02/02/2026 – Bethnal Green
Tucked away down an alley in Bethnal Green sits the The Sebright Arms. Marked only by a small sign, you wouldn’t know it was there if you weren’t looking for it. Shuffling past the bouncer and making a beeline straight for the bar, I was hit with a blast of whatever generic rock music they were playing at the time. Soundtracked by the smacking of pool balls against one another, I set up shop in the corner, waiting for the doors to open. Peeling my feet from whatever residue coated the mahogany under my shoes, I followed the flurry of people hurtling towards the stage.
Attempting to make it down the narrow stairs without completely stacking it, I was immediately greeted by a set up that made every perception of live music I had seen before inferior. Drums, guitars, bass, banjo and sax, the six-piece sauntered onto the stage with a affectless sauve. Squinting under the harsh strobe light, I took my time, digesting the scene before me. As more and more people trickled in, I couldn’t help but look around. Everyone in that place was devastatingly cool – not just the band, but the audience too. They offered a kind of visual asymmetry that somehow matched perfectly with the music. A sea of septum rings and brightly coloured hair, I couldn’t help but feel that my all-black ensemble stuck out like a sore thumb.
Turning my attention back to the stage, a low buzz filtered through the amps, signalling the start of what would be a perfect evening. Kicking off the set with ‘The Speaker‘, the band lulled into a state of comfortability, commanding the stage with a flair of nonchalance that put the crowd in their place. They knew they were hot shit, and they didn’t need the audience’s approval to solidify that.
The sound that hummed through the venue’s worn out speakers was thick and unkempt, sitting like a ball in my throat. As the clash of both electric and acoustic guitars fought for dominance, folky tones emitting from the banjo bit through the pressure with an almost vicious demeanour, holding the rhythm section in a tight grip . The saxophone wailed somewhere between the melody and the vocals, weaving itself through the gaps like it refused to fade into the background.
The backbone of Auntie lies with the bass and drums. Two instruments notorious for their harmony, yet somehow they operated in a complete state of tension. The bass rolled low, slithering beneath the surface before rearing its head at the song’s crescendo whilst the drums snapped around it with a relentless trill. Together they created a pulsing buzz, dictating the intensity of every rise and release.
Reaching through the halfway point of their set, the crowd became increasingly charged, riled up from the energy that had slowly been building so far. The vocalist acted like a puppeteer, pulling all the strings at the right moment. He knew just what would make the room lose their minds, announcing into the microphone that this next song would have every head moving.
All my assumptions were completely cast aside as the dreamy vocals from the intro to their next song ‘North‘ were pelted by sludgy guitar riffs, transforming into a punky onslaught that suffocated all previous notions of softness. Yet again, the guitars and banjo fought amongst one another, with the once country instrument transforming into a weapon of distortion before my very eyes. Its twang sharpened into an unremitting edge, slicing through the mix like a knife through butter.
Standing now with an empty glass and a head full of noise, the band played their final song and the set drew to a close. Left with a feeling of being permanently recalibrated, the air still sat thick with the residue of pure adrenaline. The last note lingered in the room as the crowd reluctantly filed out of the venue and into the cold of the February evening.
FIND AUNTIE : INSTAGRAM
LDN 