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It’s to The Espy’s credit in this age of skyrocketing ticket prices that the place is stubbornly standing its ground with cheap and free events. One such event, Deep Roots, has hosted some awesome performers in the past and its sixth year would be no exception. As it went, the night threw up some great and oddly obscure performers I wouldn’t have sought out myself.
I waltzed into an already rapidly filling room in time to witness the incomparable Martin Martini in full flight. Resplendent in bowler, bushy locks and rumpled wife-beater, Martin looks like he crashed through several decades of fashion trends howling all the way. Their music is in itself impossible to define, but if I had to try I’d say something like acid-jazz, gritty blues and classic rock with the touch of the gypsy spirit – there’s even a surprising metal solo thrown in for good measure. The standout was the I Drank All My Money – complete with its nicely inebriated trombone. Also worth a mention was the fantastic clarinet – yes, I said clarinet – stylings of Sam Dunscombe. Not a sexy instrument, I hear you say? I defy you to come away from this act without a wet spot from his – and their – fabulous twiddlings.
On the be-bowlered one’s insistence I made my way next door – and into the she-lion’s den of Dallas Frasca. This umber-dredded Medusa has a voice of black velvet studded with gravel – perfect for her brand of raw-tone blues. As she mines a rich vein of angst – songs inspired by stalkers, lovers, and life – her voice passes through you like the ghost of Janis, filling up the room, and inspiring adulation usually reserved for much more established artists. With that wail, I half expected the elaborate plaster mouldings on The Gershwin’s ceiling to crack and rain down on us. The set finished with a spectacular metal-inspired solo by her ‘gentleman’ Jeff Curran.
Half-walking, half-wading through what was becoming increasingly apparent was a sold-out event, I escaped to the next room – where it soon became apparent this was an over-sold event. Bopping dorkily onstage in grey gangster pinstripes was Cookin’ on 3 Burners, who had apparently taken their love of old Commodore-64 soundtracks onto the stage, via keyboard presettings. Boredom and claustrophobia hit me like a king-tide, and I beat a hasty retreat outside, where a small horde of smokers were clustered, penguin-like and uncomfortable in the cold.
Once I’d sufficiently recovered, it was back into the fray with The Red Eyes. These guys produce quality reggae (with a snifter of dub) without the bong-smoking faux-bombast floating just beneath the surface of so many bands of their genre. Singer El Witeri crooned and swooned through the set with a voice like warm summer honey, and for a moment we could all believe the balmy conditions inside the venue were due to hot summer nights – not some nob breathing down our necks. Bliss.
After inhaling what is possibly the best pub-style pizza in the land (five bucks!) it was on with the show. The elegantly wasted quality of The Gershwin Room matched nicely with Mia Dyson’s songs of pure blues longing. Dressed in a classic waistcoat, white shirt and scraped-back hair, she mentioned several times how worried she was at ‘playing this late’ and thanked us for hanging around. Her fragility wove a tragic thread into her ballads, while ballsy guitar injected some stomp into the more up-beat tracks. Her set was certainly wide-ranging, spanning the ground from her older tunes into new gems from her newest album, Struck Down. She finished on a high with the stunning, Roll Me Out.
TZU rounded off the night with their unique brand of feel-good hip-hop. Blending cheeky vocals with no-nonsense samples and beats, these guys were built to kick a party into the next gear for the now heaving crowd of happy punters. I arrived just in time to hear MCs Seed and Joelistics wheel out JJJ favourites She Gets Up and In Front of Me. A spectacular end to a night of squashy greatness. Even the Nightride didn’t look so bad.
