With an undercutting tenderness, The Royston Club’s discography continues to have an ever-tightening lasso around our necks – a rosary of the Royston religion. Their sophomore record, Songs For The Spine, is charm-soaked vulnerability on stereo. Over two years since the release of their former album, they’re meandering across countries on an expedition of reconciliation. Tonight, their confessions are received in The Live Rooms.
Herding together like bulls within an intimate ring, fans reflect the emblem of the band’s latest release. Shoulders are left exposed in a sweltering anticipation by peeled back jackets of distressed leather. Through the smoke, the quartet emerges to the stage. In good fashion, opening track ‘Shivers’ kicks off the setlist. Heat and hips linger on every beat. Notes of intimacy fleck upon skin as instruments are wielded face-to-face with the crowd. ‘Glued To The Bed’ extends to the rip-roaring tribe with chants of ‘I loved that title she hung loose around my neck’ – chains of ‘CARIAD’ gold clinging to the chests of most devoted members.
Slinking baselines and swaggering dispositions captivate each defining moment through ‘30/20’ and ‘Through The Cracks’. Maintaining a wear your heart on your sleeve mentality, this record takes it one step further and carves it out in front of you. Aching beats send the crowd into motion.
‘Spinning’ warrants the purpose of a mirror-ball. Scintillating lights of amber refract into a constellation, sweeping the extended fingertips of supporters. Brows contorted, Faithful belts out with an emotion so palpable it almost gives the lyrics a sense of tangibility. His refined shrills perfume against verses as embroidered florals extend from the strap of a guitar, intertwining with each thorned string.
Their objective is unpredictability. Glances are exchanged as the quartet’s lips curl into grins of subtlety, appearing to be sharing some sort of inside joke. Striking while the iron is hot, ears are sweetly blistered with brandings of ‘Crowbar’. Youth infused and boisterous, friends are hoisted upon shoulders, defying the orders of security guards. A Royston Club gig wouldn’t be complete without a bucked-up fan presenting the flag of a crimson dragon. Hollers of ‘Cymru’ are called out to Wrexham’s own. Four silhouettes are embraced by lights of ethereality as the band break out into ‘Curses And Spit.’
Matthias runs a hand over the fret of a board before commanding the fresh, but favourite riff of ‘The Patch Where Nothing Grows’. The notes alone succeed at cultivating a thrill. Jaunty and instantaneous, its sound has the ability to possess an entire room. A hypnotic aroma coats the ceiling as bodies erupt into fervent waves.
With a deep breath, the quartet’s confessions conclude with ‘Cariad.’ Introspective and sincere, this track portraits lingering devotions for a distant darling. Each verse reads like a late-night diary entry. Desire becomes distilled between the static. As the bridge unfolds into a beautiful ballad, the track takes aim before sending a spear to the heart. Tenderly coming to a close, the band fleets to the east wing. In the spirit of the bittersweet, supporters have begun to bandage their wounds in make-shift cloths of cartooned shirts.
Tonight the lasso tightened, Songs For The Spine’s sentiment roped to the sound of the stereo. The Royston Club’s confessions have leaked from the studio and bled straight to the street.
