When My New Band Believe released “Numerology” back in February, it was quickly followed by a tour and album announcement. I was staying in Glasgow at the time, this one track becoming the soundtrack to my trip. Cameron Picton and Co’s massive, urgent sound juxtaposed the dark, gloomy streets I walked through. Its jittery electronic angst more than convinced me I needed to see this band live.
Flash forward three months and I’m jumping off the Overground at Dalston Kingsland, navigating the Bank Holiday Saturday bustle on what is already a chaotic street. I duck into a nearby watering hole to replenish myself. After romanticising this very important pre-gig ritual, I head over to Earth, a venue I’ve never been to before but have been itching to try for a long old while. Taking refuge from the mayhem of Dalston’s swathes of cocktail drinkers, I walk up the steps into the venue. The space demands acknowledgement from the moment you enter: an amphitheatre lit in pale magenta, illuminating the eager crowd.
The band strolls on stage and Cameron Picton grabs a seat, taking out his guitar. He is accompanied by four other musicians: three handling an array of string duties and one on drums. I will admit it’s a substantially smaller line-up than I had anticipated. My New Band Believe’s self-titled album features seven members of Caroline, plus an intimidating cast of Picton’s friends. The record is dense and complicated, unpredictable and heavy as much as it is delicate and precise. However, this onstage set-up does nothing to diminish its maximalist impact.
After a round of applause, the room falls silent, save for a Mexican wave of beer-can cracking, before the band introduce the set with an arrangement of “Target Practice”. Here, it serves exactly the same purpose as it does on the album: short and sweet, guiding you into the experience to come while remaining deeply menacing. The vocals are demanding as they bellow into the crowd. “Don’t cry, you deserve this” rings out like a grave warning, and in less than two minutes this small orchestra has your undivided attention.
Like much of the album, tonight’s performance is sonically continuous; the lines between songs are blurred. As tracks seamlessly segue from one to the next, I sit on the hard wooden steps of Earth, gazing and marvelling at the ridiculously talented musicians before me. My eyes mostly flick between Picton and the drummer (Cameron Johnston) , who completely commanded the set, making the most complicated album of the year feel effortless, playing with swagger and authority.
“Love Story” lands slap bang in the middle of the set, and it may be my standout moment of the night. It swirls around the room, reassuring you and settling you after a defiant first half. Suddenly, this vulnerable tale about the poetry of domestic life swells and transforms into a triumphant love song, its emotional volume becoming immediately overwhelming.
“Numerology”, that fierce electronic behemoth I mentioned earlier, is played here completely acoustically – if that’s at all possible, and not something I dreamed up. This reimagining creates a sense of panic and trepidation, the drummer embodying the final scene of Whiplash in a blaze of unadulterated glory.
“Heart of Darkness” is probably My New Band Believe’s greatest feat: an epic eight-and-a-half-minute wonder of dizzying sinisterism and ominousness. Unlike the album, tonight the best is saved until last. As the band bow out on this sprawling, colossal song, I’m filled with a resounding confidence that I’ve witnessed something majestic. I leave Earth that night safe in the knowledge that my bank holiday has peaked, reeling from the experience – and, to be completely honest, I’m still reeling now.