One Joyous Wolf Pack - Vance Joy Review

On Wednesday 7^th March, Melbourne-born Vance Joy performed at the O2 Brixton Academy, and with his last gig in the UK over three years ago, there was no chance I was going to miss it.

Vance Joy (James Gabriel Keogh) first became – literally – music to our ears in 2013, with his boy-next-door, indie-folk single, Riptide, featuring in his first EP God Loves You When You’re Dancing. I remember frantically tapping the lyrics onto my phone when I first heard Riptide hum through our car radio, in preparation to race through the front door and Google who wrote my instantly new favourite song (as, conveniently, the radio presenter did not announce it – as usual). Ever since, Vance Joy has been one of my most go-to and well-listened artists: his 2014 album Dream Your Life Away has accompanied us on numerous long trips down to Devon and up to Cheshire, harmonising to Joy’s relaxed indie-folk/pop tunes.

So, when a European tour was announced, I had pounced on tickets before they had even been released five minutes…

With vocalised guitar-strums and charming lyrics swirling the March air outside the O2 Brixton, I gallivanted into the theatrical venue, nabbing seats right in the middle of the top Circle, peering down onto the stage. Soon, the nostalgic filler-tunes quit and on the blue-lit stage strolled Joy’s support artist: Lily Moore, accompanied with her keyboard/guitar player. Her opening song Don’t Lie To Me instantly exhibited a beautiful amalgamation of Paloma Faith, Duffy and Amy Winehouse all into one voice. Moore’s only released song on Spotify, Not That Special, highlights the nineteen-year-old, from Brighton, as sassy, soulful and able to use her style for melancholic as well as upbeat tunes. After supporting Vance, Moore will be back on May 1^st performing at the Slaughtered Lamb, and I am sure I will be there in the crowd, swaying along.

After a while, the lights suddenly dimmed and deepened; guitar riffs grew and grew under the heavy cyan spotlights, and then Vance Joy ran onto the stage attended by thunderous cheering from the crowd. He began straight away with Fire and Flood, a catchy, foot-stomping song, concluding his Dream Your Life Away album. Even seated, most of the sea of the Circle swayed and clapped, shouting the chorus lyrics in delight. The beat then mellowed to make way for From Afar, a song fit for reflecting in fantasied rejection from someone your can only love from afar – or wallowing wistfully over past events. This was to be Joy’s debut single entering into 2013, and has been a favourite of mine for many years.

It was then time for new songs, freshly released on February 23^rd this year, from Joy’s new album Nation of Two. The album still encapsulates the indie vibes of Dream Your Life Away, but more intensely: it contains the sort of songs you could sing with friends at parties, throwing your hands up in ecstasy, whether in or out of relationships.

One of the most precious parts of concerts are the secret insights you are let in on about songs: Vance Joy’s Call If You Need Me is segmented in miscellaneous notebooks; an imagined life of a couple, with intimate details like discussions held while one is in the shower (because they take so long, as Vance admitted he does too). This was told while Joy played solo, allowing the power of his usually mellow voice to come through. However, when the band did take their places back on the stage, another great thing about gigs was displayed: covers! We were treated to a mash-up rendition of Lionel Richie’s All Night Long and Sorry by Justin Bieber (who could imagine I would have ever liked that song, until it was played by Vance and his band).

Before we knew it, the band and Joy had waved their thanks and went off stage. This caused an instant, raucous encore to be chanted, which was answered when Joy raced back on and sung his two most popular songs from each respective album: Lay It On Me, which was released prior to Nation of Two midway through 2017, had the whole crowd harmonising; and then Riptide was played. Even with posters affronted with capital-letter warnings about standing in the seated Circle, everyone was up, fictional ukuleles in hand, feet stomping to each strum, people turning to each other and smiling as they recited the words. Vance Joy’s audience, once just people, were now one wolf pack, howling along to the backing singers and celebrating an amazing night they were in the midst of. The atmosphere was that of a festival: dancing like there was no tomorrow and whooping to the top of our lungs. It was one of the best concerts I have ever been to.

A couple of weeks ago, Vance Joy’s Nation of Two tour tickets went on sale, and I bought some instantly, which I gave as a present for Mother’s Day (I hope I can have the spare ticket mum!) It may be in November, but I already cannot wait to be in the wolf pack once more.

Spending a Penny, Spending a Pound?

When faced with primitive problems, we tend to act like our basic form: becoming hangry when hungry, sticking our tongues out in a bid to pant when it’s hot. And when you need the loo and are not allowed to go, contemplate crying and creating a dilemma larger than a delayed train at Marylebone station. Which is exactly what I almost did.

‘Spending a penny’ is a quaint lady and gentleman’s euphemism for going to the bathroom. However in reality, you end up spending much more, as I found out, when I flew off the train in desperation onto Marylebone station, only to be met by physical barriers - like ones placed in expensive theme parks - barring me like an underage at a nightclub from the bathrooms. And to undo these barriers? 30p!
Now I know that in comparison to a morning latte at your favourite coffee shop chain, or buying a mortgage on your first house, 30p is not much. On the other hand, when you are in desperate need to allow a natural bodily function that is free any other time, 30p is a bit bloody much. Especially when you do not have the 10 and 20ps to make the 30p in the first place, as no other coins were permitted.
Luckily, a Godsend of a girl in front of me lent me the money, after we both complained in unison at the extortionate price to ‘spend a penny’.

After I got through the taunting barriers and into a cubicle, I realised I could have melted the very metal they were made from with the anger that surged around me. But, oh, we were just getting started.

Some people may find this graphic, either because they have just walked in from the Victorian era, or they have never had a science lesson in their life. Or they have never encountered a female before. However, for the rest, you can only imagine my horror when firstly I discovered I needed a sanitary product, and secondly, I had to pay £1 for it! And to do this, I had to trudge the walk of shame right down to the end of the cubicles, so everyone paying at the toilet barrier could see the blush on my cheeks expand. Now, not only is menstruation portrayed as this evil and embarrassing palaver anyway, but to then have to pay in order to prevent more humiliation in the first place? (This also harks towards the ‘tampon tax’ but I will not go into that here because that is a much bigger debate.) If I could I would have stormed out in outrage, but I couldn’t, because I needed one. (And to get back in would have cost me another 30p that I didn’t have.) Yet here was where further dismay appeared because I couldn’t get any of the products out of the dispenser! By this point I was sure I was going to cry: huffs escaped from my mouth and smoke bubbled under my knitted hat. Seeing my distress, a kind lady offered me a pound, but again the dispenser wouldn’t take it. She suggested it may be because the evil machine had not been updated to the new pound coins so didn’t register the pitiful money I was hurling into it. This in itself does not make any sense because no one carries old £1 coins anymore, unless for relic purposes (of whom I know no one who does this). So, not only was I humiliated, angry, upset and bleeding, but the machine that may solve one of these problems did not even work!

Thankfully, I found the last coins - two 50ps - in my purse and rammed then into the machine, dashing back with my prize. Which was sad for many reasons, including the fact that this prize was not treasure at all, but a necessity.

Before this had happened, I had found out that I could not go to the gig I had been looking forward to since November to see my favourite band, Marsicans, because of the snow preventing a safe travel home. So, when I was fraught with frustration in front of this archaic sanitary dispenser, I was already pretty unstable. Thus, by sheer willpower, did I not start a hysterical protest, fuelled by anger and tears, in the middle of Marylebone.

To conclude this rant, I would like to pose the question of why we still need to pay to use the bathroom. I do not except the fact that funds are needed to keep the toilets clean, as surely there are reserves of wealth and tax to do this, instead of directing this much needed money to more frivolous ideas. Because I am sure people would much rather me use toilets for free, then go for a wee on the floor of the station.