Gig review: The Howl and The Hum at Leeds Irish Centre
Back on home turf a year after the exit of their remaining band members, it is a triumphant return for Sam Griffiths and his heart-on-sleeve brand of widescreen confessionals
“This is the biggest show that The Howl and the Hum have ever played,” Sam Griffiths blinks in almost disbelief.
With his striped shirt and thick-rimmed spectacles, there is something of Trevor Horn in the singer-songwriter’s shape, tinged with a giddy-manic nervousness.
“I don’t think I’ve ever spoken to so many people at once,” he continues with a grin. “I’m just picking my words very carefully.”
It is a fascinating route to this moment for the singer-songwriter.
Formerly a four-piece band who formed in York after he moved to the city, reshuffles in and around the pandemic have reshaped them into a solo project, with a string of farewell shows last December effectively securing their transition to a one-man identity.
Second album Same Mistake Twice duly arrived as his first full effort this September; here, it forms the cornerstone of an autumn tour anchored around a show that marks their largest headline date so far, a sell-out night at this 800-capacity social venue.
Fleshed out with an additional four-piece band and joined by support act Elanor Moss for a slew of songs on-stage, Griffiths is effusively gleeful in sharp contrast to the lyrical anxieties he sells throughout the evening.
Back on what is now home turf a year after the exit of their remaining band members, The Howl and The Hum deliver a triumphant return for their main man and his heart-on-sleeve brand of widescreen confessionals, led by terrific opener The Only Boy Racer Left on the Island, filled with skittering slow-burn flourishes and Springsteen sax bursts headed for a fantastic crescendo.
The new material is received with as much rapture by those in attendance as long-established fare - for every A Hotel Song, with its motoring click rhythms and twinkling notes, there’s a Dirt and its ability to conjure a lusty singalong.
Echo, veering close to emo ballad territory, is a gem of finger-picking simplicity, while Hostages - one of their most storied songs - still packs a quiet wallop.
By the end, Griffiths can’t contain the beaming smile that seems permanently etched across his face.”You’ve made a group of predominantly glasses-wearing musicians very happy,” he says, before a finale of Everything Is Not On Fire and Godmanchester Chinese Bridge.
It seems that the local heroes are restored once again.