By Sophie Scannell, Music Subeditor
Decked out in plimsolls, white polos, and checkered pinafores, Welly could be stepping onto the stage for their first stop of Dork’s 2025 Hype Tour or arriving for an impromptu primary school sports day, should one kick off on the top floor of The Louisiana.
When thinking about the Brighton-based band, a menagerie of reference points come to mind, all firmly seated in the early 2000s, but still vivid nonetheless.
There’s a happy-go-lucky, quintessentially British bravado that animates the band. Almost indistinguishable from the sound of early 'Now That’s What I Call Music' CDs, their presence conjures not-so-glamorous visuals of Basil Brush on a boxy 2000s telly, or peeling your feet from a sticky pub floor en route to a velvet-cushioned, tobacco-scented chair next to the fruit machine.
With lyrics tackling red-hot topics such as cul-de-sacs, Carling, and mushy peas, Welly’s sound and lyrics mimic that of a wonderfully cheesy UK pop ensemble – think Girls Aloud without the unintelligible Irish accents, or Chas & Dave without the blatant misogyny.
Entering through a side door and weaving their way through the crowd, serenaded by the age-old question, ‘is this the way to Amarillo?’, the five-piece make their way up to the head of The Louisiana to conduct a triumphant ‘shalalalalalalala’ (*thud, thud*), that travels us through time to a year six disco and sets us in very good stead for the night ahead.
The irreplicable beauty of these nostalgia anthems is a thematic thread that runs throughout the Welly universe.
Just imagine a five piece in their twenties belting out Whigfield’s ‘Saturday night’, Chumbawamba’s ‘Tubthumping’, or literally anything by the Vengaboys, and you’re already halfway there.
Against all odds, this nostalgic bubble-gum pop that frontman Elliott (AKA Welly) adores and takes inspiration from blends so seamlessly with the scratchy, rough-around-the-edges sound that their own tunes have come to master.
‘Big In The Suburbs’ is the freshest addition to the setlist. A humming bass and whirring synths lay the bed for some scathing remarks on the modern day state of suburban Britain, with perfectly succinct visuals and quip lyrics: ‘a beautiful new estate named after farmland it’s replaced’.
Complete with a familiar cowbell that crops up throughout the band's discography, Welly offers us a taste of their exciting upcoming endeavours, whilst still hanging onto identifiable sounds that planted themselves on Dork's Hype List Tour in the first place.
It is the very same cowbell that the band forgot to bring on the road with them this evening, sheepishly asking us to fill in acapella-style for the opening of ‘Home for the Weekend’.
The intro to ‘Deere John’ similarly had the crowd at the fingertips of Welly's puppeteering, having us all bend down to rev an invisible lawnmower to begin the song, to which Elliott makes the meta observation '[it] usually works on the third try, of course’.
A request for a lighting change has the frontman denying that he’s turned into ‘Shirley Bassey or some kind of diva’, and there’s not a hint of this kind of glittery show biz about the live show. Instead it feels more like a panto, with a collective agreement amongst the room that the idea of 'tour life' seems all a bit pompous for a band whose lyrics discuss things like the lack of fizz in a WKD.
Rattling through their admittedly short but belting discography, we get one of the last ‘old Welly’ shows before their newer stuff is churned out in light of their upcoming debut album, Big In The Suburbs, set to be released in March.
A snippet of a new song was promised to us, but the soundtrack only got a measly three seconds in before crashing out. Twice. Fate had been decided, it was all old-school Welly from here on out.
I don’t think many were complaining though. These songs, having only been out for at most two years, feel cemented and loved by all in the room.
‘Me and Your Mates’ was a clear winner to close with, charged with pure spit-and-sawdust fun: ‘I’m bouncing off the walls of the flat, and I love it. The sweet smell of Lynx and regret, you can’t beat it’.
And you really can’t beat it. Welly’s love affair with English minutiae and the glory of the simple day-to-day translates without a hitch into a raucous night of shoe-throwing and perpetual jumping.
As bassist Jacob joins us in the crowd for a final bounce, my heart goes out to the lager drinkers downstairs in The Louisiana simply hoping for a bit of peace and quiet alongside their pint.
Featured Image: Sophie ScannellWhat do you think of bands choosing to debut songs in their live shows?
