words & images by Maitane Hermosa
Warm autumn evening in Manchester, stepping into the Band on the Wall. The gig hasn’t started yet. Lo-fi soft rock and shoegaze fill the speakers, red lights bathing the space, slowly getting crowded with well-behaved and calm people. After a quick visit to the washrooms (with hangers on the doors), I felt filled with a yellow glow. I wandered through the place—two different rooms: one with a long main bar and stage serving pizza, draft beers, cocktails, and bags of crisps; the other, big and dark, only open for events, now fully packed with Skinshaper fans. I need a drink. Two different vibes, atmospheres, and decorations, which led me to choose the bar by the gig. Didn’t want to “lose the vibe happening” willing to wait a bunch of minutes for our drinks.
The music stops, and from the silence emerge a few timid shouts. Everything turns blue and reddish-pink. The session begins with a calm flute melody and captivating drums. I sense a little journey ahead. The instruments blend together gently and in order, allowing each sound to be savored.
A soft melody escapes from the mouth of Rollo Doherty, the leader of the band of the same name, and it enhances the magic in the air. There’s good energy among the group. The guy with the hat setting the rhythm with his drumsticks becomes the magician with the biggest smile. Suddenly, the first song has passed, and I’m on a time-travel machine, experiencing an emotional musical moment: wild drumstick shakes, moments lost to the magic of the beats, now scrunching our neurons, some beautiful high notes on the synths, noise that sounds like heaven, transforming into jazz and disjointed keyboard sounds. This music makes me want to dive into a purple ocean. Why don’t we just spend our time unravelling their notes like seaweed between our fingers, guessing at the shapes of clouds? No talking in between, just music, and a sincere, modest thank you. They introduce themselves, but there are still some songs to go. They’re all seasoned and experienced musicians and producers. A wise move by the Lewis Recordings label to take this young band on tour with Skinshape, in an effort to open up their music to a similar audience. Without a doubt, we’ll remember this as a technically excellent performance, but also as a warm and deeply human experience that took us on a sweet journey tonight, preparing the stage for the headliners.
The room is heated up. “Bumblebee” is playing. People are chatting, laughing, and hugging excitedly. The vibe is higher now. We’ve gone from a calm sea to a joyful spring breeze.
Skinshape jumps on stage with the same energy that envelops the crowd, starting strong with their psychedelic guitar and the song “Take My Time.”
The concert flows between tracks spanning their discography, from unreleased songs to old tunes from 2015. Musically, they’re nailing it, recreating atmospheric landscapes, with Dorey steering the ship. In front of us is a visibly relaxed figure whose hair doesn’t even flinch, maintaining a severe, almost pathological calm throughout the set. It feels as though each movement and sound has been repeated over and over on the tour, and I can’t help but wonder if Doherty has let his instincts for feeling the music fall asleep, even though the execution is perfect.
The show moves through different moments, alternating between the more psychedelic and alternative rock songs. As if never having felt the crashing wave of rock, Dorey takes us into a realm governed by the tranquillity and excitement of someone eager to discover sacred lands. The ground trembles, and like a mantra, the bass vibrates through the floor; the room goes dark. I feel myself descending into the abyss that opens at the second clear silence of the night. The light over Will’s head sparkles in all directions, and his white shirt, which holds all the primary colours in a puzzle, becomes a metaphor for their own composition. The only bright thing on the stage is him. Everything else is red and purple. The girls dance, swaying their hips and hair slowly. Psychedelia is caught in the aura of the lunar warriors who have just arrived from the beach.
I’m so close to the stage, and the room full feels so small, that I can hear Dorey’s pedal click-clacking, shifting gears. His entire demeanour is subtle, yet the communication among all the band members is absolute. The songs flow, and introductions are made. The guitarist is sweating heavily, fully living the journey, enjoying his solo with drops of sweat falling from his forehead.
In a breath, everything turns to funk and soul, with yellow and black projections and the bassist’s silhouette illuminating the wall. “Barely Call My Name” plays, people sigh, and most pull out their phones to record. The room is packed to the back, and though the heavy atmosphere makes it hard to breathe, it’s as if my restless fears also aren’t breathing, caught up in a velvet fruit whirlwind—too sad to grow but eager to overcome all we never had. All we could never lose.
The concert ends, and the red lights stay on. Goodbyes. What? A crowd that’s dissatisfied, excited, and craving more. Nightly musical exhilaration. What kind of neurons does this music touch?
Every song in the setlist is brilliant; it’s hard to say they’re not epic. They could’ve played their farts, and it would have been done with the same elegance. Whatever song they chose to rotate through their repertoire, it was delivered perfectly, as every track is an unstoppable caress of astonishment against nature while their energy mixes with the room.
The voices of those girls up front who shout, knowing it was the last song. The long-haired blonde, Dorey, lowers his gaze and simply says, “Good night, thank you very much.” And they all bow out formally, waving from the corner of their eyes.
