“Have I said we’re called King Nun yet?” asks Theo Nun. “Fuck, maybe I never will,” he grins before the riptide of ‘Speakerface’ comes crashing against London’s Camden Assembly. It’s as rampant, ferocious and unchained as we’ve come to expect from the four-sided rabble but tonight, there’s a build to the destruction.
‘Tulip’, all static fuzz and looming escape, leads into the glimmering lurch of ‘Wet Wipe’. ‘Chinese Medicine’ swiftly chases its tail before ‘Greasy Hotel’, a really new song that is “really fucking slow” that isn’t really but feels like standing still compared to King Nun’s hyperspeed excitement and flip-book hunger, takes the lead and steers the band off somewhere new. Every song has the ground beneath their feet, kicking dead leaves, empty beer cans and boredom to the side, while the band march merrily onwards. Sprawling one moment, direct the next, it’s a grinning dance that comes into focus and beats with a bloodied, well-worn heart.
Less than an hour later and Pale Waves introduce themselves after the first track. Polished and with plenty of bite, everyone in the room already knows their name It’s been hanging on the tip of tongues for a while and for good reason. Pulling back the curtain with ‘Television Romance’, the gang open their world of digital daydream, cutting heartbreak and wide-eyed adventure. People sing along to songs that are unreleased, deleted from the internet and best of the year with equal gusto. There’s a die-hard soul within their everyone welcome tales.
“This is a dramatic song,” Heather explains before the shadow play of ‘My Obsession” rises up, but there’s a flourish of the fabulous and decadent in every turn the band make. The everyday made eternal. ‘Heavenly’ bursts with a sunshine refrain, lost inhibitions and excited possibility before ‘New Year’s Eve’ finds itself alone, searching for a connection. As the lights flash blue, pink and burning white, it doesn’t take long for the jubilant pop of ‘There’s A Honey’ to place it front and centre. “This is where the fun begins,” she promises. There’s a stage invasion surrounding the band, manic and full of glee, that swiftly turns off instruments and causes havoc. It’s ok though. “Let’s try that again,” grins Heather, relishing the intimate chaos surrounding her.
As the chiming wonder floats about the space, mirrored and inviting, Pale Waves look like superstars. Soon they won’t need to introduce themselves. Soon their name will be in lights. Soon really isn’t that far away. This is where the fun begins.
Photos: Jennifer McCord