The Last Dinner Party: In defence of an artistic concept
In the depths of Britain’s best independent venues, when I’m clutching the crumpled rim of a warm can, I love nothing more than a humbly raucous gig.
The kind where the band have to funnel from their cupboard-cum-green-room, through the crowd and climb up on stage. The kind where a logo printed curtain acts as their backdrop and some mildly flashing lights act as their set design. The kind of gigs The Last Dinner Party only played fleetingly before releasing their triumphant debut album Prelude To Ecstacy.
No band achieves success overnight, but The Last Dinner Party certainly didn’t waste their time. Their debut single ‘Nothing Matters’ has since gone on to become their calling card track and within three years of forming as a band, they were nominated for a Mercury Prize.
Sure, they cut their teeth in the healthy London DIY scene, centring Brixton’s iconic venue, The Windmill, but they were never really there, shoulder barging me out the way to clamber onto a sparsely designed stage. From the outset they emerged in their baroque-come-renaissance aesthetic, carefully curating every facet of their artistic delivery to exciting effect.
But a self-imposed pressure comes with that. If you’re going to brazenly present the band as extroverted versions of your own self, then there is a performative confidence expected from the fans you’re asking to buy into it. But boy, The Last Dinner Party don’t take that expectation lightly; they embrace it wholeheartedly and repeatedly deliver shows with unbridled fearlessness.
Why am I bringing this all up? I’m aware calling The Last Dinner Party captivating performers is far from groundbreaking territory. But they represent a key shift in my musical view that I hold with high importance and for this particular band, high expectations.
You see, somewhere along the line, I got over myself and my faux sense of rebellion. The baseless sort that thought it was cool not to care, it was cool for bands to completely abandon theatricality and instead just stand and deliver. Maybe it was because it gave me a sense of comfort that I was nothing more than a music fan, never destined to experience the joy of playing in a band and so those who muted their own enjoyment made me feel equal.
Truthfully, that isn’t what I want. I want stage presence, I want drama, I want my consumption of art to be fully immersive. The artists I herald as some of the true greats have all perfected that at one point in their career, or another. But The Last Dinner Party have seemingly managed to do it from the very outset.
Amidst all the hype, I hadn’t managed to catch their live show until last week, at Forwards Festival. After a day of performances drowned out by the incessant yapping of half-interested fans, quite clearly there to supply their Instagram posts with a credible location, I got as deep in the crowd as possible, for what would be my personal headliner.
In what was quite the step change for the rest of the day, Roman pillars and fake clouds were placed on the stage, creating ripples in the suitably dramatic amount of dry ice. That stirring sense of theatrical excitement rose in my stomach, the sort reserved for mammoth stadium shows where the sheer scale of the show inherently provokes drama.
Then the band walked out, followed by Abigail Morris at the very end, who clad in an a classic double breasted suit, cut the figure of a calm and assured leader. As they sung every operatic syllable with gusto and expression, I realised this was no ordinary band. This might just be one of the most important bands of the next ten years.
Because when you strip away the music, which in its own right deserves all the merit thrown at it, five musicians are readily prepared for the pressures of stardom.
However their critical reception may waver, they’re resolute in their concept. And as lofty as it may be on the surface, beneath it lies an important ethos that can safely live within its storylines. Mythical tales and historic references are all cleverly used to challenge dated outlooks on gender roles, sexuality or more recently, geo-political atrocities, while their own onstage performance can thrive in the safe boundaries of their self-curated environment.
Moreover, it’s a fearless stall that’s been set out and one that wouldn’t shock fans were it to change on future records. And so in that, The Last Dinner Party have proven concepts aren’t always gimmicks, designed to ride the next short-term aesthetic trend.
While DIY artistry and warm can-clutching still has a place in the authentic roots of alternative music, there is an equally important place for concepts. Because if the real world is going to continue hurtling towards a twisted dystopia, then we might as well bask in our own, safer versions, led by musicians with the right moral conscience.
