Introducing Curser: South London’s anti-nepotism grafters
“We built this shit up from the dirt. Rose up from the dirt like a parsnip,” Curser’s Herbie Jones says, snatching the mini mic and leaning into the camera to quote South London’s Giggs. In a line of solidarity between the world of punk and rap on the south bank of the river, the anti-nepo, hard work of the best of them is something to shout about, always.
“The rock and indie scene is undergoing a middle-classification where less and less working-class musicians can afford to be in bands. For working-class musicians, everything comes out of your own pocket,” Big Joanie told Dazed back in 2022, and it’s only been getting worse.
In Far Out’s enduring commitment to uncovering the true price of music, we’ve had conversations across the board with bands on all scales about exactly how much things like touring, recording and playing gigs cost. We’ve uncovered things like dodgy promoters asking artists to cough up money to join a billing, or had to run countless news stories when bands are forced to cancel plans when the funds cannot stretch that far.
Each and every time, it makes one point viscerally clean – music has a class problem. And each and every time, it makes one issue feel like a spit in the face – nepotism. Whether it’s celebrity kids riding coattails or merely the sons and daughters of industry heads having side doors opened to them, their easy success that bypasses the strife is a reminder every time that the creative world isn’t built on organic talent.
But then, an act comes along to remind everyone that the talent and relentless work of true grafters is the foundation of all art.
“No riches, no celebrity parents, no fucking help, no backing, apart from a few very dedicated, loving and generous people that have helped us out along the way due to purely seeing, you know, and loving what we do,” Jones continued.
There’s true passion in his monologue because it is something to be proud of, especially in the rock work where posh kids are so keen to put on their rattiest Vinted purchases and pretend to be poor. But without the leg up, Curser have climbed the ladder the honest way, up through the London music circuit, polishing their live set into something gripping, tense and electrifying, learning how to keep their crowds somewhere between captivated and throwing themselves into the mosh pit.
They’ve climbed the ladder with day jobs and other projects in tow as the band’s drummer, Bleu Wright, also played in Warmduscher. They’ve climbed the ladder with friends, as their visual world is the collaborative work of a talented circle.
And what people all too easily forget is how lasting that kind of rise is. It might feel slow and tough, but dedicated breeds dedication. Take, for example, Allostatic, the band’s long-awaited, hard-earned and self-released debut, launched on a Saturday as a further shrugging off of industry statistics, and launched with a packed out party at Brixton’s Windmill, on their home turf, with the people who have witness the work being put in since 2019.
It’s bands like this that are the best of Britain. As the UK continues to abandon its artists, the work and victories of a band like Curser should serve as a vital reminder that our greatest musical moments were earned just the same, grafted for by passionate players who want to make noise and won’t let anything hold them back despite the ever increasing weight the music world straps to their bad to keep them down.
