It was a genuine honour to witness such a major commitment to disco, doo-wop, and roguishness.
Words: Grace Marshall
I clutched my lemonade, gabbled at the straw, and removed my unsociably tall hat for the benefit of the giddy throng of Goldsmiths students whose outfits and haircuts I coveted. I felt a little hustled by their shoulder pads, but I didn't mind because I already was transfixed by the visions of roguish charm unfolding on stage.
Ewe and Friends, purveyors of top-notch croonery and disco, are preceded by their reputation as a riotously whimsical act with an elusive gig schedule. I had been significantly hyped up; I was not disappointed. It was like being wooed by a gaggle of naughty, corduroy-clad children, delivering a sensational array of doo-wop croonery and genuine funk masterpieces. And at the helm is a treacle-throated 'ol blue eyes-type heartthrob with an unassailable talent for coquettish showmanship.
The hyper, bellowing art students clearly doted on him and his unyieldingly slick band. I couldn't make out exactly what they were all playing up there because I was navigating the buffeting forces of tricornes and mohair in the crowd, but there were definitely quite a lot of them. The crew's gleeful cameraderie and jaunty backing vocals made visions of Muppets swim before my eyes. I'm going to venture that – despite Ewan's flawless rakish persona – the show was stolen by the lace-clad multi-percussionist majorly vibing up front. Never has the vibraslap slayed so hard. Someone was earnestly grinding on his girlfriend beside me during the final number – nevertheless, when the time came I waltzed to the station bedraggled and euphoric.
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