Emily Breeze’s anachronistic yet visceral rock ‘n’ roll is the freshest, toughest, most vital sound anywhere in Bristol today. Hitching a ride on rock ‘n’ roll’s great Mystery Train – passing Elvis, through Iggy and on to The Cramps – Breeze is a throwback, in sound and feeling; a wormhole to an era when the ephemeral notion of possibility in, or rather through, rock ‘n’ roll still hung in the air. High-fives soon becoming a noose as rock ‘n’ roll mutated into punk and as its driving impulses, fate and desire, were replaced by revenge and guilt. Which means in 2009 the very idea of Emily Breeze is equally as seductive as her music – an unfortunate rarity.

So is Emily Breeze the real deal, or just bending to the ghost of an era long gone, a story already told? If rock ‘n’ roll has become anything over the last quarter century, it’s a history of re-presentation. New generations assimilating old forms then re-presenting them with new ideas, new voices contained within the established framework; ideas and voices which then work their way into a new context. The new context in this instance being Bristol, a city conspicuously lacking its own rock ‘n’ roll lineage (which helps Breeze seem rootless and eccentric) and, sadly, post the recent two-hundred year anniversary of abolition, still lacking a sense of collective guilt for those trades which established the city – slave trading, wine importing, tobacco. This a context which a visceral, caustic voice like Emily Breeze’s, driven by Punk’s twin impulses, can work its way inside of.

Thus to the question is she ‘real’; who cares? As the Mystery Train reaches the platform, carrying Emily Breeze and her group of razorbacks, everything begins to shake. From there it’s what happens next that’s of importance.

Under lights is where any rock ‘n’ roll group really proves its pulse and, as per usual, live at The Cooler recently there was little room to breathe between Breeze’s voice, growling like a motorcycle changing gears, and the electricity surging through the group, twisting into a perfect mix of distortion, thunder and feedback; or as Lydia Lunch might put it; ‘Beauty, truth, and filth’. “Taste The Whip” emblazoned across her chest, wearing high heels and a crow’s nest of black hair, Breeze stalked the stage challenging the audience:

If your nights are cold and lonely
If you’ve lost your one and only
Come see me…

If you are ugly and forgotten
If you are dirty and rotten
Come see me.

Lyrics (even good ones) can often seem asinine, naked and fragile; here though, Emily Breeze takes the role of poet. Taken simply by themselves these words are emboldening enough for all those they address, but it’s important to remember the fundamental difference between a poet’s and lyricist’s chosen ‘language’. A poet’s ‘language’ is poetics (by which we mean the theory(ies) of poetic structure etc…), and he/she uses this language to take the words and phrases used within a poem to places they wouldn’t normally go in everyday speech. Emily Breeze’s ‘language’ is music, which, combined with her twisted, rasping vocal, take the words and phrases in her songs to places they wouldn’t normally go. In this instance turning them into a kind of seething, clandestine communion – calling all ‘weirdos’ and ‘flakeouts’, your ride is here. And that displays the skill of a poet.

A wormhole to an old era, certainly. But a story already told, certainly not. Hell, you can’t move an inch in music these days without stepping on somebody’s toes. Besides, the true test of an artist isn’t what they bring to their audience, but where they take them. So if you’ve liked rock ‘n’ roll at any point over the last fifty years, have a weakness for women in eyeliner and high heels, or indeed if you have a pulse – step through this wormhole before it closes!

Emily Breeze’s debut album, The Penny Arcade, is to be releases in 2010.

www.myspace.com/emilybreeze

James Davey
Photo by Jon Rowley