BEAR'S DEN // NEWCASTLE UNIVERSITY STUDENT'S UNION, NEWCASTLE UPON TYNE
On their second round of touring in the UK this year Bear's Den have perfected a balance between arena rock and acoustic folk, packing out large clubs while performing with astonishing intimacy to an ever expanding and keenly devoted fan base.
BEAR’S DEN PERFORMING AT NEWCASTLE UPON TYNE’S UNIVERSITY STUDENT’S UNION - 10.11.2019
PICTURE BY: | KENDALL WILSON PHOTOGRAPHY
★★★★☆ (4/5)
The second-to-last night of this run finds the band, performing as a six-piece, in the rather sleek subterranean venue of Newcastle University's Student Union. It's not the grandest space they've entertained but it's also not the shabbiest. From touring heavily in their early years, Bear's Den have learned to work a lot of different rooms, on any given night of the year; a crowded university basement on a Sunday night is well within their command. And anyway there's a kind of calm to November gigs that suits this music; when the nights start drawing in early, everyone switches to their heavier coats, as the air densifies with cold and skies become a little less stable. Summer isn't long forgotten but folk are still happy to be indoors; it's hygge season, and it's the ideal climate for a Bear's Den gig.
This evening's kindling, the first of two support sets, is provided by Tusks, the spine-tingling musical endeavour of Londoner Emily Underhill. She's on double duties tonight, opening the show and running the merch table, and yet with only 20 minutes allocated to get this one job done she doesn't force a performance, easing herself and the audience gently into her mesmeric melodies. Underhill sings graciously through her register, at times slipping into a soft falsetto, but she is at her most affecting when she employs her high, full voice, as on the stunning title track to her latest LP Avalanche. Quieter moments like Demon ("...it's actually a love song") test the warmth of the early crowd and, gratefully, they seem to be thawing.
At 8pm the crowd has almost trebled, with a restless rabble engulfing the room as Flyte take to the stage. Although technically now a trio, since the departure of keyboardist/guitarist/vocalist Sam Berridge earlier this year, Flyte have maintained their full-bodied soundscape and delighted audiences throughout the summer with the addition of Jessica Staveley-Taylor (aka "Jess from The Staves" aka "one-third of The Staves") into their line-up. Opening with a couple of songs from their debut album The Loved Ones, the set is kind of a slow burn up to White Roses, after which the crowd is a lot more settled and receptive. It's just as well because the band follow this up with their breath-taking a capella cover of Alvvays' Archie, Marry Me which, if you haven't heard it, is about the kindest bit of self care you can offer your ears, at any time of year. Go; look it up now and feel the nourishment! They finish off with two crackers in Cathy Come Home and the glowing album opener Faithless.
The stage is dark before Bear's Den emerge; a disorienting red aura fills the air as the unusually dramatic but iconic opening of Thus Spake Zarathustra heralds the main event. There's no denying that this particular piece of music will heighten the anticipation of anyone's arrival but Bear's Den are not the showiest of bands, so it's only fitting that they don't actually walk on until the theme has played out in full; the gag is funnier when they don't take it to that obvious, excessive conclusion. Humour is one of the band's many charms.
Leading off with Fuel On The Fire, Elysium and Dew On The Vine, the set has a fairly similar running order to previous shows on the So that you might hear me tour, with the inclusion of two brand new tracks from the band's forthcoming Only Son of the Falling Snow EP. The first of these is the title track which lead singer Andrew Davie describes as "a kind of Christmas carol, reflecting back over your life". True to form, it's a sorrowful meditation backed by some incongruous major chords and uplifting trumpet. It's glorious. This is followed up with the - possibly even more exquisite - piano-lead ballad The Star of Bethnal Green, which takes its name from a pub adjacent the studio where Kev Jones conceived it. The lyrics paint love as a spiritual experience, at once inspiring, hopeful and comforting. Even in its relatively bare form it feels brighter than most songs in the Bear's Den catalogue. And as festive folk songs go it's no less than butterfly-inducing! It'd be show-stopping but Bear's Den control their own inertia and it's from here straight into Crow, a bona fide tear-jerker that depicts grief in a way that is uniquely Bear's Den.
Davie has a knack for relating extraordinary human emotions through deeply personal experiences; his inclusion of very specific details, dates, names, locations, renders a stronger and more immediate connection to the particular events or relationships he's recounting, as in Hiding Bottles and Above The Clouds of Pompeii, but his broader language leaves scenes open for listeners' own attachments. This manner of lyricism, this telling-all-without-telling-everything style of writing is one of the reasons fans become so endeared to the band; seeing themselves and their lives in the songs, feeling connected in their shared humanity. At its very least live music is a communal experience.
The unpretentious, candid honesty of their delivery further sets the band apart, such as when they go "off-mic" to hear the crowd singing along to Magdelene. When they unplug completely to perform Don't Let The Sun Steal You Away unamplified from the edge of the stage it receives one of the loudest rounds of applause all night, igniting the band and setting them on a skyward trajectory. These moments are unique to each crowd no matter how many times the band plays the same set of songs.
The Love That We Stole sounds bigger and bolder than it ever has. The guitars grow louder across Red Earth & Pouring Rain as heavy red light flickers. After the threatening and thunderous build on When You Break, driving and anthemic Auld Wives feels like respite. So much for the calm! The "last song" and "encore" are exposed as conventions but when the band return after a brief period of rousing applause they offer the sincerest and humblest thanks. And when they step out into the centre of the audience to perform Blankets of Sorrow they bring the communal experience to another level of intimacy. It's a cosy place to be on a Sunday night in November.