Warmduscher

Harvest Sun @ Shipping Forecast 16/10/18

It’s likely there is causal, butterfly effect succession of happenings that ascertains a gig goer’s attendance on a given night. For me, this evening’s trail takes its first markings from the floor of a Leeds Warehouse – circa 2015.

Residing somewhere between lethargy and the slurred, uplifting speech delivered from my most regular +44’s product, unbeknown to me, Paranoid London were orchestrating the hours that lay ahead. As the production duo were steering the room over murky 4/4 lumps, interspersed with Co2 canon artillery, the eyes, albeit playing out their own optical vibrato, were a little confused. One of the trio behind the decks, mic in hand, offering vocal fills, whoops and frequent calls of “Yeeeaaahhh”, had, from what I could tell, instantly gained the ability to nail the falsetto to Paris Dub 1. The mind flickered between transfixed and troubled. In that very moment jovial miming didn’t come to fore of the cortex. Yet, in the days after, it proved that this blend of musical intensity and loose stage presence enabled Paranoid London, and their frequent collaborator Mutado Pintado, to delivered one of the most arresting sets I’d experienced. One of the best I’d experienced in my time drifting amongst those shuffling, nervously, as they awaited freedom from the self-conscious while DJs far cooler and enigmatic than you asserted their status.

Following that very evening’s impetus to look into Paranoid London, WARMDUSCHER were unearthed – pursued further by to the discovery the band comprised of Fat White Family members (who can forget that show at The Kaz in 2014?). On the face of things, a marriage between the two may appear shotgun. Thumping acid house joining hands with rusty, serrated riffs akin to The Fall. This is only cosmetic. Perhaps the coming together is more of a high-octane, shooting-up weeding; two collections of artists that both aim for the sonic vein with their recording and stagecraft. Even with this intensity a jovial, wildcard sense of humour has had the strength to shine through under Mutado’s captaincy. Or should I say Clams Baker Jr., as his Warmduscher passport would underline.

"Warmduscher are a tight outfit for the most part; it’s the projects frayed edges that provide the flexibility to find comfort in creative confluence"

Three years later, a second full length LP under arm (actually, the LPs are hidden to the side of the stage behind what looks like a surgical screen dredged up from the fields of the Crimean War), the sense of character driving the project hasn’t waned. Mutado is front and centre. “Toosday is my favourite day of the mother-fucking week,” he exclaims. We in attendance seem to be in luck, then. Not many eyes can be dragged away from his combination of Stetson, cowboy boots and Sergio Tacchini track top. The wavy western look; a futuristic uniform for wannnabe rustlers of housing estates that’ve taken back control from EU interference. To the side of Mutado a who’s who of Fat White, Childhood, Insecure Men, Paranoid London members stand poised.

Only one body in the room remains static throughout the set. That’s Mr Whiskers, aka Paraniod London’s Quinn Whalley. While the healthy attendance whisks itself to the staggered rhythms of Standing On The Corner and I Got Friends, the aviator clad producer remains still. Cupped in his hands from start until finish is a delay pedal. He lifts it, primevally, as though atop an Aztek temple ready to deliver the necessary sacrifice. He may just be the best damn delay pedaller you can catch on the gig circuit. It may be the band’s unapologetic eccentricity which allows for a member solely playing delay pedal to seem necessary. Warmduscher stand by their seeming conjecture of creativity. Besides, without crashing waves of delay, Mutado wouldn’t complete his impersonation of a loaded Texan poring his drawl into a megaphone. It rings around rather brashly, galloping between the shallow walls alongside jagged riffs which hurl like onlookers at the Kentucky Derby.

Warmduscher wear the clothes of an unruly live rabble quite loosely on this very evening. Writings on the band tend to lurch towards descriptions of ‘out of control’ and ‘madness’, but it’s likely this derives from typing hands reaching for the superfluous in attempt to bracket the band with its South London squat lineage. Warmduscher are a tight outfit for the most part; it’s the project’s frayed edges that provide the flexibility to find comfort in creative confluence. It’s on display tonight. Warmduscher are far from dangerous and exclusive. This is perhaps most astutely captured when Mutado hitches a ride to the sound desk and back without a cowboy boots touching the floor.

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