By Libby Driscoll

It’s a rare event to find yourself walking away from a gig where each and every act had something completely new to offer. However, after a topical night of Warwick Davis, pubes and snails, ferocious punk and bass so heavy it cleared the phlegm from your chest, it’s safe to say Mickey Nomimono’s headline at Yellow Arch was certainly the place to be.

*Mickey Nomimono // Photo:* *@jamburrito1*

Stage set and drums guarded by a cardboard cutout of Warwick Davis, two-piece Juke take to the stage and open the evening. After catching these guys around a year ago at their debut gig at Sidney and Matilda, the novelty of the duo's charm is just as comedic as the first time round. Between sassy back-and-forths with one another and rogue cymbals fleeing the drum kit is a band exuding a tremendous amount of talent. Despite the comedic act between the two, the intricacy of their technical ability and level of songwriting is very much prevalent. Closing the set with their infamous ode to Mr. Davis, which is (surprise, surprise) a definite fan favourite, the duo leave us with smiles on our faces and Warwick Davis on our minds.

As a declaration of love for a TV presenter wasn’t avant garde enough for one evening, Rosey PM is coaxed from backstage by fellow band Jeuce for a quick sing and dance around the stage before opening her set by pointing out a mysterious food stain on her trousers. Armed only with the backing tracks from her laptop, Rosey PM delivers the kind of act we’ve all given to our bedroom mirror with a hairbrush after a few glasses of wine; one that we convince ourselves we’re brave enough to transfer to the stage. Seriousness nowhere in sight, Rosey PM covers everything from being a dog (which did, in fact, involve howling), shaving pubes off after a heartbreak and finding snails on her mayo, all backed with ambient lofi beats and hints of modern jazz and bossa nova.

The satirised music felt very Jack Stauber, but as the performance progressed Rosey PM delves into the kind of beats that you’d find at some underground New York art event. Progressing into a trap beat and performing vocal triplets notorious to the genre, the hyped energy of the crowd bounces with waving arms as she finishes her set singing about her non-existent car. Rosey PM’s set was the epitome of twenties satire, and was a refreshing display of an artist who really doesn’t take themselves too seriously, because who actually gives a shit when you’re having fun?

The final support of the evening, JEUCE take their place on both the stage, and in the crowd, kicking satire far into the distance and bear a performance so profound with rage that jaws were ripped wide open. JEUCE are the purest embodiment of punk I’ve seen in a long time; the ferocious slashing of symbols and vigorous drumming paired with vocals so piercing with an eruption of resentment was truly hypnotic.

Covering dark themes of suicide, drinking and hangovers, the crowd form an arch around the band’s vocalist in an endeared state as they marched up and down the open space. Each song was condensed to a maximum of around 2 minutes, giving punch after punch of two-step-ready energy and an unforgettable mark of what organic punk looks like.

Now for the man himself, Mr. Relatable, Mickey Nomimono. His name projected on the stage illuminated in pink capitals, Nomimono silently glares at the audience, encouraging sporadic cheers and relishing in the last few moments of calm. Neat whiskey in hand, Nomimono unleashes a synthetic bass riff of seismic force, igniting an explosion of rattling skulls, pushing shoulders and flashes of trance lighting. Stumbling across the stage in a piercing haze, the lyrics from his opening track, ‘DRUGS OFF THE DOCTOR’, are snarled into the crowd as the chorus of voices echo it in return.

Nomimono continuing to stumble around the stage and occasionally looping back to his mixing desk, the sway of bodies begin to bounce off one another a little harder as the beats grow more intense whilst the energy of Nomimono spreads throughout the venue. Asking the crowd if any of us have had to work a shit job, and if we want to ‘hear one we might know’, the recognisable opening synth to DHL kicks off a wave of cheers. As a pit forms in the middle of the crowd, the gig shifts gears as the shared angst of working the soul-crushing 9 to 5 vibrates through the audience.

Circling the stage like a dog chasing its tail, Nomimono mimics the trend-setter in the doomy Mulch snarling, ‘it took me three fucking weeks to grow this moustache, I’m on the pulse’. Flipping the switch back to a higher energy with 21, manic 808 beats and static lights reignite the pit whilst Nomimono ventures into the crowd himself. Swallowed by a sea of turning bodies and fans ricocheting off one another, the energy shifts closer to that of an underground D&B rave than your average nod-along gig.

Returning to the stage with Drastic//Automatic’s Sean Hession for How Does it Taste, the two battle it out over the same microphone. Hession screaming his lines, Nomimono snatches it back just in time to catch up with the verse that the audience have beaten him to. Both the stage and the crowd turn to complete chaos, with punches thrown and the two artists falling over one another on stage, the track gives way to a beautifully chaotic mess of cathartic power.

Closing the set with his debut single, Mr. Relatable, the venue exploits what energy they have left in their sweating bodies to push, shove, scream and shout back to the topless whiskey-flailing punk who mimics the dick head that no one wants to deal with at a house party. As the venue erupts with one final cheer, Mickey Nomimono exits the stage to the desperate chants of ‘one more song, one more song!’.

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Tonight was the first time in a while where I’ve walked away from a gig which felt completely unique. Each and every act pushed the boundaries in their own little way to create something outside the box, reminding us just how captivating the feeling of awe can actually be.

What is forever endearing about Nomimono, however, is the divine relatability of a working class creative trying to find their way. Through both political austerity and idiotic audacity from characters we meet whilst finding our feet in the world, Nomimono turns the mundane chore of a coked-up stranger gabbing in your ear into an exploration of your inner-self. We’ve all felt the sad reality of not knowing what the time is, and being sick of walking sideways, yet we still sold our morals this Friday night to bask in the glorious relatability of, well, Mr. Relatable himself.

Mickey Nomimono live at Yellow Arch

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DRASTIC//AUTOMATIC Live at Sidney and Matilda