Sigh No More, No More: Mumford & Sons gig

"Man is a giddy thing, oh man is a giddy thing;

Love: it will not betray you, dismay or enslave you; it will set you free, more like the man you were made to be ."

Mumford & Sons, Sigh No More, Oct 2009, HMV Forum, Kentish Town.

I've been obsessing over this album since it's release; it's a soaring, epic country tinged album with heartfelt angsty choruses and lyrics that can be taken with a pinch of darkness. Mumford & Sons are from the London country/folk rock stable of The Maccabees, Noah & the Whale and Laura Marling. No wonder I love them so much.

The build up to this gig made me a bit nervous. I've listened to, and loved the album so vehemently (it makes me well up on the bus into work on a daily basis, in a good way) that I worried the gig might be a let down. I didn't know anyone who'd already seen them. The background of my thoughts is continuous low-level disappointment most of the time, so I was scared I'd built it up too much.

I need not have worried. Firstly; a perfect little venue. The HMV Forum: small enough to be very intimate, and you have to love a venue where you can stand at the bar and still be within spitting distance of the act playing. It feels like an old ballroom and reminded me very much of the Folkestone Leas Cliff Hall (but without the magnificent smoking balcony overlooking, well, France.)

Secondly, a band whose instruments consist of an accordian, keyboard, banjo, guitar, drums and a double bass is unlikely to be a let down. There are not enough bands with double basses. What a beautiful instrument, it gave such solid reverberating warmth to the whole set.

One thing that did puzzle me about the gig was the amount of really young fans the band have - I was surrounded by 12 year olds in homemade M&S T-shirts. It drew me to the conclusion that if you're not old enough to smoke; you shouldn't be allowed into such a good gig. I don't appreciate a rucksack in my face/drink/chest throughout the set, or being jumped on continually. Perhaps they should be admired for having such excellent musical taste so young. Ok I've changed my mind: let them in, but just in some sort of teenager pen right at the back where they can jump and spill their Fanta and raging hormones on each other. Just not near me.

Me: "If that kid's fucking rucksack knocks my drink one more time...."

No'rn Ir'on: "It's ok, when the lights go down it will be dark enough so no one will see you kick him."

I actually contemplated the penalty for assaulting a teenager in public and weighed up the pros and cons.

The band announced that this was their first London show since the release of the album so it felt like a "we've made it" homecoming gig. They are wonderful on stage, telling stories and performing every tune with pure gusto and passionate energy, knocking the crap out of their instruments. I've never seen someone rock out a double bass before. It's pretty impressive.

The set kicked off with Sigh No More, starting with acoustic and harmonies, and building up to a massive chorus with banjo riffs that had the crowd jumping around. There was a definite stomping hoedown vibe to the set which gels surprisingly well with profound, swelling climaxes of drums, bass and Marcus Mumford's powerful voice.

Straight into Little Lion Man which everyone went mad for, a stand out track on the album that Zane Lowe himself proclaimed to be 'Hottest Record In The World Right Now' when it first came out. He was pretty spot on. A few hundred people singing their hearts out to

"It was not your fault, but mine - and it was your heart on the line. I really fucked it up this time, didn't I my dear?"

was great fun and very rousing.

They played their way through most of the album, and ended on a new song called Whispers in the Dark (I think). We were lucky enough to be about six feet from the stage for the whole performance. It was pretty cool to meet the bands eye and see them smiling as they watch you film them.

They got a whooping, hollering reception upon ending their set but it was disappointing that the set line up (Mr Hudson followed by headliner Paloma Faith) didn't allow them to do an encore. Who wants to see Mr Hudson any way? We watched a bit by the bar, I know Kanye West loves him, but he didn't perform anything that was on a par with his excellent old single Too Late. No'rn Ir'on commented:

"Here, doesn't this remind you of Maroon 5?"

Me: "Yes. Ergo, shite."


We left before Paloma Faith came on, by that point I was elated, sweaty and really wanted a cigarette so No'rn Ir'on and I headed out into the dark Camden night. We were just gathering our thoughts and discussing how bloody amazing the gig was, when suddenly we spotted Country Winston (Winston Marshall, banjo and vocals) outside The Forum. As he strolled past we stopped him to say thanks for such a wonderful performance and to ask when they'd be performing in London again (he didn't know). He was very charming and didn't mind being accosted by two tipsy and exciteable girls. How can you express how much a band move you to a band member without sounding like a groupie idiot? I don't think you can.


One bad thing about this gig is that I am now more in love with Marcus Mumford than ever. I've gone to see him as an avid fan, and come back bearing the adolescent pain of forever unrequited love. Damnit. Any man that can write, sing and perform like that is astounding. Plus he's fit and rocks an old-fashioned 'tache that not that many men could get away with. *sigh* I think I'll spend today staring wistfully out of a window into the middle distance.

Still though, the heavy-hearted burden of a one-way infatuation is a small price to pay for a concert that definitely rates as one of my all time top five. Simply lovely.

(Sorry for the rubbish sound quality on the video clips: they don't do the band justice.)

Chris Martin: Less Annoying Than You'd Think

One contact lens knocked out in the first five minutes so a gig through half-sight? Check.

Post-gig condition commonly known as 'Beer Hair'? Check.

Ditto the above but 'Beer Chest'? Check.

Shoes ruined and wet through? Check.

Hardly any phone battery because of all the "Where are you? No I'm next to the lighting rig... WHAT? No the OTHER one!!" calls? Check.

Makeup literally washed off my face, and soaked through to my underwear? Check.

Ahhh it's been a good night. Wembley Stadium, Jay-Z, Coldplay, my excellent old friends and 89,994 other excited people. When Madhead offered me the tickets, I hesitated. Coldplay are, well, alright, in fact you can't knock that they're a talented band. But it's not like I ever chose to stick them on my iPod. Jay-Z on the other hand, rocked at Glasto last year and he's hip hop man of the moment (blew that one at the VMA's didn't you Kanye? Tit), so I thought, why not?

Shambolic from the start, Madhead, Essex Boy and the others turn up an hour and a half after I get there. And they had the tickets. So by this time, I'd missed Girls Aloud (was secretly quite excited about seeing them), White Lies (wanted to see just to cry to Death live since it's an epic, soaring track) and half the Jay-Z set. They, apart from Essex Boy who was driving, were all what can only be described as very, very drunk.

I was met with an overexcited yell of "heeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeyyyyyyyyy-ohhhhhhhh!" in a style that was possibly meant to be hip-hop but was more Ron Burgundy. Ace.

The stadium is monstrously vast, I've never seen so many people inside one structure. We made our way in excitedly, Madhead doing his "listen guys, GUYS!" and ordering everyone around so that we could catch some Jay-Z. Beers in hand, we made our way down onto the pitch area into the masses of bouncing people, and I promptly lost everyone. So I watched Jay-Z alone, chanting "Bounce, bounce" with everyone else and having a thoroughly good time. Say what you like about him, the bloke's a superstar on stage and absolutely works the crowd. Singing along to Hard Knock Life with that many people is more fun than you could imagine. His stage presence is momentous.

So, the break between acts arrived and I finally hooked up with everyone else. Upon making our way onto the pitch area to get a good spot for Coldplay, Madhead manages to feel me up more than once and gleefully proclaims,

"The others [who I'd not met before this evening] were asking what you were like. I said Northern, funny and massive tits." Um, thanks for that. Possibly only two out of three are true.

As the crowd goes mental when Chris Martin strides on stage, we realise that yes, the stadium has no roof. Beginning with spitting rain, which was not altogether unpleasant, the heavens suddenly opened and by the time the band have started Yellow, it's literally pissing it down. Properly like when you're under a shower and you can't quite open your eyes in the force of the flow. Arm in arm, belting out this song along with everyone else, with beautiful (yellow, natch) lighting and the late summer rain soaking everyone through was pretty special. We were all grinning like morons, striking power ballad poses and jumping around in the wet.

The set was biiiiiig songs, not too much annoying talk from Chris Martin, rousing guitar and chorus breaks and a crowd who were all over it. We pushed our way through to near the front, I managed not to lose my shoes (my coral pink brogues which I think are now f*cked) or any of our party. In a suitable spot, Rather Drunk Girl was hoisted up on various shoulders then dropped her phone. I was very surprised at the gig sense of community, it took very little effort apart from the useless shouts of "has anyone seen a phone?!" to encourage a large group of moshing guys to part a hole in the crowd in the bouncy bit of a big song and help look for it - even offering their own mobile phone light to try and locate it on the muddy, scuzzy floor. Happily, it was found and this may have elicited a bigger cheer from us than any of the songs.

After decamping to a little acoustic stage and doing a commendable version of Billie Jean, Chris Martin asked the crowd to get their mobiles out and instructs them to do a phone Mexican wave round the stalls. The almost perfect choreography of the twinkling lights around the stadium was pretty inspired and got everyone all excited again for the big anthemic finale.

By this point, Drunk Boy and I had lost everyone else after a badly-timed trek through endless people for a loo break and we just spent the rest of the set annoying other people by weaving through them hand in hand muttering "Sorry! Sorry!" FYI people at gigs: deliberately digging your elbows in to get a few well-placed jabs as we pass, simply because we're slightly annoying you for a second is not good gig etiquette. What would Mr Martin or Mr Z say to that sort of lack of festive spirit? Hmm? You ought to get home and think about what you did. Not cool.

It took about 45 minutes to reassemble most of the group outside the stadium, not counting Rather Drunk Girl who'd dashed off into the front of the crowd during the acoustic set - she still hadn't been located by the time I made a break for it, so I hope she's been found and someone has given her some water. And paracetamol.

Another 40 minutes or so just to get to the Tube station, incredible police crowd control so tip of the cap to you, London Met police. I thought that my night had ended on a personal geeky high when I deliberately took the crowd routes right alongside the formations of police horses. One particularly magnificent grey beast gave me a friendly sniff as I passed and I got a whiff of my favourite smell in the whole world: horses and leather. I was content to find my way home with this nostalgic scent in my nose, bringing back memories of a lifetime spent at the stables.

But it got better. People-watching on the Tube, I was stationed next to a gaggle of twenty something Londoners and was giggling inwardly at one of them, clearly drunk, going off on a comedy monologue at his companion's expense.

"Ohh Hackney, everyone has funny hair and is really pretentious. Felix you're surrounded by those people you hate, but you're ONE of them!" *guffaw* Felix looked a bit sheepish.

Suddenly, a girl behind me squeals to them, "Like, Oh my GOD, are you the Maccabees?!" They admit that yes, yes they are, and took the intrusion into their boozy night out very well. They even sweetly agreed to various photos of them with said admirers in the packed tube. I got chatting to Felix's girlfriend who was very lovely - she told me I had nicely coloured hair and we agreed that we didn't really like Coldplay that much, after discussing the fact that most of the Tube carriage was returning from the gig. As we went through the Tube gates at Liverpool St, Orlando let me go first which was very gentlemanly. And, incidentally, he's very beautiful. Just saying.

All in all, a random, brilliant night. And Chris Martin, who'd I'd always thought of as a bit of a Bono-wannabe twat, was actually not as annoying as you'd think. And he certainly can put on a gig.