Spearmint are my friend’s favourite pop group. Which makes sense because his tastebuds are particularly tickled by the kind of Scottish post-punk, cynically breezy sounds epitomised by Orange Juice, inspired, as they were, by Subway Sect (Vic Goddard, who is Subway Sect, being another favourite of his). In fact the link is made clear by a Spearmint song called Scottish Pop which, presumably, celebrates Postcard Records and Fast Records, as opposed to, perhaps, Wet Wet Wet and Simple Minds.
Totally unknown to me until last night I was surprised to really enjoy myself. Would I have chosen to go see a band fronted by a man who’s beard can’t decide whether to join the facial revolution alongside his impressive moustaches? A man who sings like a more diffident Paddy McAloon or a Jarvis Cocker with less delusions of grandeur and seal impressions? In fact, Shirley Lee’s singing style is key to the band’s attraction. Is it possible to be unassuming whilst also passionate? That’s Spearmint.
The drummer with the Moai profile is an unfussy timekeeper. The bassist apologises to the sound tech after asking for louder monitors. The main keyboard player assumes crucial tambourine duties with an obvious understanding about just how crucial a tambourine can be in pop music. The ‘other’ guitarist bounces with enthusiasm but keeps his eye on Shirley. In fact, the whole band watch out for each other like boys from the same block finding themselves in the same unit under fire from an enemy who hates them.
Do they make it back alive? It’s an annual happy ending.
A Spearmint audience looks to be an impressive number of daughters and life-partners taking their dads, or granddads and hubbies respectively out for a musical treat. There is an element of old friends meeting after another year of hardship, which is understandable, as Spearmint only play one show a year, although, they seem to be breaking their own rules this year by also playing in Leicester. That’s almost a tour.
What I heard last night was a nineties pop group that coulda, shoulda, but didn’t probably because they didn’t snort cocaine with the right journo lads
If I haven’t mentioned the music yet that’s because, to me, it was the less interesting thing about what is a small social phenomenon. The group began in 1995 and have released several albums on their own label ever since. What I heard last night was a nineties pop group that coulda, shoulda, but didn’t probably because they didn’t snort cocaine with the right journo lads. Also, possibly, because they are just too decent. The songs are short and the hooks are strong. Everyone sings apart from the drummer and their vocals blend, along with some sneaky pre-recorded backing vocals (the give away is the drummer’s enormous headphones, lads) with a mid-1960s, sunny hammock vibe.
There might well have been a whole bunch of nineties pop groups we missed, with names like Snakebelt, The Trimphones or The Short Parkas, but they will all have puffed away like your mum’s talcum powder. Only Spearmint remain, as a kind of 15 minute city band, almost a secret, everything you need within an easy Tuesday night’s reach, who demand only that you remember them once a year until their knees go or Russia blows us all up.
Delightful.
