For a relatively unknown artist, the queues for Barry Can’t Swim at the Roundhouse last night were impressive: a forest of North Face jackets, tinted spectacles and crossbody bags, stretching all the way to Camden.
For good reason, because Barry, aka Joshua Mainnie, is a man whose star is on the rise. Nominated for a BRIT Award, selling out venues, the Scottish producer (who used to work in a fishmonger’s, hence the rather esoteric name) has carved out a niche for himself with sunny, feelgood dance anthems tinged with jazz and afrobeat.
Last night’s stop on his UK tour was the Kentish Town venue – and having battled its bad crowd management, the audience was ready to party.
Fortunately for them, up-and-coming EDM artist yunè pinku was the support act. Unfortunately for them, she had not been advertised anywhere, and given the queue outside a mere half-hour before Mainnie’s appearance, I can only assume she was spinning decks to an empty room.
Once Mainnie burst onto the stage, though, the mood lifted. Clad in a baggy Hawaiian shirt and flanked by backing musicians clad in sparkling silver beekeeper hats (why, who knows; fun aesthetic choice though), he was clearly ready to bring the party.
Did he bring it? That’s slightly more up for debate. The night opened with some of his more low-key tracks: the tinkling piano of When Will We Land gave way to the chilled Balearic beats of How It Feels and Some Day I Will, which struggled to be heard in the dodgy acoustics.
Things really kicked into gear in the show’s second half, when he brought out the big hitters and the crowd perked up like children who’d been told they could stay up past their bedtime.
Guest stars added to the burgeoning party atmosphere: Låpsley strutted around stage, belting out the lyrics to the joyful Woman, while Irish poet somedeadbeat bounced on to shrieks for a performance of the joyful Deadbeat Gospel (though again, the audio was drowned out by bass notes).
Mainnie himself was clearly having a blast up on the stage, vamping on the keyboard, playing the drums with his percussionist and hitting the decks for tracks like the standout God Is The Space Between Us, which sent drink cups flying and girls climbing up onto the shoulders of their friends to sway in the crowd.
He kept the chat to a minimum. “What’s up, London?” he asked during a pause in the music, adding that tonight was a special one: “my mum and dad are here.” Cue rapturous cheers, and a spotlight on his poor parents.
Some of his biggest hits kept up the energy, all performed to strobe lighting and cute animations flickering on the screen behind him: the percussion-heavy Can We Still Be Friends got the crowd bobbing, while a souped-up Fiorucci Made Me Hardcore gave way to the equally pounding, synth-heavy Sunsleeper.
As the night closed out, the musician raised both hands to the air and profusely thanked his audience for coming; flanked by all of his supporting artists, the mood on stage was rapturous.
“Appreciate it so much,” he told the dancing crowd. “Mum and Dad will be very pleased.” He certainly brought the sunshine to a cold grey March evening: a bit of fine-tuning and he’ll be ready for festival season.
