In 1976 David Bowie and Brian Eno retreated from London and the first inklings of a musical revolution to West Berlin and a whirlwind of cocaine induced paranoia, transvestite nightclubs, electronic blips and moog music. They returned with a Bowie masterpiece Low.
Twenty-five years later, Ramona’s first song in the States was a superb re-thinking of “Always Crashing In the Same Car” and immediately the band snapped into focus: a melodic dream new wave band with a two guitar attack so focussed on tunes and shamanism they change the moody, despairing Bowie song into an obtuse pop signal to a future reached.
It is excellent.
And not even the best moment.
In the confines of an open door Burberry’s while Fashion week reaches its apotheosis outside the door, (Louba claims Soho last night was a mix of Halloween and New Year’s Eve), and with an audience that doesn’t know anything about the Brighton, England, four piece, and WITH ONLY ACOUSTIC INSTRUMENTS, they performed a perfect set.
A well modulated series of hits on your pleasure bone with one guitarist sporting the best fringe this side of rock nyc scribe The Boy, a drummer banging on a box(?) with the unenviable position of maintaining beat without the bass and without the drums to do it, and a final guitarist who along with the fringe one provides the band with back up harmonies which I only just noticed as being so central to the sound: when your gift is melody all you need to do is make sure you are layering in the notes on top of notes.
In other words, despite Louba’s claim it is three whatevers and Karen Anne, this is absolutely a group experience because it is about maintaining the buzz on your brain: of getting you and keeping you through melody.
And, yes, it is about lead singer Karen Anne.
With her model girl looks and fragile physique, she draws your attention. But you are not going to get Marianne Faithful circa “Come Stay With Me”. From the first song on she commands the stage, starting with Bowie, and continuing with the one song anybody who has heard Ramona has absolutely heard, “How Long”. Karen Anne sings from her boots up, holding the mic with a sorta restrained devastation. “How Long” is good but (here I’m guessing at titles) “Telling That Girl” is better, a pure pleasure and # 3 cracker by my reckoning.
I text Karen Anne to ask about a song she played and here is her reply, which might give you some idea of the problem with trying to nail em down: “1/2 The song new york is ours, but the last song is a Blueboy cover with a velvet underground chorus!” Blueboy are a 90s indie band from Reading.
That is the finally song of the set and Karen Anne boogies like a Go Go Dancer from the 60s! It is a great, fun sight and the set had been a fun smart set with the lesions of cool dipping and spinning. Earlier Ramona had played “Steve McQueen” and Karen Anne had introduced the song as being about the late actors cock: enough to wipe that smirk off your face and as she shakes her hair in the middle of the stage, enough to make you think this band is gonna be big time.