Independent Venue Week: Ten Tonnes at Yellow Arch, Sheffield
A lot happened within those four minutes. Four minutes and 26 seconds, to be exact. About 50 individual moments, all combining to become one collective. They represent the other side of the independent venue. One that highlights their intimacy, as profound connections with complete strangers are created. Within four minutes, Ten Tonnes epitomised everything these buildings stand for. And it started in the most unlikely of places: complete silence.
The only sound in the room for a split second was heartbeats. The acoustic set that came before and that followed was filled with Billy Bragg-style bops. ‘Lone Star’ was different. Aptly named, the lone star himself said beforehand, “This one is a really quiet one.” And with that, all ale-stained murmurings throughout the venue stopped, and Ten Tonnes took to his guitar.
“I wasn’t thinking anything, really,” Ryan, who was perched near that amp that night, tells me. From Sheffield, he had seen many and more gigs in Yellow Arch, which has been a staple venue in Kelham Island for years. On February 1st, he stood by faces familiar and unknown, all of them collectively locked into the sound coming from the stage. “Well, no, like, I was thinking, but I wasn’t thinking about thinking, you know what I mean? I was just enjoying it. He sounded good, and it was just nice. I was kind of waiting for someone else to speak and ruin it, but it didn’t happen.”
C chord. Still silence bar that one note. Fairy lights hang from the right-hand side of the room; an orange glow lights up the singer. He casts a long shadow on the otherwise empty stage. Em chord. There is a mixed bunch in the room. Younger people stand at the front, swaying arms like snakes charmed by the isolated sound. Older people, gig veterans who have likely stood in front of the same stage a thousand times, look on from further back. They were years apart but shared the silence and the music. Ten Tonne’s voice rings out over his guitar, “I’m waiting for the lone star that I’ve been dreaming of…”
Anna stands with her boyfriend; she takes a drag of her cigarette and lets the smoke escape from her lips when she speaks. “We haven’t been together long,” he stands a metre to the side, checking his phone. “It’s our first gig together, actually, but it was nice. He had his arms around me while the song was playing, and it felt like a moment I’ll remember. Or at least, you know, one I should remember.”
Am chord. There is a lot to be said for the independent venue. A week isn’t long enough to understand why they’re essential and resonate so strongly with the public, but those four minutes give you a pretty good idea. How often do a group of strangers come together and just shut up for a bit? In what other space would you get such welcome silence, meditative in its presence, uplifting and essential. F chord. In these small spaces, when there is a big sound, it sounds bigger than anything you could ever hear. And when there is minimalism, a guitar and a voice and nothing more, it is more intimate, tranquil and beautiful than any other live experience.
C chord. By the time Ten Tonnes has gotten to the first chorus, the quiet is an old friend. The moment is no longer unusual but something everyone is willingly submerged in and has no interest in releasing themselves from. “All I’m dreaming of, is that lone, lone, lone star.”
“It’s a bit sad really,” Leon has had a few. He raises his voice louder than necessary when he speaks and spills an almost full lager with his hand movements. “I don’t wanna bring the mood down. I was thinking of my ex, to be honest with you, mate. She was a fan before I was, and she got me into him. We were supposed to come here together, but that ended a month ago. So yeah, I was thinking of her, texting her or summut. I won’t. Well, I might. It depends how many more of these I have.”
“You won’t, I won’t let you lad…” his friend, who also had a few, interjects. “I was getting a drink during that one. Had to whisper the order.”
Am chord. The song is both a blip in time and the rest of your life. In a moment of quiet, with the backing track of a great song stripped bare, there is time to relate the words to everything that might ever happen to you, and you’re lost in that moment forever, even once it ends. F chord.
“I was thinking about how much I don’t want to go to work tomorrow…“ says a girl called Susie.
“I was just enjoying it…” Ben.
“I couldn’t even tell you to be honest…” Cameron.
Oh, the myriad of emotions in one small room. Ten Tonnes delivered a stellar performance at Yellow Arch. His engagement with the crowd and how he thanked them for coming out, asking for requests before shutting them down immediately, it all felt like a family gathering rather than a gig. A connection developed between him and the people there as they silently shared memories of love, heartbreak, and life in general.
This is the other side of the independent venue that often gets overlooked. It’s easy to revel in bouncing off the walls, sweat and mosh pits because they are so overpowering that there isn’t time to think of anything else. But when you’re witnessing something like those four minutes, one where the sound is so raw and beautiful, and you’re so easily transfixed that you end up looking inwards, that’s a feeling you can’t get anywhere else.
This is the working class equivalent of travelling to South America and having an epiphany on a mountain. This is the spirit that makes these venues so important. This is the magic of live music. A lot happened in those four minutes, and when they were over, there was applause. The silence was gone, but its impact will be there forever. C chord.
