Written by Adam Piotrowski
Photography by Kevin Gaughan and Thomas Needham
With additional nonsense by Thomas Needham
As I followed the blood motorcycle up Narborough Road into the Westend of Leicester on the way to The Shed, all trace of afternoon daylight gone so early, I contemplated the reasons for one of Leicester’s longest operating venues’ imminent closure.
Anyone with an eye on the Leicester scene or any local music scene in the UK knows that small grass roots venues are struggling. But here it’s not for the lack of talented acts, more likely a thinly spread audience across too many venues competing for punters.
It was only this time last year that The Musician was wrapping up it’s run of gigs in order to review their position and make a plan for the future. Their fate was similar to that of The Shed, after long talks with the Music Venue Trust, they closed the venue and sold the building. The only consolation is that the same group that ran The Musician have continued to run shows at The International on Garden Street under the tag of ‘The Musician Presents’, offering the rich diversity of quality shows we have come to expect from them, albeit on a smaller scale.
We have also recently seen The Donkey on Welford Road, announce a refurb and rebrand, becoming ‘Victoria Park’ and a suggestion of a ‘lively, modern Premium Local’. With this and it now being under the ownership of Star Pubs Group, part of Heineken UK, it feels unlikely that live music will play a big part in it’s future.
With The Shed closing down for good, we have effectively lost 3 venues in the space of 12 months.
We very nearly saw The Shed disappear into the sunset without any fanfare – the venue made an announcement on Facebook on 18th December that they’d be closing after their New Year’s Eve Party. That is until local musician and sound man, Joe Doyle stepped in to organise ‘One Last Gig’ to say farewell to the beloved venue.
Passing kebab shops and bars and peopled streets, I made a list in my head of things that kill venues and there are really so many right now.
Audience’s unrealistically high standards – the illusions created by high tech recording, auto-tune and picture perfect snaps on social media; having the world’s history of entertainment at our fingertips with streaming services and youtube; the idea that there is lack of a need for creative thought with the frightening capabilities of AI; the increasing obsession with, and aspiration for that most contagious and harmful of words ‘viral’; pre-occupation with the discovery of artists on social media and the pressure of artists to create ‘engaging content’ on instagram and tik-tok; the tendency to always be doing multiple things at once, plugged into technology, not leaving room for an artist’s vision to slowly reveal itself and get your buy-in over multiple listens, but a need for likes, shares and purchases now, Now, NOW!
And – let’s not forget the after-effects of the pandemic, which broke people’s habits of going out to see live music and made people realise that it was so damn easy to sit at home and entertain themselves and not even get out of the chair or need to spend money. There are just so many niches, so many rabbit holes to get lost in or find yourself in with the click of a button.
Thomas Needham covered the first artists to grace the stage for The Shed’s final gig:
There was a slightly tepid, almost morbid atmosphere surrounding The Shed that day. Perhaps that was a feature, I’m not sure- the reality was I was crashing a wake for someone I never knew. Treading (or more accurately hopping) on hallowed ground, it felt like the ponderous early-morning after a long, rowdy night; the jig’s finally up. Those long midnight dreams of the countless artists to grace that once venerated stage, to plaster their stickers all over the shop, to drag their friends out for a night on the razz, echoed all around for one final time.
Snap back to reality you wallys, the bills aren’t going to pay themselves. The audience poached, the crew skeletal (free up bartender Keelan and organiser Joe), the fluorescent lights dimmed, the moss left to fester. We’re a long way from 1994 Toto.
Alex Brodella was the first to take the stage with a brief, breezy, blues-acoustic set. Finger-picking his way through Bill Withers’ ‘Ain’t No Sunshine’ and Amy Winehouse’s ‘Back to Black’ and a final original song, he stood, singular with a particular longing in the silky tones of his aged falsetto. Accompanied by a riffing harmonica player, Steve, ripping straight off the dome, was a performance that eased the slowly growing audience into a night that proved to be less somber than how it started. Even with the inevitable looming, there was an understanding that the fun wasn’t over just yet.
For tonight, let the whiskey and Red Stripe flow.
His suitably down-tempo selection of songs were met by a swaying audience. The somber scenes interrupted by a man, half-photographer, half-flamingo hopping about with reckless disregard. The ringing guitar note’s suddenly muted with a palm, for a moment there is complete silence. Cue a chortle from the audience, ‘don’t f**k with me dude,’ comes a voice billowing through the racks of speakers with a gregarious grin.
‘Not like I can run away,’ retorts a slightly hoarse voice. Smartarse. I hope he had his ISO too high so all the pictures are grainy.
Deiah Maria rose to the occasion next with her distinctive Mid-western twang and an exceedingly bubbly set. Maria’s performance felt carefully choreographed, to endear herself to the audience as quickly as possible and there’s plenty to appreciate in the showmanship, although there’s certainly something to be said about doing too much.
I have no doubt as to her skill as a natural performer but it all carried the sense that she was constantly cramming as much into her set to try and justify herself rather than simply having the confidence to say, ‘this is my music you can either take it or you can leave it.’
Take for example her posturing for the baying cameras- one bit of advice you’ll always hear parroted in music circles is to not play to the crowd. To generalise like that is silly; what works for some won’t work for others (and vice versa), it’s simply a case of understanding your identity as an artist. I’d argue the far more compelling point is do not under any circumstances play to us scum (aka. j*urnalists).
Wearing her influence squarely on her sleeve came a cover of Amy Winehouse’s noughties hit ‘Valerie’. One aspect that was especially prevalent in this cover was the way Maria’s voice would adamantly refuse to stay in one place. The endless run of melismas, while technically proficient, felt like an overplay of her hand- more of a crutch than an artistic choice and after long enough, you really start to give Tiny Tim a run for his money.
There are plenty of objectively worse singers going than Maria, they just carry themselves with a more confident panache. She has the chops to go far, she just needs to own it.
Returning to Adam:
Niwid featuring Tim Baker and Anna Melidone, who I gather was a regular open-miccer at the venue, played next, sat on stool with an acoustic guitar in hand. His soulful and dynamic strumming and echo – effect vocals were first class and he talked about the weird smells in the walls. Their opening tune, Sam Sparro’s 2008 hit ‘Black and Gold’ though played very well – sounding much better than the original in my opinion – emphasized the gap since this was a venue on top of it’s game as did his explanation for what the singer attributed his rustiness to – saying he used to play live all the time, now he barely ever does.
The pair’s rendition of Jeff Buckley’s ‘Lilac Wine’ – it would be an understatement to say this is a bold choice for a cover – was immense, a fine display of emotive range and a warm, intense performance. They rounded out the set with a few other tunes, including what I believe I heard was an original Christmas song, and another original called ‘Habitat’, featuring Anna Melidone’s delightful supporting harmonies. The set finished with not quite the same panache that it started with, but enjoyable nonetheless.
JJ Lovegrove, who I think it would be hard to dispute is one of the strongest voices in Leicester right now, followed with a stellar set of compelling songs. Up and coming voices would do well to take note of her advanced aura – she seems to have such a strong and clear vision for her sound. Songs methodically unfolded in long progressions pulling listeners in line by line and the repeating ambiguous lyric ‘Are we almost?’ Her music was full of questions, requests and curse words, building and swelling over tasteful stripped down backing tracks – the effect was nothing short of hypnotic.
The recently released single ‘The Rainbow’ was a highlight, a howling high-pitched melody and punctuating piano over a solid laid back hip-hop groove, the playful spoken repetition of the well known lyric ‘Don’t worry be happy’ in an otherwise earnest song. This is the second time I have seen JJ, and the performance felt utterly fresh and interesting and unique. I believe she is in the process of recording new music, so keep your eyes out for future shows and releases.
It also occurs to me, struggling music scenes owe a lot to the ever-increasing cost of living. Even if a gig is free admission, there is still parking/transport and a few drinks to fund. If you don’t live in the city centre, it’s a challenge to get home on public transport, if possible at all.
The gaps in between performances allowed for Joe Doyle, who was also running the sound desk, to contribute some MC-ing – kind words about performances and enthusiastic introductions. It also allowed plenty of time for people to breathe, chat, get a beer and relax.
The next performer was The Necessary Measures, led by Kenton Hall who had a history of playing at the venue in it’s heyday. The band then however went by the name of ist, and don’t actually exist anymore – and was led by Mr. Hall and the same drummer that graced the stage this evening, referred to as Jack Bomb in the local press. The performance was played in the spirit of the original band, and the middle aged men laughed good naturedly and told stories from back in the day, wiping the sweat from their brows in between playing their greatest hits, which may or may not have ever been heard by this audience before tonight.
They seemed to be having a good time, as was the crowd – the music was perfectly serviceable if a tad unremarkable – an early noughties era literate alternative, with jaunty, poppy rhythms. A girl in the audience with doc martens and cargo trousers ska-danced on her own in the middle of the room with others soon joining her, including a group of young ladies celebrating a birthday with pink balloons in tow. Thomas, another Music In Leicester reviewer, and photographer, hopped up and down precariously without his crunches on his one good leg snapping photos – I hope they end up straighter than he was standing.
As I was visiting a toilet in the cold dungeon basement dodging puddles of p*ss on the floor, I looked up and saw spider webs and couldn’t help but think that perhaps The Shed hasn’t really changed with the times and the building doesn’t really have that much to offer. Sure it has a decent, raised stage, but there isn’t much space for an audience; also it’s not exactly in the best location – somewhere between Humberstone Gate and The Curve, a no-man’s land of car parks, apartment buildings and daytime businesses. Perhaps a sticky floored dive bar, though appealing to hard-core music fans, doesn’t really meet the needs and expectations of the modern day consumer. In this age of social media perfection, people expect more than tinnies of Red Stripe and neon advertisements for shots.
And if we are being honest with ourselves, why would venues even bother with putting on live music in the first place, if it wasn’t for the absolute passion of the few. It may not be that complicated of a thing to do, but it is labour and resource intensive with the list of tasks including booking bands, promoting shows, sorting logistics, administration and payments, license applications and fees, selling tickets, running sound and lighting, maintaining equipment, putting up with, let’s face it, what can be flaky and unreliable musicians – also don’t forget bar staff and cleaners.
Alternatively you could invest a small amount of money on house speakers, hook up a smartphone to a streaming service, et voilà – easy and cheap entertainment where people can actually hear songs they know and that they know that they like, with the big streaming companies taking the bulk of the profits and the original artists taking fractions of a penny to the pound.
The way that things are set up in music scenes is just not sustainable. People will happily pay £100 on an evenings entertainment, sitting in crowded arenas and buying £9 pints to watch established acts with questionable sound quality, their eyes inevitably being drawn to the big digi screen close-up rather than the tiny people on stage.
But people just aren’t coming to the local shows. And I think Thomas was right when he said that there is a disconnect in the audience’s mind between the arena shows and the local shows. People don’t see these local artists, this music as the same thing. But let’s face it, without the small venues, which give local new talent the stage to hone their performance skills, there will be no English Teacher, Fontaines DC, Wolf Alice and Sam Fender, real authentic artists and musicians playing emotionally complex music performing at arenas. When all the heritage acts get old and die, then it will just be label (factory) assembled cookie-cutter, box-ticking groups and big breasted Tik-Tok stars.
It’s not enough to bandy about the slogan of ‘Use it or lose it’. The amount of people that will care about a venue closing is directly proportionate the amount of people that use that venue. If you don’t use that venue, you are unlikely to be upset by it’s closure. I’m not going to claim that I know the answer to this problem – but it needs to be looked at. Governments and communities need to expend effort on it, because music, real music, is such an important thing to so many people.
So The Shed will close, and almost certainly other venues will close in time, but we will also see that new forward thinking venues will pop up and have a go at it and maybe even stick around. And like all things, the fittest will survive. As sad as it is to see all these venues close, I think ultimately that Leicester’s scene will benefit from being more concentrated with fewer venues. We have amazing artists in Leicester that are doing great things and getting better, like JJ Lovegrove, but also Hard Life, Harry Pentony, The Mercians, Boilers and Freya Rose to name a few. These names, with the right support and opportunities could, in a few years, be playing in theatres, if not arenas.
But I digress.
Joe Doyle took the stage solo with his open-body electric guitar to close the night, and he was the star of the night. He did as much talking in between songs as singing and playing and filled the space with heartfelt monologues and stories in an increasingly raspy and whiskey tinged voice.
I’ve already mentioned the fact that Joe basically did this whole show all on his own – off his own back with only a handful of music lovers patting him on the back and saying thanks in return. And it did show on him – the weight of the load as he coughed through the set, just another example of the unsustainability of the current system. How can we expect this wonderful musical thing to keep going on, when there is such an over-reliance and over-burdening of the few passionate people that have the impetus and ability to make good things happen?
His opening cover song ‘That’s Life’ was suitably triumphant, resilient and accepting of our fate at the same time considering the circumstances that brought us all here tonight. He treated to us to an early tune from his band Sons of Caroline, ‘The Pirate Song’, prefacing it with ‘I wrote this song when I was 17 and it makes no fucking sense’ and struggling to remember the whole thing. On covers of the Gorillaz ‘Clint Eastwood’ and Eminem’s ‘The Real Slim Shady’ he showed off his surprisingly impressive rapping skills, and on the latter he accidentally/on-purpose turned into Elvis for a few shakes during an extended break-down getting the audience to ‘Na-na-na’ the way back into the final chorus. We also had an original drinking song, in which the performer broke from the song long enough to join in on the festivities and help the venue edge it’s way closer to a few more empty bottles before closing, as well as a partial Wonderwall singalong at the request of an audience member.
At one point Joe asked whether anyone would like to say a few words, and the owner came on stage to, according to him, speak briefly. He proceeded to carry on ranting for about 5 minutes straight about the journey The Shed had been on, the struggle to keep the venue going, the financial challenges due to government legislation, the lack of support from the local authority. But he also had nothing but praise for the Music Venue Trust which kept the venue going for longer than it would have otherwise been able to and worked with him through all possible scenarios to see if there was a way forward. But we know how that one ends. But kudos are also due to the owner of the venue who has worked extremely hard to keep this ship afloat for so long.
Joe finished with an original song which suited his gravely voice and the mood of the evening perfectly, called I got the blues about his own struggles with mental health, a reminder that music can mean so much and do so much to help people through challenging times, whether you are the performer or the spectator, we are all an important piece of the puzzle and it doesn’t make sense for one to be without the other.
I know it’s a bit late for new year’s resolutions, but no one keeps those anyway. Instead, let’s all work on a behaviour change. Let’s go see more local shows this year, and bring a friend or two. Have no expectations, get there early for the support acts, chuckle along with that new artist when they make a mistake, have a cold beer, or a lemonade if that’s your style, chat with the bar tender and other music lovers in the crowd, have a good time and then do it some more. If we all do, one of us will surely be able to say about the next big thing, ‘I saw them when they were just starting out playing to 50 people in a dive bar in Leicester.’
And if we don’t, then they may never make it there.
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If you’re interested in reading ‘The History of The Shed’ by Trevor-Glyn Locke, who himself performed his poem ‘The Guitarist’ you can find each part on his website using the links below:
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