It’s a bright Sunday lunchtime in October and the scene on Northampton Square,
where the offices of Finsbury give way to residential Islington, is rather
bucolic for central London. A couple of dozen bikes are being chained to the
square’s railings; young children chase squirrels through the fallen leaves.
At the centre of the square, around a bandstand that wouldn’t turn down a
fresh coat of paint if offered, 100 or so people are showing their
appreciation for a succession of bands and singer-songwriter types, each of
whom are playing a short acoustic set of no more than four songs.
This is Bandstand Busking, a monthly event that gives up-and-coming musicians
the opportunity to perform in the underused bandstands dotted around the
capital’s parks. The performances, all professionally filmed and uploaded to
the Bandstand Busking website, make an impressive calling card for each
performer should any record-company A&R men be sniffing around. More
than this, though, Bandstand Busking has evolved into a unique gigging
experience, offering close-quarters performances in unusual, often
acoustically rich surroundings.
Today, there are four bands on the bill, all of whom are accompanied by an
enthusiastic chorus of purring pigeons, buzzing light aircraft and, less
sympathetically, ambulance sirens. The format suits perfectly what seems to
be the preferred musical style — folk-edged indie-pop. First up comes the
ice-breaking one-man-junk-shop sound of Stairs to Korea, followed 10 minutes
later by the ukulele/cello/melodica/drums line-up of the Lofty Heights. By
the time the duo Tap Tap give us a couple of numbers, the session is in full
swing, and the crowd, many with a beer in hand, has swelled nicely. Their
number ensures a hearty reception for the best turn of the day, from Player
Piano, a combo who, in this three-piece incarnation, sound like a more
polite Violent Femmes.
With its loose grasp of timekeeping and charmingly ramshackle approach,
Bandstand Busking is the antithesis of today’s super-slick, cash-rich
live-music industry. In the same week that Jay-Z’s Alexandra Palace gig sold
out in a brain-scrambling 15 seconds, here on Northampton Square, not a
single penny changes hands. The performers aren’t paid and no entrance fee
is asked of the audience. Instead, it seems to be a mutually beneficial
exercise with decidedly altruistic undertones. “It’s about access to music,”
Thomas Muirhead, a co-founder, explains after the crowd has dispersed and
the last bikes are released from the railings. “We’ve drawn a line. We will
not pay a band to appear and we will not charge people to watch it. Those
are the only rules we have.”
Now run by a fluid collective of up to 20 people, Bandstand Busking has been
in operation for nearly two years. It was set up by three graduates who
discovered that London is home to 35 bandstands — “The joy of Google Maps,”
laughs Ian Sutherland, another of the founders. Reviving these forgotten
structures as live-music venues has been an incredibly successful venture,
the team persuading many critically acclaimed acts to perform, including
King Creosote, Brakes, Of Montreal, the Leisure Society and, most
impressive, this year’s Mercury winner, Speech Debelle.
Initially, the sessions were organised solely for the purpose of filming, but
the team soon realised that the performances would be enhanced with the
addition of an audience. With an audience, however, came the legal
requirement to obtain a licence from the relevant council. Until that point,
the approach had been decidedly informal. “We have been thrown off
bandstands before,” Sutherland chuckles, “such as when we put on Broadcast
2000 in Golders Green.” Muirhead interrupts: “But that one was actually
locked.” “Okay, yes, we did have to jump the fence.” When filming Of
Montreal in Regent’s Park, they managed to persuade the wardens to turn a
blind eye until the session finished. “They said, ‘All right, we’ll walk the
other way for 10 minutes.’”
Despite live music being the reason these bandstands were built, getting
licences isn’t easy. Although Bandstand Busking now has a good relationship
with Islington council, it originally encountered a little local difficulty.
“There’s a woman who lives in that house over there,” Muirhead whispers,
glancing over his shoulder, “who doesn’t like music being played on the
bandstand. She caused some problems.” “We’ve been planning to write to Boris
to ask him to make it easier for us,” Sutherland adds. “It’s a good cultural
thing, after all. And if he’s appearing in EastEnders...” So you’d welcome
him onto the bandstand? “Maybe he plays the spoons.”
The collective might now meet the box-ticking demands of local bureaucracy,
but Bandstand Busking retains its ad hoc spirit. Indeed, this time
yesterday, there was only one confirmed artist on the bill after Mercury
nominees the Invisible pulled out when the singer lost his voice. Cue a
frenzy of phone calls and the securing of three more acts at ridiculously
short notice.
Each of this afternoon’s turns clearly relishes playing in this environment,
albeit that it comes with particular pressures. They're able to see the
whites of each audience member’s eyes, and there’s nowhere to hide. “They’ve
got people sitting at their feet,” Muirhead agrees. “There’s no room for
anything less than perfection.” Yet these on-the-rise acts, most of whom
come away from a normal gig with next to nothing in their pockets, love the
Bandstand Busking concept. “Promoters who run nights in London don’t really
promote,” explains Greg Griffin, the Lofty Heights’ singer. “They let the
bands do it. So I really like this vibe. You don’t have to listen to a
corporate jukebox and buy overpriced beer in some pub. Just put it on
yourself. Do a guerrilla show.”
Certainly, the Bandstand Busking team’s refusal to make money from their
venture is refreshing. Although minor costs are incurred by each event,
these are absorbed by the salaries of their day jobs. “It’s not significant
amounts of money,” says Sutherland, by day an accountant in the music
business. Muirhead nods in agreement: “It’s less than we’d pay if we all
went to these bands’ gigs. It’s just a cheaper way of seeing them.”
As the sun slides behind the square’s townhouses and the neighbourhood
dog-walkers reoccupy the park, another successful busk is in the can,
allowing the team to start planning the next event. But their ambitious
thinking isn’t limited to lo-fi up-and-coming acts. “I want Björk on a
bandstand,” Muirhead announces, a twinkle in his eye. “And the troop of
colourful people she’d bring with her. And, of course, if Thom Yorke popped
down and said he’d like to do a piano session, we wouldn’t turn him away.”
To view Bandstand Busking performances, and for details of the next event,
go to bandstandbusking.com
Your Comments
Order By: