BELLY | LIVE REVIEW
Glee Club, Cardiff Bay, Mon 11 June
After a 20-year gap, Belly return to the fold. Tanya Donnelly broke up the band in 1996, just as grunge was in decline, and following a muted reaction to their second LP King, which has since been critically reappraised. Though I don’t see much tie-dye or check shirt action, after two decades quite a few in the crowd have traded long grunge locks for bald spots, and taken being a Belly fan a bit too literally. Even Donnelly, who has kept busy with a respectable solo career, is feeling it too, reminding the lighting tech to turn down the white light, as pre-agreed to flatter ladies of a certain age.
Other than that, the band roll back the years, and their comeback is based on a decent tour and a solid but overpolished new album, crowdfunded by fans. There are plenty of them here urging the band on, although bassist Gail Greenwood, who had a stint in L7, needs no encouragement whatsoever. She’s a real blast all night – pogoing, headbanging her surf-bleached locks, commanding her own moshpit, and trading quips with the band and the audience – with a repertoire including riffs on mansplaining, Bar Mitzvahs, pot in Cardiff, “fucking gingers”, drummer Chris Gorman’s gun show and a whole lot more.
Despite an ongoing battle against troublesome audio, Donnelly’s lyrics are enigmatic, her voice as sparkling as the 90s 4AD years. Chris Gorman powers the drums and brother Thomas is on shimmering guitar duties, though it’s Greenwood’s chutzpah which energises the crowd most in the first half. From their three albums, Star narrowly edges out King, with five tracks to four, and almost all of new album Dove is showcased, with single Stars Align straddling somewhere between Blondie and Richard Hawley, the reverb-heavy Mine getting mired in the muddy sound mix but still reminiscent of REM circa Monster (one of Belly’s last hurrahs was as support on the 1995 European tour for that very album).
Army Of Clay is given a 60s garage vibe, rawer than recorded; the sweet pop of Artifact is a pleasure and the Dylanesque indie country of Starry-Eyed see brothers Gorman on harmonica and tambourine. The bigger cheers are reserved for a jubilant performance of pop monster Feed The Tree, the spidery guitar punk of Slow Dog, Gepetto – the closest Belly come to Throwing Muses, with beefed-up drums from Gorman – and Super Connected, whose powerpop is undimmed.
Low Red Moon starts off with the shoegazy haze of Mazzy Star and then wades into swamp rock territory, but the tender side shines through on The Bees and encore number Spaceman. On which Donnelly “can see the heat pour out of me, I can see it burns you too.” Though the band often walk with fire, the soft side of Belly also carries power.
words CHRIS SEAL