It's a rare and strangely thrilling thing, to hand over 20 hard-earned pounds, and walk into a gig venue, knowing everything and nothing about what you might be about to see. As the frontman of The Maccabees,
Orlando Weeks has made a name for himself as a careful, softly-spoken crafter of heart-tugging melodies, but following the bands amicable end in 2017, his moves have been much harder to define – a gentle soundtrack for his illustrated novel The Gritterman, some mixed-media collage artwork for pals IDLES and fashion designer Daniel W Fletcher, the odd Instagram update. When he announced solo shows in July, seemingly out of the blue, fans were left with no new material to go off – just the blind faith that what they were about to hear would be something special.
"I was amazed that many people came, for sure. In a way, it was a bit of a weight off - if nobody knows what they're getting themselves in for, then I felt like I couldn't predict people's expectations." He says. "I was more nervous about the songs; there was a chance that if I didn't feel like I was doing them justice or they didn't hold up to the scrutiny of a live performance, then I'd be so disappointed and feel like it hadn't been a good decision. But across the board, I don't think I came away feeling like any of the songs weren't record-worthy."
For those lucky enough to be in attendance, record-worthy seems something of an understatement. The absence of guitars is palpable – think instead of vibey trombones and delicate piano, big emotional breakdowns and of course, Weeks' sensitive, haunting voice, proffering a reassuring hand of familiarity to guide you through this brave new world. Each night, he politely requested that the audience refrain from posting snippets on the internet, and was surprised to find that they took him at his word, respecting the work-in-progress nature of his performance.
"It was definitely asking and not telling – I've never been very good at telling people to do anything," he says. "Things like 'sing along to this one', I've never felt like that's my place. But at the same time, the quiet for the songs was something that I felt super grateful for. I think I just figured that if you've put your hat in the ring for something where you don't know what you're getting, then maybe you'll have an empathy for other people who'll want to wait to hear it for themselves in the way that I'm trying to present it. But even talking about it now, I'm still quite surprised. That sounds bad, and it's no reflection on the people that came, but it's just that it's the knee-jerk reaction of people nowadays to document and display your attendance. As a cusp millennial, I really appreciate people being so respectful."
