Jamie T

On the seventh day, God rested. But that’s not what Jamie T had in mind for this particular Sunday.

Strolling up Swanston Street toward the Hi- Fi Bar for tonight’s show I stumble upon two of my friends hiding around a corner, smoking a sneaky joint. “We’re at the Jamie T show,” they tell me. “And I think we’re the oldest people there.”

As I make my way into the venue with the other two in tow, I note the relatively young crowd quickly occupying the remaining standing room. A mere twenty-three years old himself, much of Jamie Treay’s appeal is in his relativity to the younger generations. His lyrics are laden with tales of youth and drunken escapades, capturing the imagination of those on the cusp of adulthood.

His musical influences stretch far and wide, an amalgamation of hip hop, rock, ska and pop that he combines in a just-put-together style. His sound echoes decades past to the days of punk rock (think Billy Bragg) and street ska while remaining present with a style reflective of contemporary British hip hop (think The Streets).

Two years following his internationally hailed debut record Panic Prevention, Jamie T is back tonight to sample an array of new material from his sophomore release Kings and Queens. Selling out the Hifi Bar for a second consecutive night, there is little space between bodies; it feels like a billion degrees in here. Luckily my friends and I find ourselves a little nook underneath an air-conditioning vent.

The room erupts with cheers when the lairy-savant frontman swaggers onstage with his backing band The Pacemakers (Luis Felber on guitar, James Dunson on bass, Matt Jones on keys and Ben Bones on drums).

Dressed in a black hoodie and denim jacket, he fittingly asks us in his trademark accent, “How is everyone? You alright?” Judging by the over-enthusiastic response from the youngsters around me, they are. Not only are his songs drenched with poetically crafted story telling, his onstage banter is also anecdotally heavy.

From stories of Chuck Berry’s various arrests to close encounters with our city’s trams, Treays chatters away comfortably throughout the mid-song interludes.

368 was an early song in the set to get the boisterous crowd responding, with The Pacemakers adding their own ska-synth touch. Jamie puts down his guitar for this one as he bounds about the stage from amp to amp, provoking the audience to match his enthusiasm and they are willing to oblige, accompanying his vocals for the latter chorus of this number.

So Lonely Was The Ballad enticed a female audience member to take her bra off and throw it in Jamie’s direction, the bra then being decoratively hung from the neck of the lead guitarist’s six string. Seemingly inspired by the newly acquired undergarment, Felber demonstrates his musical talent in a skillful solo effort on guitar whilst Dunson impressively keeps up the pace.

Tackling Back In The Game on his lonesome with an acoustic in hand added a raw, more personal touch. While Treays was back to his trusty electric for Spider’s Web, Felber opted for the more obscure ukulele.

“I’m going to reiterate something I’ve said many times before,” Mr T tells the crowd. “Luis is playing a ukulele. The ukulele is a silly instrument. But who looks that good playing a ukulele?” Admittedly, he does have a point.

After a manic live rendition of the rhythmic masterpiece Ike and Tina, Jamie T begins with a Dylan-inspired croon, serenading the room with a “lay, lady lay”, before having a change of heart. “Ah fuck it, that’s someone else’s song. Are you ready for a dance?” he asks us in that distinctive south Londoner accent, “I’m going to pick one man as the dance policeman. You, mister dreadlock man, you wander around and if you see someone who is not dancing…woop woop” he orders, giving us his impersonation of a siren. The dance police weren’t needed once the first line rang out over the speakers, the audience shouting out “if you’ve got the money” along with him. This anthemic number has evidently become a stand-out crowd pleaser within his live sets, indicative of the commercial success of his first album.

And then from old to new, the calibre of his latest offering Kings and Queens seems to follow suit, with the punters showing their approval of Chaka Demus and the record’s first single Sticks and Stones. “You’re going to have to help me with this song,” he asks of us for the latter track, “I keep fucking losing my voice. I swear Freddy Mercury couldn’t sing the soprano on this!”

Due to the extensive radio play of late, the crowd prove more than capable of accompanying his vocals for this one as the chorus rings out across the room. Lyrics about compulsive troublemakers synchronize with the fast tempo beats, backed by driving guitars and energetic keys. One such troublemaker from the audience gamely attempts to crowd surf before running up onto the stage, only to be man-handled by the sizable security.

The urgent cry of Salvador sends applause across the room for the old favourite. Again, Treays delivers a distinctive version in this live setting, quickening the pace to allow for a rowdy showdown on the floor. Impressive solo stints from Felber break up the verses throughout. And while “the ladies dance” within the lyrical retelling, tonight the ladies have taken to joining their male counterparts in the crowd surfing efforts during this song.
Treays departs the stage with a grateful wave, while Dunson throws a well-deserved beer to a thirsty onlooker, Bones acquires a pack of cigarettes from another and Felber returns the graciously donated bra.

After a considerable interlude/smoking break, the quintet return to the repeated chants for “Ja-mie-T”, though Treays takes on Emily’s Heart on a lone acoustic. This timid ballad is underwhelming for the raucous adolescents, who now seem rather unsettled, however The Pacemakers’ bring the inattentive crowd back to life with their loud accompaniment toward the end of the song.

And just in case there were some still unconvinced, it seems they had saved the best for last, leaving a reggae-inspired take on Shelia to elevate the energy of the room to its threshold. Treays put his faith in his followers to deliver his final vocals atop the crowd while his musical peers held the fort onstage.

“What a legend! God love ‘im!” one of my friends says to me, the other reiterating her thoughts also. “Full. Blown. Legend.” I couldn't have said it better myself.

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