5. Tom Joshua, Undergrowth, 2020.
In Westgarth 2 Tom’s voice had never sounded so sumptuous, on new single Undergrowth his potential never so realised and, with a full backing band including Harriet Bradshaw on cello, for a few minutes at least nothing else mattered. Sublime.
4. Horse Feathers, Best To Leave, 2018.
Westgarth is full of small, personal memories too. I got a text to say my best friend’s dad had died suddenly the night before, just as Horse Feathers began the final song of their lush matinee show. I’d never heard the song before but it became one I always go back to.
3. Goy Boy McIlroy, [Unknown], [2013-ish].
Something of a baptism of fire for me in the downstairs room having recently moved to Middlesbrough permanently. Goy Boy McIlroy were riding high after a couple of mentions in the NME and singer David Saunders was in mischievous mood. I edged further and further back as he edged further and further into the crowd with every song (I later learned to pre-judge the length of his mic-lead). However, by the end of the set he had retreated to the safety of the toilets so all the bemused audience of 100-or-so could hear was his reverb drenched baritone coming from the cubicle.
2. Dressed Like Wolves, Trying To Walk Off.., 2016.
My favourite version of my favourite song by a Teesside artist and the only time I’ve seen it with the iPhone field recording and full-length outro in all its warm, fuzzy glory. This was the first ever attic show, too. Stunning, and the song I will forever associate with the Westgarth.
1. Avalanche Party, Memories, Twisterella, 2018.
Having cut my live music teeth in the 90s mainly at the old Riverside in Newcastle where the sweat used to regularly drip from the ceiling I never thought I would see a gig like this one again.
From the start the crowd was baying, switching instinctively from quietly feral to bat-shit crazy depending on the tempo of the music. It helped that everyone seemed to be just the right amount of drunk.
But by the time guitarist Jared picked up his saxophone for the very first time for a stirring rendition of The Amazing Snakeheads’ Memories the whole venue seemed to be in a religious fervour at the fitting tribute to Dale Barclay who had died just a couple of weeks before. Stood on a chair to the side as bodies bobbed past me in the crowd below it was like a scene from a Hieronymus Bosch painting.
Next to me a man in his fifties was clinging to a curtain with tears in his eyes, he stared at me intently then pointed towards Jared stabbing with his finger, as the seventh circle of hell opened up around us, and said, “that’s my son in the best live band in the country.”
Adios, Westgarth
Under the Hills Nearby 