Lisa Brown
 | | Lisa Brown |
Getting stuck in early were Lisa Brown; not another waifish, angst-ridden female singer-songwriter, but a collective of very wholesome looking cherubs with the courtesy to look genuinely pleased that they’d been allowed to make music for the assembled masses. Each song is deceptively simple in structure and the pared-down, acoustic setting lent itself beautifully to aural explorations of exquisitely crafted counterpoint between lead guitars. The rhythmic drive stemmed from measured but subtle chord placement on the piano, which became intertwined with the often mesmeric, cyclic guitar playing, all underpinned by the earthiness of the double bass. Front man Nev’s playschool presenter eagerness never tips into Bedingfield territory, saved by the virtue of plaintive, emotive yet never overwrought vocals which are complimented by lovely harmonies. I’d never have thought that you could strip the fire out of The Buzzcocks’ Ever Fallen In Love, and make it listenable, but Lisa Brown managed to make it into the kind of lounge classic that Andy Williams would be proud of. The Whip
 | | The Whip |
Moving into the room where people were allowed amps and in this case, laptops, The Whip took to the stage. Formed from the embers of Manctronica outfit Nylon Pylon, Bruce Carter and Danny Saville cut an odd dash; Saville looking far too wholesome for a man with that great grasp of technology and Carter looking like he’d just stepped out from the ’87 Grange Hill cast party. In terms of the music, there wasn’t really a discernible difference between the first two tracks but the shared constants were enough to get more audience heads nodding than just those of the frontline friends and family supporters. Some bolder, keyboard melodies soaring through the musical deathmatch of punk riff versus ´óÏó´«Ã½ 2 in the 1980s samples from the incidental music to ‘Isn’t Maths fun’ educational programming would have helped, but this is early days for The Whip. Liam Frost
 | | Liam Frost |
Liam Frost with his Slowdown Family cohorts headlined the acoustic room. After a fine showing at In the City and as the Guy Garvey appointed "most talented young songwriter Manchester has produced for years", the weight of expectation might have been hanging heavy. However after a declaration of "****, I’m drunk", Frost launched straight in to a lusty account of achingly truthful endeavours, prompting a crowd singalong from only the second song in. The Slowdown Family are a folk band and a good one at that. Their combination of honestly told tales, onstage camaraderie and enviable musicianship transports you temporarily from parky Mancunian basement to Galway free house and you can feel the pressures of the day slowly lifting. They’re not groundbreaking but then they’re not trying to be; with rumours of a label signing imminent, it’ll be interesting to see just how far talent and charm can take you. Elsewhere at Power Overload The Movement - It’s not good news when even your bassist is looking faintly embarrassed. Abrasive vocals and over repeated exercises in what happens if you shift your bar chord one fret left of centre led the audience to vote with their feet.
 | | Nancy Elizabeth Cunliffe |
Nancy Elizabeth Cunliffe - A promising folky start from this multi-instrumentalist (how often do you see a dulcimer on stage?), which was let down by subsequent rambles into the seemingly angst-ridden world of eastern mysticism. It’d be good to see the ballsiness of her patter break through into her song-writing. Day for Airstrikes - It’s all very well having utter self-belief in your own sound but when four out of five band members spend the whole gig with their backs to the audience and the fifth guy’s one jerk away from his next Ritalin shot, it starts to come across as laughable self-indulgence. However, this can be worked on with a bit more gig practice; as a proto-Pink Floyd, they’ve got some nice ideas. Former Bullies - There’s a simple law that every musician should follow: don’t sing in a pseudo-American twang when you’re from Chorley. Just because Son of Dork do, doesn’t make it right. In fact, it should hammer home the point of just how wrong it is. | 
