This is admittedly my first trip to Koko, but I can’t think of many bands more suited to the venue than Divorce. Koko is a distillation of many aesthetics Divorce pour into their visuals: traditional clowning, 1900-era strongmen, marionettes and hand-painted stage flats. Koko is all cabaret, Moulin Rouge and One-eyed Jack’s (without the Lynchian ominosity, of course). Stepping into its main room has the curious effect of both shrinking you down and bringing you close; the many mezzanines are tiered like an inside-out wedding cake, or the shell-layers of a telescope, and dressed warmly in thick red drapes and elaborate golden moulding. Standing almost anywhere allows a perfect view of the stage, and from my ground floor barrier spot I can turn to see the crowd and their anticipation clearly displayed, multi-levelled and gilded.
I must briefly reverse back out to the merch stand in the foyer. It should be mentioned, as it is heavy-laden with goodies (17 items, we’re later told): socks, postcards, keyrings, patches, customised drum skins and six different t-shirt designs, one of which features an internet-famous paparazzi photo of Nicole Kidman with her arms up in celebration, having just been granted divorce from Tom Cruise.
Back to the gig. Here’s the first person to grace the stage – it’s not Divorce, and it’s not their support. It’s a clown. With small black triangles drawn under her eyes, a jester’s multi-pronged hat, and a big gauzy bow tied under her chin; she’s not the horror-movie menacing type, nor is she a gaudy cartoonish figure. On a whiteboard, she plays hangman with the crowd: _ _ _. We guess quickly: D U G. She produces three balls from a pocket, also labelled D U G, and juggles, introducing Dug, the support act. Dug tell us they have never before had such an introduction.
Dug is Lorkin O’Reilly and Jonny Pickett, a Dublin-based duo (Pickett being native to California, however), who just weeks before today were busking the famous Grafton Street, “in front of a Burger King”. Their website succinctly labels their sound as that which “blends American old time and Irish folk, reflecting the musical heritage of both its members”. With just a steel guitar, a banjo, an electronic drum kick pad, two folding chairs and a couple of baseball caps between them, they are an unimposing stage presence, particularly as they sit sweetly close to each other on the roomy platform. They were, to their own vocalised surprise, an immediate, whooping hit; at one point they jokingly chastised us for actually listening. A stand out was their “beer rock truck commercial diss track” against the “promoter man”’ (though not, they stressed, the lovely one that was working that night). They demonstrated its potential commercial use by riffing a radio ad to prelude it. Dug had so taken the crowd that by the end of their short set they had successfully organised us into a sort of circular line dance. Instructed by Pickett, who hopped over the barrier (with difficulty, as it was their “biggest yet”) to lead, we trotted two paces left, right, into a cleared circle and out again, before being told to take the arm of someone near us and go wild. The floor was a knees-up country disco. Some “yee-haws” were even elicited, quite organically, from the most enthused dancers. As they left, O’Reilly held up the back of his guitar to the crowd, on which was painted “Dug loves you”.
The clown returns to juggle some more, crush a bottle of wine flat into a paper bag and introduce our headliners. As she leaves, she proudly announces to riotous cheers that she is, in fact, Felix’s mum. Onto the stage Divorce step. They are (alphabetically) guitarist/synthist Adam Peter Smith, guitarist/vocalist Felix Mackenzie-Barrow, drummer Kasper Sandstrøm and bassist/vocalist Tiger Cohen-Towell.
Ironically, the band are very well-married – their sonic nuptials, though apparent in the interwoven work of all the members’ respectful instrumentation, is heard most in their intricate vocal harmonies. Mackenzie-Barrow and Cohen-Towell share custody of lead vocal duties more or less by halves. There is no obvious figurehead of the band, and it appears the deal is that whoever writes the lyrics lead-sings them. Both have shared the personal intimacies of songs that they respectively helm. Both, also, have different approaches to vocalising that suit the individualities of their songs. Mackenzie-Barrow sinks into the lower notes, his voice a warm, grainy growl, his movements fluttery, a mix of slight nerves and pressing intensity. Cohen-Towell climbs into the higher registers, their clarity crystalline, often having to step back from the microphone a good few metres to belt, and with a slight swagger to their movements that’s fuelled not by arrogance but concentrated power. And they are both equally pro at half-spoken line deliveries – side-mutters close to the mic that verge on ASMR.
Behind Mackenzie-Barrow and Cohen-Towell, Smith and Sandstrøm are slightly raised, podium-ed. Smith flits expertly between guitar and a small, wooden-clad synth, while Sandstrøm, endorsing the support in an “I dig Dug” t-shirt, adapts without falter to all the band’s moods, be it swing, soft or all-out rock. They both, too, have microphones, to add to that great sky of vocal harmony. The way they have arranged themselves on the ample stage creates a kind of physical spotlight on each member – a halo of space around them. Though this distance isn’t felt in their performance. Like their vocals, their instrumentation is as tenderly interlocked as fingers in held hands.
This gig is the final UK date of this tour, in support of their debut LP Drive To Goldenhammer. The drive is a physical one as well as spiritual/metaphorical – they are pictured on the record’s inner sleeve in close quarters, poking out the windows of an 80s-ish red sedan. The album opens with ‘Antarctica’, a telling of a drive in which Mackenzie-Barrow and Cohen-Towell rescue a newborn cow, and even in previous releases, long drives have been central themes to lyrics. Their 2022 Get Mean EP includes the track ‘Services’, where they are “dancing in the left lane” and “crack the windscreen with your legs”. Divorce are generally labelled as an alt-country band, but also engage with elements of rock, punk and indie – their driving around is also through genres, stopping at the services of each, but cohering their exploration into a tangible journey that’s well-mapped and well-fuelled.
To conclude, for their much-screamed-for encore, Dug join for a beautifully banjofied version of ‘Checking Out’, another track from the Get Mean EP. The intricate layering of the song can be appreciated even more live, and with the dual-addition of Dug, it reaches divine heights.
I first came across Divorce in late 2023. Immediately a huge fan, to be able to review them now is such a joy. My gig-mate comments afterwards on the unfaltering size of my smile throughout. How long is it acceptable to wear my Divorce socks before taking them off to wash?
I should have bought two pairs…
