Almost exactly a decade ago, I reviewed a tremendous band playing live in a basement in Dalston, east London; a venue so off-piste that condensation ran down the exposed light fittings. The band were called Joanna Gruesome – the name a snarky pun on that of the US baroque pop singer Joanna Newsom. Even then, its members had history, having come out of various teenage DIY outfits in Wales; in 2014 they won the Welsh Music prize for their debut, Weird Sister.
Joanna Gruesome’s twin frontpeople, Lan McArdle (they/them) and Owen Williams (he/him), shared vocals; they sang deliciously, apart and together, in keeping with late 80s indie pop stylings – early My Bloody Valentine was just one touchpoint. But their guitars meant serious business, transcending the studied amateurism of the punk underground for arty heft. Their melodies served up lashings of pop nous. McArdle eventually left; the band slowly fizzled out.
