Du Blonde live review: Independence is a virtue
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(Credit: Press)
I’m a big fan of the band Human Interest, and after reading one of their interviews today, a quote from their bassist and vocalist, Tyler Damara Kelly, stayed with me. “The saying is ‘write drunk, edit sober’, but I don’t believe that,” she said, “Just write drunk and let it be what it is.” Now, sat at home after seeing Du Blonde, a drink poured and garlic baguette in the oven, I find myself trudging through a half-drunken review for a rock and roll show knocked out in a notes app, tweaking spelling errors and fixing sentences, struggling to think of anything other than the ringing in my ears and the quote from Human Interest.
The gig marks more than just a date on a tour; it’s one of the first times people have had a chance to see Du Blonde in years, and it makes up a small portion of Independent Venue Week. When has there ever been a better time to celebrate unique moments than right now? I could clean up these half-pissed notes, but would that be an authentic retelling of the beauty of the show and the venue? If a word is spelt wrong or a sentence appears rushed, it’s because note-taking was done quickly so as not to miss a second of the gig. If details are glossed over or some elements of the show aren’t done justice, then that’s just representative of the night I’ve had, isn’t it?
By taking Human Interest’s advice and not letting myself be too bogged down in perfecting this piece, I am attempting to create the most honest and accurate telling of the show possible. Surely that’s the best thing I can do during a gig and a week that celebrates creative independence and freedom? Write drunk, edit drunk. Here you go:
My first ever cigarette was in a beer garden, just like this one. It was given to me by a girl I fancied, and it opened up a whole new world, not the cigarette or the girl, but what they both represented, which was rebellion, lust, music, meeting people I wouldn’t normally meet, wearing clothes I usually wouldn’t dare dress with. My first gig at an independent venue also led to my first drunken kiss, first drag, first two-step on a sticky dancefloor, and from those first I haven’t looked back since.
Yellow Arch, the Sheffield venue graced by Du Blonde this cold January evening, is another blip on the radar of independent venues that need support, of venues that mean so much to those who both take to the stage and the dancefloor. Tonight, it’s Du Blonde, and with her, there is this hour, this space, and this place that we can momentarily call home.
No demographic here. One woman looks like candyfloss, she wears a neon pink tee which is ripped towards the waist, her trousers are white and pastel checkers, her blusher is rose. Another woman looks like a shadow, three different shades of black, as if a corner has been hit by a light with a dimmer switch. The fashion choices of the rest of the crowd linger somewhere within these two extremes, and no one looks out of place. All are welcome. The audience landscape seems to be populated by anyone who fancies it, and tonight, “it” means guitar music, singalongs and silliness.
Don’t bother knocking on your friends who live nearby, they’re not home, they’re all here, smoking, drinking and applauding as Du Blonde takes to the stage. The roar is familiar, one I’ve heard a million times before but that I’ll never grow tired of, a part enthusiastic, part-nervous-and-part-awkward murmur that prefaces the first note of a local gig. Du Blonde rides the murmur as if it’s a layer of feedback, her footsteps leading to centre stage, cutting through a natural rhythm section before the real music starts.
In 2021, Du Blonde released her album Homecoming, which was her first record done independently. It sounded like punk, not just because of its energy and distortion but because it had a newfound freedom embedded within every note. It added a sound that doubled up as a fuck you to those who place restrictions on the creative process, and the result was an upbeat album laced with heartbreak, anger, and comfort, a contradiction of itself and yet entirely cohesive.
Since the release of that album, Du Blonde has worked with other independent artists to help them find their voice and navigate a complicated industry. An unrelenting freedom can be heard in everything she’s worked on since, including her most recent record, Sniff More Gritty. Independence exists within the very foundation of this gig; it holds the walls, stage, and floor together, and whether they realise it or not, every person in the room celebrates it simply by being here.
The show starts steadily, with clean chords and lone vocals. Du Blonde’s voice is one of the most unique in modern music, the default is low, deep yet drenched in melody, as we hear now, and as we continue hearing once drums, bass and distortion kicks in. It doesn’t rise to the top of the room like others do, it settles like mist, spreading out amongst the crowd, sitting on shoulders for seconds before retreating into silence. However, that deep default isn’t a given, as songs like ‘Dollar Coffee’ propose vocal challenges that Du Blonde accepts and projects with grace and emotion.
The crowd may as well be standing in a corridor. Yellow Arch is small but wholesome. Muddled apologies are exchanged as elbows knock mid-sway, and the thirsty and full-bladdered move around the room like scuttling crabs between the dunes of a captivated audience. People dance, headbang and sing along, but no one is enjoying the show more than Du Blonde herself. A comfortability manifests in stories swapped between songs, telling people about the meaning behind tracks and anecdotes from the tour, with the singer occasionally stopping herself as she realises, “Oh no, I can’t tell you that.” There is a familiarity here, one that sees her jokingly stop tunes because she “Fucked it up,” and that leads to her professing, “This is all so fun, I haven’t had fun for like five years.”
She adds, “My hair is too fucking long for this,” as she moves braids and plaits around her acoustic guitar strap for an intimate section of the set. She plays in solitude, her guitar and voice soft, as fragile as the silence they break. I close my eyes during this bit, as while I love the crowd, and the communitive aspect of the gig adds to its overall feeling, people can often ruin the moment in times like this. In that moment, it is just Du Blonde and her guitar; the illusion gently shattered now and then as people order drinks and toilets flush, but the moment remains beautiful all the same.
The show is over as quickly as it began, anthemic in its send-off, as within seconds, I’m back in the same smoking area, surrounded by excited voices planning their next move and talking about what they’ve just seen. This celebration of independence will continue to be celebrated, as people say fuck it to the working day that waits in the morning and heads to the pub next door, high off of sound and socialising. I take a seat and stare at where it says “venue” above the front door, reflecting on this night, one completely unique and yet a representation of so many others I’ve had and cherish. There is too much to reminisce on and do justice to. Instead, I listen to the chatter, remember the girl I fancied and the beer garden, and roll another cigarette.
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