The Last Dinner Party
Words and Photographs by Willow Shields
Brighton was a mess of sea air, slashes of rain cutting across the light from street lamps. A storm rushing from the sea, bashing up against the concrete seafront, and taking me with it. A flurry of hair clouding my vision and my skirts flying skyward, it was then the bright-white lights of the Brighton Center came into view, illuminating the soaked pavement in front of it. What lay ahead was nothing short of a transportation to another place and time, courtesy of The Last Dinner Party.
Milling through the crowds of ethereally-clad gig-goers, the contrast to the setting was…stark. Flanked by light blue walls, office squared ceilings and 80’s brutalist pillars, the venue swilled with something un-matched in its belly. Exploring further into the belly of the beast, what was found were sprawling, liminal hallways - empty and buzzing with uncertainty.
When I found my way to my seat, the building opened like a great cavern, made of concrete and metal, filled with people from the dots on the floor to the faces in the stands. As I crawled over the couple - unfortunately - sat next to me, Imogen and The Knife were already halfway through their second song. Front-woman and namesake commanded the stage like she was born to do so. Backing her was a drummer, a bassist and a brass section (trumpet & saxophone). She filled the entire arena, and I had goosebumps the entire time. Imogen and The Knife have a jazzy undertone, with a uniquely present sound and they are absolutely full of heart.
The hour of The Last Dinner Party had finally come, and I had left my seat to explore into the photo pit. The stage dressing that looked beautiful and encapsulating from afar was now as big as the bow of a steam ship and it was on top of me and daunting. The rest of the stage plotted like a play, set in Ancient Greece or Rome, perhaps between both. On the right stood a bell tower, on the left an archway, more false sandstone-esq buildings filling the space behind where the six-piece would soon be. I thought to myself that they have finally been able to execute their vision, The Last Dinner Party have always been theatrical, it’s always been a play. A greek tragedy in every way. The stage finally matches the subjects.
As The Last Dinner Party graced the stage to shrieks of applause, it was ever present in my mind the ancient-ness of this act. They are the travelling band that people filled streets for, they are the original cast of Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet and The Globe is at capacity. They should be painted on vases that are dug up thousands of years later. Yet they are playing the most bleak venue in Brighton and there are about 15 people in their photo pit, is that the same thing?
Opening with their theme for the tour; Agnus Dei, then slipping into Count The Ways then The Feminine Urge, all on stage floated around like nymphs. Dressed in designer lace and flanked with ribbons, tied anywhere they’ll fit. Front-woman Abigail Morris skipped, leaped and glided from each end of the stage every minute, seemingly finally having found a stage big enough for her twirling spirit.
There is a point I’m trying make, perhaps it’s that there aren’t enough or any venues built for the whimsy of a band like The Last Dinner Party. Maybe it’s that despite being set in a corporate hellscape arena, The Last Dinner Party somehow managed to transport anyone looking to somewhere warm and beautiful, with stage dressing and their practiced talent. It might be that this writer is elated that this band have finally found a stage big enough for them and they are fulfilling their dreams with precision and beautiful elegance. I think thats the one.