I looked around. Four girls and one guy on stage and some 50 people in the crowd – all of them swaying to the intricate, hypnotic tapestry laid out by the tight rhythm section, subtly overlaid with strummed guitars and washes of keyboards.
I looked around. Four girls and one guy on stage and some 50 people in the crowd – all of them swaying to the intricate, hypnotic tapestry laid out by the tight rhythm section, subtly overlaid with strummed guitars and washes of keyboards.
The most touching moment came when the Fishwives were deep into their set – their second gig ever – at Champs last Saturday 23 August.
It was like watching spring arrive. Meanwhile the man standing next to me kept shouting in my ear: “New York, 1970s, New York 1970s.” He had a point.
He was referring to the early 70s scene in Manhattan when the CBGB club hosted innovative new bands such as Television and the Patti Smith Group.
There were indeed moments when Fishwives singer Sarah sounded like Patti Smith reciting her poetry over a back beat that built up and let go, built up and let go.
But there were also moments when they grooved like the seminal German band Can. Or swung like new hipsters. And just when you thought you got the idea, they transformed into a sexy neo-folk band, all old boots, wild hair and brightly coloured skirts.
But mention Patti Smith or Can and they look at you as if you’re talking Japanese. Their sound is completely their own, a weird but wonderful amalgamation of the various backgrounds: folk for guitarist/accordionist Lizzie Gaisford, metal for bassist Cal Thompson, classical for keyboard player Nicole Germiquet, rock for drummer Strato Copteros and anything from blues to West African highlife for electric guitarist Sarah Burger.
And all the girls sing, harmonising beautifully, as on the old blues standard Where Did You Sleep Last Night and the French chançon Rendez-Vous. “We don’t do love songs,” says Gaisford two days later.
Instead they write about breakdowns in the Kalahari and octopus cunnilingus.
They also sing about Grahamstown, that happy “jam jar” that “allows for people to shine and flourish”. Jeez, they even name-check estate agent Monika Gaybba.
They started as a duo (Sarah and Lizzie) and within a year they grew into a quintet that had the Champs crowd demanding three encores, while a visiting Jo’burg music biz rep couldn’t stop singing their praises. “Until two weeks ago I thought we were just jamming,” says Burger, still slightly flustered.
Where from here? “We are a magical space shuttle,” says Burger. “That’s what I want us to be, and to not stop travelling.”
