London’s Best Kept Secret: A Review of David Byrne's Night at Moth Club
Inside London’s Wildest David Byrne Tribute Night: Music, Mayhem, and MOTH Club Magic.
Picture by Lucas Edwards.
It was a dark, cold night in London, but inside Hackney’s Moth Club, the glory days of the early 80s were in full swing. Dancing Barefoot, the brains behind the annual David Byrne’s night, brought another year of sold-out celebration and debauchery to the beloved venue. Once you were in, it was hard to leave - down to both the immaculate vibes and the gaggles of girlfriends blocking the doorway, wondering whether to down their lukewarm half-pint or chance it on the edge of the doorway, destined to be spilled in the chaos.
“Byrne’s Night isn’t just about paying homage to David Byrne and Robert Burns; it’s about pushing boundaries and taking the best of both worlds – music and literature – and making them feel fresh, exciting, and alive.”
To help with this mission, four house bands played almost constantly throughout the four-hour evening. Costumes, tartan, cowboy boots. One of those nights that mythologises itself as it plays out. The MOTH Club photobooth thrummed with a revolving door of merry concert-goers, pursing damp moustaches into faces of mischief and surrender. The crowd was thick with pockets of friends, solo music lovers, billowing blazer sleeves and bursting shoulder pads. Small bustles of conversation uncovered whisperings about band members in attendance, from the likes of Alien Chicks, Goat Girl, Human Interest, Mary in the Junkyard, Terra Twin, The Queen’s Head, The Last Dinner Party and many, many more.
Holding together the night, teetering so gleefully on the edge of chaos, was our very own Mr Burns, his glorious yellow face adorning a prosthetic nose always too-close to slippage. The exceptional North London drag queen punctuated the bands with a hilarious performance that emboldened and brightened an otherwise hectic stage. Near the tail end of the night, Ash Kenazi charged into the crowd and separated it into two echelons of sweaty tartan-wearers. He sat in the infamous photo booth, stumbling out when it rejected his Amex with a laugh from the crowd. We danced and jumped and his command. The ceiling sparkles fluttered.
For the final act, the ensemble pulled out all the stops. We might expect nothing less than Phoebe from punk-duo Lambrini Girls charging into the crowd and surfing on the pulsing hands. We might also expect nothing less than Abigail Morris’ sweet tones gliding through “Heaven”. We might expect nothing less than the musicians perfectly poised and playing as if all the world were a stage, their stage, and they’d shared it since memories began. As the band careened around each other for closer “Once in a lifetime,” we all became one body, unified in the memory of one of music’s greatest artists. It was a vibe I’ve been searching for for quite some time now, what with the increasing hostility of London music spaces. It felt like home-coming, strangers grabbing onto shoulders of strangers and thrusting hands into the air.
Picture by Lucas Edwards.
As closing remarks, Dancing Barefoot mastermind and Hank lead singer Lola called for a re-purposing of the energy in the air to an actionable and evidenced community effort. Save the MOTH Club, she cried. Sign the petition. The night celebrated the joy of community, of coming together over a shared passion – which could be David Byrnes, which could be the Simpsons, which could be our combined and everlasting commitment to spaces of creativity and comradery in increasingly isolating, polarising and late-stage-capitalist environments.
It’s no exaggeration to say this has to be one of the best night in music in London. For an atmosphere you’ll fail to get anywhere else, for friends and stories for life, you need to follow Dancing Barefoot. Lucky for you – they have another event at the MOTH Club coming up. For speed-dating and sickly sweet tunes covered by house-bands that surely exceed any expectation, come to Dancing Barefoot into Love. See you on Valentine’s.