Dancing shadows fit to last English Teacher at The Roundhouse - Stef Martin

Credit: Far Out / Stef Martin

English Teacher at The Roundhouse: Dancing shadows fit to last

Wed 26 November 2025 8:55, UK

English Teacher - Roundhouse, London

There are things that last, while fleeting, while fragile. There are moments that feel like forever in flashes of light, in mere seconds, in splinters. There are shadows on the wall of the Roundhouse, dancing in the shape of English Teacher.

Any artist who claims they’re not out to make a legacy is a liar. All of us would like to act immune, to behave as if it’s only this second, this gig, this whatever that matters. Give your all to the present and don’t care about the rest – that’s supposed to be the way. But anyone who claims to prescribe is faking it. To be an artist is to hope to last.

I stare at Lily Fontaine and wonder how it felt, wonder if she even clocked that the band have achieved it. Not only did they make something that will last with the power of This Could Be Texas, but it also earned them a place in history books. The video of them winning the Mercury Prize in 2024 feels burnt into my mind. I don’t think I’ve ever seen such a genuinely sincere victory as they choked over swear words and thank yous.

It was more than worthy, though; no one could ever double that. Live, the band dance so effortlessly through difficult melodies and tempos. With Blossom Caldarone now in tow, it’s got even more complex with her cello making it grander in the emotional bits, and even more dramatic in the wild moments. But as a unit, they move as one despite all moving separately; working along different threads to build the same interesting tapestry of songs like ‘Broken Biscuits’ or ‘Nearly Daffodils’.

English Teacher - Stef Martin - Far Out Magazine — Credit: Stef Martin

At the centre, though, at least for me, there is always Fontaine. She’s a poet laureate, or a deserver at least. She’s Patti Smith, weaving rock and words to make you listen together in a way that doesn’t compromise. The message isn’t weakened by the heads bobbing, and the movement of the crowd isn’t slowed by the focus. That’s a rare balance, especially one that the onslaught of male-fronted post-punk units did not manage when they all came flooding in around the time that English Teacher launched, too. But she did, because Fontaine, first and foremost, is a writer. I get the sense she’d like to be known as that.

There are shadows on the wall of the roundhouse, fleeting and moving and shrinking and growing. They dance against the tall walls; only three years after they nervously headlined a cupboard-sized venue. “It was just across the road,” they point out, over at Camden Assembly.

You can hear an almost gasp, the tension of people desperate to doubt a band that rises relatively quickly as this London room forgets how many more years it takes a Northern act to gain the attention that’s far easier to come by in the capital. They forget the tough graft added on top of it all that a working-class unit goes through, despite Fontaine singing about it on almost every song, putting it poetically, but putting it in front of their faces.

They also forget the key that, once again, the band sing of – “That’s why they are who they are; that’s why they don’t get very far”. By all accounts, from anyone who’s encountered the band, they’re not only really talent but also really nice, and for the people so desperate to find some cheat code that bands have used, they always forget that, really, if there’s any, it’s simply the underrated power of being nice people, building a good reputation.

There are moments that feel like forever in the flashes, and this is one. I want to bottle it and drink a drop every time I write my own poetry, every time I touch a guitar, and as the crowd moves between head bobbing and awed stillness, I can sense that the feeling is shared.

Glimmers can be burnt into brick if the flash is bright enough, and surely this is strong enough to last. A band with tender, unlikely atomic power; sharp messages and interesting nests to hold them, rich emotions written uniquely yet with visceral understanding. They’re the kind of act that should be etched into history, putting on the sort of gig everyone remembers but in a more nuanced way – taking a bit of it with them, and going home inspired.