St Patrick's Day. Saturday night, the Lewes Rd Inn in Brighton wasn't serving up your typical pub fare. The menu was a feast for the soul, courtesy of Elmand their songwriter, Andy Gathercole. The air crackled with anticipation as the band took the stage, a storm brewing not outside, but within the walls of the old inn.
Gathercole's songs weren't your average pub anthems. These were mournful madrigals, woven with tales that sent shivers down spines and ignited imaginations. Stories of weathered ships battling unseen leviathans in the deep, sung with a haunting melody that tugged at the heartstrings. Tales of weathered fishermen, their voices hoarse from the sea's relentless song, intertwined with hauntingly beautiful harmonies.
The night wasn't all melancholic nostalgia though. Gathercole's lyrical genius took a sharp turn, weaving a narrative of Virginia Woolf, her words echoing through the pub like a spectral monologue, set to a backdrop of melancholic yet strangely uplifting music. Then, with a flourish, the set took a left turn – a tale of alien abduction, delivered with a deadpan seriousness that had the crowd both captivated and chuckling nervously.
Elm weren't afraid to push boundaries. Their music was a tapestry of emotions, a melancholic waltz that morphed into a toe-tapping jig, all within the space of a single song. The Lewes Rd Inn that night wasn't just a pub; it was a portal to other worlds, a stage for the echoes of the past and whispers of the unknown. It was a night that left the audience breathless, their minds abuzz with the stories The Brighton Elms had spun.
