Gabby Young & Other Animals

Another roundabout story of discovering an interesting band: I heard Gabby Young & Other Animals on Loose Ends and thought their stuff sounded interesting. Then at the end Clive Anderson remarked, 'I do like your hair, Gabby, I should have mine that colour', the joke being that he doesn't have any. That sounded even more interesting, so I looked them up and discovered a girl in a black and white striped jacket, bright red hair and a tendency to decorate one eye.
I persuaded my friend Ms Vale that she might like to go and see them at the Barbican yesterday, and she decided she would as she already knew the headline band, the Irrepressibles. This was a very good thing as she works in music festival organising and was able to wangle free tickets. Much to our surprise as we entered we found ourselves positioned in exceptionally good seats at the front of a very crowded auditorium.
I was unconvinced by the Irrepressibles. They are clearly very musically proficient, but despite all the publicity praising the 'visual spectacle' they always put on I found I was only able to enjoy the admirable music by closing my eyes so I couldn't see what they were doing, particularly the messianic maestro and lead singer, who moved ponderously and portentously from one pose to another. There's only so many songs about disappearing up your own bottom you can write, surely, and by the time the finale, which was something to do with drifting away on a pearly ocean of self-pity and falling into a golden rainbow, mercifully arrived, both of us remained rooted to our seats as the auditorium rose in ecstatic acclamation around us. The metaphor I'd mentally devised about disappearing bottom-ward now took material and awful form as the large gentleman sat in front of us stood up and left his jeans behind. That image will, sadly, remain with me a long while.
But first we had Gabby Young, a glorious experience. Whereas the Irrepressibles are clearly a Project with a capital P, they came over like a group of friends having fun and involving us in it. When a friend of mine saw Ms Young's image their response was 'Isn't she just doing a take-off of Emilie Autumn?' I tend to think GY&OA are rather like Emilie Autumn will be when she finishes the therapy, the same way Amanda Palmer has cheered up no end since marrying Neil Gaiman. At the moment the resemblance is no more than superficial - the mood is entirely different, and majors not on bitter and sardonic humour but a sense of mischief which nicely darkens the general upbeat temper. The episodes of quiet - 'We're All In This Together' is a gentle, lyrical statement of human solidarity in the midst of sorrow - set off the more raucous moments with brass to the fore. There's a lot going on, but it's not trying to be terribly sophisticated. The slight movements of the overgrown rose petals surrounding Ms Young's right eye continually drew the attention. We were left uplifted and, bizarrely for a pair of old Goths, not even feeling slightly disconcerted as a result.