With each live performance in the Dear Heather canon, the band reinvents what it means to be doing the most, always elevating the theatrics to a higher stage. At this event, entitled ‘Heather Is Dead! Long Live Heather’, the band donned funeral attire to mourn the loss of fellow outlaw gunslinger character Heather, a schtick which saw each band member defending their names against accusations of being responsible for the “death” of the Heather myth. Dear Heather prove it’s possible to have pretentions without being pretentious. No matter the theatrical librettos, the ambitious song structures, and instrumental prowess, there will always be a garage rock edge to Dear Heather beneath the veneer of glam.
Cupid Stunts opened for the band. It’s uncanny to witness the trio of indie-punk rockers assert their stage presence in such an all-encompassing way, with their lead singer and sole guitarist, Lewis, lurching from one side of the stage to the other, spinning in circles as he throws out power chords, diving into the audience—all while barking out vocals that make it impossible to look away. Their deliberately primal yet playful sound most obviously recalls Viagra Boys, with hints of The Bug Club and SOFT PLAY. It’s a time-tested formula: stripped-down UK punks who don’t take themselves too seriously, perfectly in tune with the rough-and-ready boilerplate punk lineage.
Heather’s turn in the spotlight began with a eulogy which introduced Heather as a fallen outlaw journeywoman, sometimes affiliated with the band, sometimes pitted against them, before Dear Heather took their stand behind the dock. Bassist and guitarist Rex had the most intimidating look, straight out of the Red Dead Redemption or The Hateful Eight, with a billowing black trench coat over an all-black Western fit, the guilty look in his eyes obscured by sunglasses a shade blacker than anything else he wore. Will took his place behind the drums, a cape over his tailored black suit. Melo donned a black overcoat, the most funereal of the assembled costumes. Zac wore a black vest with an impressive collection of necklaces, one featuring an image of heather – the plant rather than the legend.
What followed was likely Dear Heather’s best ever set. The band opened with the ecstatic new tune ‘Pink Floyd’ (their songs are littered with reverent references to their myriad influences), which acted as a sort of declaration of intent for their increasingly ambitious sound. The new set list imbibes psych influences which extend their sound behind the alt-country, primal sound of their EP, Get My Good Side. Their ability to combine a garage rock revival with virtuosic performances, imbibing classic pop songwriting, neo-psychedelia, and Americana, might sound incoherent in the hands of a lesser group. This is not the case with Dear Heather. With songwriting equally shared between the band members, they are all united by a love for strong hooks, especially on tracks like ‘Hedgemaze’, ‘32 Degrees’ and ‘Flowers’. They have the rough-around-the-edges, hedonistic appeal of a band like the Jam or the Libertines, and the ear for a chorus remiscient of Razorlight – before they became a punchline amongst dismissive music journalists. It’s an addictive combination.
The pinnacle of their performance, however, was their closing 13-minute prog-pop epic, a suite including the songs ‘Sleepwalkers’ and ‘Dream Lounge’. With a touch of the Beatles-esque in their Abbey Road era, the song cycles through memorable hook to memorable hook, reaching a climax with the soulful vocal explosion produced by Zac, on double duty as lead guitarist. It’s a movement that plays every note in the Dear Heather playbook, without wasting a single beat. Aside from the stunningly emotive songwriting, credit must go to the drummer Will, whose pounding rhythms guided the track through to its stellar conclusion. It was a moment that paid homage to the progressive heroes the band alluded to with their opening track, with enough light-hearted punk playfulness that it never veered into fetishistic territory.
Dear Heather are a band of individualistic musicians. Even when playing the same tune, each member proudly sings in his own distinctive timbre, in every sense. This individualistic streak is reflected in the group’s ethos. While they may straddle parallel scenes in the UK underground—most notably the alt-country wave alongside Westside Cowboy and Brown Horse, and the garage rock revival of the Sukis or the Molotovs—neither the members nor the band can be easily pinned down. Like a perpetual stew or communal jungle juice, too many influences are thrown into the pot for the band ever to settle within one niche. The only niche they carry with them into the big time is a maximalist approach that welcomes every style through the door. It’s the personality—and personalities—that stays the same.
Photos: Magnus Crawshaw
