WE ARE AUGUSTINES

September 30th | Thekla, Bristol

With a band history laced with sadness and frustration – vocalist/guitarist Billy Smith’s personal traumas are well-documented, while he and bassist Eric Sanderson’s previous project Pela was torn apart by industry nonsense – we presumed this Sunday evening show might be a somewhat inward facing, sombre affair. As the band surge into opener Philadelphia (The City of Brotherly Love), such ideas are instantly, firmly cast aside. 

We Are Augustines’ sound is grounded in open-armed, misty eyed Americana, nostalgic and grand without ever quite straying into hackneyed territory. Related unfailingly to New Jersey’s favourite Bruce, but also indebted to the emotive folk-punk of the likes of Chuck Ragan and the impassioned alternative country of Lucero, it’s an amalgamation which is undeniably personal yet somehow perfectly suited to be sung aloud by thousands. The countless ‘wooah’ and ‘yeeah’s make sure of that. And sure enough, in the belly of Thekla, these Brooklyn boys transform into a bit of a party band.

The likes of Juarez, a wonderfully Southern-tinged, dusky offering based around a mournful narrative which could be plucked from a Nick Cave screenplay (though not as good, obviously), is transformed into a foot-stomping riot. Album opener Church Song becomes vast and celebratory, and Patton State Hospital is an upbeat rock-out, lit up by some unexpectedly fluid guitar playing, a notable feature of the evening which sets these seemingly simple songs ablaze.

Smith’s voice is a remarkably powerful tool. Soaring and grainy, he couldn’t miss a note if he tried. Slugging at a bottle of Jameson’s, he is a sincere and likeable frontman, and even if he does do his half-squinting, earnest face one time too many because he knows it makes him look handsome, he’s forgiven because this is a man in his element. When he thanks the audience, relaying that not long ago the songs played tonight were the only thing he and Eric owned, we can’t help but melt.

Opening number Philadelphia re-emerges in divinely stripped down, piano-led form among a peculiar blur of encores, seemingly forgotten (Smith is pretty wasted by this point) and insisted upon (a brilliant, genuinely impromptu room-wide stop and clap draws the band back to the stage, surprised, a tad confused and unsure what to do next). It’s an intensely human end to a pure, euphoric rock show. We Are Augustines seem bound to continue going through gears until they wind up playing rooms the size of their gigantic choruses. Let’s hope their hearts can remain in the right place.

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http://www.weareaugustines.com/

Words: Geraint Davies