It’s been a hot minute since I last stepped into The Louisiana. Returning to one of Bristol’s most important venues is always a pleasure. At first glance, the Georgian building looks like a quirky yet unremarkable city-centre spot. It’s dressed up with a touch of New Orleans flair. Downstairs, there’s a cosy, run-of-the-mill pub. Upstairs, a 140-capacity live room awaits. Those in the know appreciate the staggering calibre of artists who’ve graced that cramped little stage over the past four decades. Iconic performers have included The Strokes, Coldplay, The White Stripes, and Amy Winehouse. They all played here while locals sipped cider just a few feet away. Put simply, The Louisiana is synonymous with catching acts on the rise, while still championing Bristol’s homegrown scene.
Friday’s show felt like a step back into the ’90s—thematically, if not literally—with a bill of shoegaze-worshipping, alt-rock-leaning outfits armed with enough pedals to choke a horse. First up were The Hunger, a scrappy four-piece wielding Gibson guitars and plenty of three-chord charm. They seemed just as happy to go apeshit for a crowd of eight as they would for 80 or 8,000. Their crunchy riffs and topless dancing mate warmed up the room fast. Special mention goes to drummer Myla, who kept the chaos in check and proved to be the group’s MVP.
Baby Universe followed, bowing at the altar of My Bloody Valentine—perhaps a little too faithfully. They nailed the walls of sound and Kevin Shields’ glide-guitar trickery, but their vocalist was nearly inaudible beneath the haze. The slower cuts gave the instruments and lyrics a little more space to breathe, but I found myself admiring their gear more than getting swept away by their songs.
Luckily, the dynamics of the headline act, Dutch Mustard, proved far more effective. Still heavily indebted to the loud-quiet racket of the ’90s, frontwoman Sarah-Jayne Riedel’s songwriting showed a welcome elasticity. Songs shifted fluidly from straight-up grunge to more electronic-flavoured excursions, giving the set a sense of unpredictability that kept ears pricked. Tracks such as “Beauty” even nodded to the psychedelic leanings of Gish-era Smashing Pumpkins, with thick walls of sound bending into kaleidoscopic swirls.
Crucially, the group understood balance. The lead guitar lines cut cleanly through Riedel’s dreamy chords. Meanwhile, drummer Toby Richard added a loose Ringo Starr swing, preventing the heavier moments from collapsing under their own weight. The result was a mix of classic-rock leads, textured rhythms, and an understated groove that kept the set bouncing along rather than simply bludgeoning.
In today’s climate of shoegaze revival, too many acts seem content to drown themselves in endless reverb. Some even end up sounding like a jet engine taking off. Dutch Mustard, however, remembered the most important ingredient: hooks. Catchy earworms threaded through the noise, giving the audience something tangible to hum on the way out and ensuring the set felt distinctive rather than derivative.
“Bristol crowds get loose!” Riedel beamed. By the time Dutch Mustard closed with the hypnotic “Feel Everything,” the room was moving along in unison. The frontwoman looked overjoyed, clearly feeding off the energy as the final notes rang out. Self-funding their first headline tour, the band pulled a respectable audience, won over curious newcomers, and ticked off a performance at one of England’s trendsetting grassroots venues. With a debut LP on the horizon, here’s hoping they return soon—next time with an even bigger crowd ready to lose themselves in the noise.
