkness. Everything is pinned to these thick basslines that lope, tactile, holding the shape like structuring pillars. Gentler swathes – synths and velvety vocals – fill the in-betweens, coloured in and ricocheting between the sides. Lawi’s voice is unadorned, bold with soft edges. And the songs feel spacious thanks to his impressive range: if you imagine the steady low rhythm as the floor, the bright falsetto at the end of Men of Many Faces makes for a lofty ceiling. The effect is open, expansive, a space you could turn somersaults in.
Lyrically, the tracks turn a floodlight on inner worlds and personal struggles, slipping at times into worldly, existential pangs. The words are dense with meaning, at times inscrutable, at others limpid and piercing. Certain phrases (A sideshow makes a freak of me; In my mind’s eye, I see my father, watching me through a window that I’ve made; I could wander into traffic for a coin) are so hooky, they’ve been bouncing around my brain for a week before the show.
Compared to the recorded versions, the first few tracks the band play tonight feel more insistent, electrified, forwards-leaning and with no time to lose, almost like they’re in italics. As the set progresses, the front rows of the crowd (at least) get steadily more into the music, bones loosening, feet bouncing, the room finally warming up as the music moves us like a big colourful current.
Lawi introduces the band – Esther, Jordan, and Mike on guitars, with Oli on drums – and, towards the end of the set, runs off their names again for more applause. Their sound is incredibly well put together, and although some parts are like a heavy torrent (I’m thinking of the crunchy, stormy blast that I love at the end of I See You), these segments are like a measured deluge carried by capable hands.
On Cavechild IV, childhood reflections come layered over a broad groove, lovely guitar arpeggios wandering up and down. The song builds to a glorious wall of overlapping guitars and bashing drums, ending on a sudden cut. Men of Many Faces is buoyant, its tough under-layer strung with gleaming high vocals, shaded with harmonies. Wall starts with complex rhythms from Oli on drums, contrasting with Lawi’s long, smooth vocal lines. It’s a song of deep questions, thoughts of failure and aging, underpinned with resilience. The melody of the line You’ll do the best that you ca-a-an is one of my favourite moments of the whole set.
And, just like at the other Lawi shows I’ve been to, there’s a feeling of open-armed warmth. You feel welcomed. The band are smiling, some wearing brightly coloured beanies, and Lawi rocks a geometric cardigan. The combined effect is snug, the music lands on its feet, we have a good dance, and they’re called back on stage for one more song (of course) and we whoop and cheer before we’re back out into the chill night, glowing for the weekend.