The Sheffield Scenester

I think it’s safe to say that the Leadmill will always be around. As long as there are people willing to watch bands live, what better place can be found in Sheffield than the sweat-soaked and dingy confines of its industrial brick walls? It’s also safe to say that for those of us who were around on the gig and club scene a few years ago (I’m thinking circa 2005-7) that the Leadmill was our Mecca, the place to hear the freshest indie, the dirtiest beats, the latest fad band. But alas! One must mature, and as the halcyon neon haze of the mid 00’s faded to a duller shade of sh*tty brown, a few of the bands that captured our hearts on the Leadmills grimy dance floors receded into the shadows. The Holloways were one such band.

The first outfit to grace the stage are Grimsby punk misfits Light Scars, whose gritty riffs and off kilter vocals seem to bemuse most of the crowd. They light the fuse, but a few bum notes and some questionable lyrics quickly dampen any expectations that tonight is going to instantly explode into a night of sweaty bouncing.

Second band Area, hailing from Doncaster, temporarily lift the mood, powering through three of their monkeyesque urban ballads without so much as stopping for a breather. They’re not original, not by a long shot, but what they lack in innovativeness they make up for in pure energy and grit. “Northern Nights” and “She’s Not Sorry” stand out as well crafted, even if they do follow a familiar blueprint.

I have something of a novel method of forming opinions when taking notes for these reviews, the basic premise is that the drunker I get while watching, the less the bands have captivated my attention. I am now fairly sozzled on £3 bottles of Budweiser. The crowd are quiet, the smoking area is rammed, so I can’t help but wonder whether the nights main act can make up for lost ground. An amp blowing 30 seconds in could have put paid to any hopes of that happening, but so positive is the Holloways outlook that they just power through, and while the lyrics to most of their tunes may not rank up there with those of Radiohead or The Smiths, the guitar playing and the kinetic fury with which they deliver a brace of summery pop rock gems can’t fail to get a foot tapping. When they drop “Generator” I feel a wave of nostalgia, and the crown suddenly become quite animated, it’s not the hands in the air, spill your lager on the nearest student madness that I recall greeting the song from 2006, but it still retains a special power for turning even the most sullen of gig-goers into a cartoon character for a few minutes. Then it ends, and once again, we all switch off, it’s not that they don’t have the tunes, it’s more a case of the tunes they do have now sound somewhat dated and rehashed, and their stage presence is definitely their greatest asset, I find myself wondering whether the crowd are unresponsive because they are captivated by frontman Alfie Jacksons gypsy like capering, maybe they are? Either way, I leave with mixed feelings, there’s still a place for The Holloways, just like there’s a place for the Leadmill, but you get the vibe that somewhere along the way they got swept onto the wayside.

Words by Daniel Walsh

Photos Of Area Courtesy of Domonic Gregory