The underrated beauty of daytime gigs
It’s 9:30am when Crywank stumble down the ramp into Leeds‘ Mabgate Mills to a sleepy-eyed round of applause. It might seem early for a load-in, but they’re actually running a little late. It’s the penultimate show in their 16-date, 24-hour tour (an effort to beat Frank Turner’s claim to the world record), and it marks the first time I’ve set foot in Mabgate Bleach before I’ve had my morning coffee.
Instead of serving pints and spirits, Mabgate have fashioned their own makeshift continental breakfast for the occasion. The OJ is flowing, and croissants are quickly being claimed as vocalist Jay Clayton takes to the stage in a bright red hoodie. If you squint hard enough, or if you’re a Kylie Minogue super-fan, you might be able to make out the word “padam” written down each arm.
The 14 shows that came before have clearly taken their toll on Clayton, who has done well to only misplace one guitar string and a nail thus far, but they’re yet to lose their energy. The same can’t initially be said about the crowd. Without the comfort of darkness and the liquid confidence imbued by a couple of pints, they situate themselves a metre or so away from the stage, but Clayton quickly urges them forward.
The set that follows somehow enthrals a half-awake audience for its entire, albeit slightly shorter than usual, 20-minute runtime. The more devoted fans sing every word quietly under their breath while the rest of us stand in silence and awe as Clayton takes requests (and vetoes others), beckoning us into the day like some kind of emo bird.
Perhaps it’s the Crywank crowd, or our willingness to see them beat out Frank Turner for the world record, or the sheer magic of Mabgate, but there’s a real sense of community in the room as they round out their set and run off to Bradford. This is only further evidenced by how many audience members remain to watch a set by local emo shoegazers, Shaene.
As I dish out glittery baby tees and cassette tapes at the merch stand, gearing up for a post-gig brunch that will still get me home before I’d even finish work on a weekday, I wonder why daytime gigs aren’t more commonplace. It’s a thought that returns just a few weeks later when I find myself back at Mabgate at midday on a Sunday.
This time, it’s flight restrictions that have forced a slightly more doable 12pm doors time, allowing for a lie-in before a tirade of hardcore and egg. Barcelona-born headliners Prison Affair have a plane to catch this afternoon, so they’re set to take to the stage at 2pm following two torrents of thrashing noise from Narkotyk and Blood Feud and a skittish egg punk set from newcomers The Oidz.
As Prison Affair’s van pulls into the all-too-familiar car park of Mabgate Mills, the church next door is only just emptying its own congregation. The sunburnt punks lounging on the benches outside of Bleach treat Prison Affair like gods of their own as they waltz into the venue and set up shop. At 5’2, it’s impossible to see past the rows upon rows of egg enthusiasts losing their minds over scratchy guitars and silly synths.
Perhaps it’s the punk scene or the sunstroke, but the crowd have no hesitation this time around as they flail around to the music, unbothered by the afternoon rays spilling in from the entryway. The sun is still blinding when we all pour out of the venue just after 3pm and embark upon the quest to find somewhere still serving brunch.
It’s been a week now, and I’m already craving another mid-afternoon gig that will get me home before doors usually even open. However, there are no more world record attempts or flight pattern-induced matinees on the horizon. There are all-dayers and festivals all throughout summer, sure, but they don’t hold the same charm of meeting your pals for a coffee before a gig and still being able to grab another afterwards without doing irreparable damage to your sleep pattern.
The daytime gig is not yet commonplace, but it should be. Rather than traipsing home at 1am after one Guinness too many, it’s refreshing to leave a venue before sunrise, to see those faces you’re always stumbling across in your local scene in the daylight, to grab your friends for a chat about the music over a meal rather than begrudgingly convincing them to go “out out” just to spend a little more time together. It also seems to soften the pressure to drink in an industry that often feels reliant on alcohol consumption.
Don’t get me wrong, a messy gig that ends in your city’s dingiest club – if you can even call it that – is just as fun as an overpriced brunch, but there may be a balance to be found. Some gigs are far more suited to a 10pm headline slot where you leave drenched in unknown substances, hopefully, beer. Others would benefit from a matinee show, and some – take Prison Affair, for example – can excel either way.
The benefits could extend to independent venues, too. On the same day Mabgate Bleach hosted the Leeds stop on Crywank’s world record attempt, they also put on a hometown headline show with Slow Team in the evening. It gives gig-goers two opportunities to support their favourite local venues, with a coffee and a croissant at 9am or with a lager at 9pm.
It may be that the novelty of a midday gig wears off the more of those shows you attend. But, for now, at least, I can’t think of anything much better than a coffee soundtracked by Crywank or a sunny pint with Prison Affair.
