23. I am Kloot - The Same Deep Water as Me
If this entire blog isn't self-indulgent enough, then this post certainly will be. That's because it is likely to end up as nothing more entertaining or interesting than a homage to a band that few readers (let's face it, that 'few' still might be ALL readers) have heard about.
My possibly unreliable memory suggests to me that during one of my years-long phases of eating the same breakfast every day, one particular box of Cinnamon Grahams unexpectedly housed a free CD of songs by lesser known alternative rock bands. On reflection, it might have been a music magazine, but the cereal box story has a more curious coating to it (see what I did there?) Anyway, on this CD was a track called The Same Deep Water as Me by a band with the enigmatic and inexplicable name of I am Kloot. And ultimately, this became what might just be my favourite song of all time.
With the aid of the internet - for our story has now taken us to 2005/6 - I found out that I am Kloot had released 3 albums by then and so I ordered 2 of them online. One was their second, eponymous album, which contains this song; and the other was their most recent at the time, Gods and Monsters, which came with a bonus in-concert DVD. Watching this live gig footage, a lot of things struck me about Kloot that endeared me to them as people as much as it did to them as a hugely talented band. As a 3-piece, they were able to provide a full sound, thanks mainly to the sophisticated, almost jazz-influenced drumming of Andy Hargreaves (not unlike The Doors' John Densmore) and bass lines that sounded like they were substituting for the lack of a prominent lead guitar, courtesy of Pete Jobson. The lead singer, song-writer and guitarist (mainly rhythm but sprinkled with hooks and other bits that a lead guitarist might do) was John Bramwell. There is one magical moment during the live performance of Same Deep Water where a mate of theirs joins them on stage to perform a French horn solo, something which adds even more pathos and beauty to this wonderful song. Knowing the effect it has, just as he finishes the solo, he gives a coy smile, full of humility and gratitude for being invited to join the band; and they in turn return warm smiles as they hug him on his way off stage.
And that is I am Kloot almost all over. Purveyors of the most beautiful torch songs, sometimes with a harder edge, always with memorable hooks and melodies. But also, very ordinary, humble and unpretentious blokes. The audience are treated like their mates in a pub. No one who shouts out in between songs, in an effort to join in the general good spirits, is ignored or made to feel like the sort of nuisance that most hecklers often are. And after gigs in the smaller venues, he would come and do some signings and chat to audience members as if he'd bumped into you on the way back from the bar (which, in fact, he sometimes was.) John Bramwell is not only generous with everyone who wants to make that connection to him, but he is also self-deprecatingly witty and can reduce an audience to laughter with a mere pause between sentences. No more so, then when he resorts to his trademark introduction to many songs - 'This next song is about drinking and disaster.' And he'll put a foot on a beer crate as normal, so he can balance the guitar on his leg.
All this I discovered over the years as I religiously went to see them every time they played in London and on all but two occasions the venues were small and intimate and conducive to that sort of connection the audience makes with the band. They remained unashamedly uncommercial and thus never attracted a large enough audience to play mid-sized venues, except during a brief flirtation with fame when in 2011 their album The Sky at Night was nominated for the Mercury Music prize. As much as all the die-hard Kloot fans wished them more success, we were also loathe to have them become too big to play the small venues. It wasn't that their fans desired their success, it's just that they believed that Kloot deserved it. Bramwell's song-writing elevates him to the very highest league, consistently so and with a powerful emotional impact. Talking to people at gigs, there was a shared incomprehension at how they managed not to be hugely successful. But the band were pretty sanguine about it and maintained their integrity as they continued to develop and improve with each album.
In between Kloot tours and since their (hopefully temporary) split in 2016, John Bramwell has toured solo. And in between Kloot songs (and more recently his own solo material) he would indulge in even more entertaining and funny anecdotes than when with the band. Having seen him a number of times, you get to expect to hear the same ones repeated, which is fine as his delivery has all the comic timing of Peter Kaye. Kloot are fellow Mancunians and Bramwell's humour is steeped in that similar northern vein - wry, observational, inoffensive and accessible to all - humour that would only make your mother choke on her Sunday teacake, because it was hilarious, not because it was crude.
My favourite 2 oft-told anecdotes run something like this:
It was The Beatles that got me into music. I learned guitar in order to play their songs. And I once had the chance to meet Paul McCartney. We had both written songs that were featured in a film, as the director was a mutual friend. And so, at the premier, I saw him on the other side of the room, putting his coat on, ready to go. And I had a girlfriend at the time called Eleanor, who urged me to go and say hello, as I'd never get another chance. I wasn't going to. You shouldn't meet your heroes. It was his music I was interested in, not him. Nevertheless, the director went over to Macca and said, 'Paul, I'd like you to meet my friend John, who's also done a song for the film.' And McCartney took his coat off - actually took it off - to come over and see me. And I didn't know what to say. So, I introduced him to my girlfriend and he said, 'Oh? I once wrote a song about someone called Eleanor.' And all I can do was frown in confusion because I had the most horrendous mental block. What song was that? For the life of me, I couldn't work it out.
And my other favourite gap-filler is when he tells the audience about playing at a music festival in a village. The acts play in each of the village pubs, but there are only two of them. Sardonically, he says to audience, 'Just imagine this - one festival, two pubs....three days!'
Maybe you needed to be there. Anyway, I was. Countless times. And to plum the depths of self-indulgence even further - because I think I am definitely only pleasing myself here - here are all the Kloot gigs I've been to and (probably, because it's harder to be sure, when I look it up) all the John Bramwell solo outings I've seen.
Kloot -
My possibly unreliable memory suggests to me that during one of my years-long phases of eating the same breakfast every day, one particular box of Cinnamon Grahams unexpectedly housed a free CD of songs by lesser known alternative rock bands. On reflection, it might have been a music magazine, but the cereal box story has a more curious coating to it (see what I did there?) Anyway, on this CD was a track called The Same Deep Water as Me by a band with the enigmatic and inexplicable name of I am Kloot. And ultimately, this became what might just be my favourite song of all time.
With the aid of the internet - for our story has now taken us to 2005/6 - I found out that I am Kloot had released 3 albums by then and so I ordered 2 of them online. One was their second, eponymous album, which contains this song; and the other was their most recent at the time, Gods and Monsters, which came with a bonus in-concert DVD. Watching this live gig footage, a lot of things struck me about Kloot that endeared me to them as people as much as it did to them as a hugely talented band. As a 3-piece, they were able to provide a full sound, thanks mainly to the sophisticated, almost jazz-influenced drumming of Andy Hargreaves (not unlike The Doors' John Densmore) and bass lines that sounded like they were substituting for the lack of a prominent lead guitar, courtesy of Pete Jobson. The lead singer, song-writer and guitarist (mainly rhythm but sprinkled with hooks and other bits that a lead guitarist might do) was John Bramwell. There is one magical moment during the live performance of Same Deep Water where a mate of theirs joins them on stage to perform a French horn solo, something which adds even more pathos and beauty to this wonderful song. Knowing the effect it has, just as he finishes the solo, he gives a coy smile, full of humility and gratitude for being invited to join the band; and they in turn return warm smiles as they hug him on his way off stage.
And that is I am Kloot almost all over. Purveyors of the most beautiful torch songs, sometimes with a harder edge, always with memorable hooks and melodies. But also, very ordinary, humble and unpretentious blokes. The audience are treated like their mates in a pub. No one who shouts out in between songs, in an effort to join in the general good spirits, is ignored or made to feel like the sort of nuisance that most hecklers often are. And after gigs in the smaller venues, he would come and do some signings and chat to audience members as if he'd bumped into you on the way back from the bar (which, in fact, he sometimes was.) John Bramwell is not only generous with everyone who wants to make that connection to him, but he is also self-deprecatingly witty and can reduce an audience to laughter with a mere pause between sentences. No more so, then when he resorts to his trademark introduction to many songs - 'This next song is about drinking and disaster.' And he'll put a foot on a beer crate as normal, so he can balance the guitar on his leg.
All this I discovered over the years as I religiously went to see them every time they played in London and on all but two occasions the venues were small and intimate and conducive to that sort of connection the audience makes with the band. They remained unashamedly uncommercial and thus never attracted a large enough audience to play mid-sized venues, except during a brief flirtation with fame when in 2011 their album The Sky at Night was nominated for the Mercury Music prize. As much as all the die-hard Kloot fans wished them more success, we were also loathe to have them become too big to play the small venues. It wasn't that their fans desired their success, it's just that they believed that Kloot deserved it. Bramwell's song-writing elevates him to the very highest league, consistently so and with a powerful emotional impact. Talking to people at gigs, there was a shared incomprehension at how they managed not to be hugely successful. But the band were pretty sanguine about it and maintained their integrity as they continued to develop and improve with each album.
In between Kloot tours and since their (hopefully temporary) split in 2016, John Bramwell has toured solo. And in between Kloot songs (and more recently his own solo material) he would indulge in even more entertaining and funny anecdotes than when with the band. Having seen him a number of times, you get to expect to hear the same ones repeated, which is fine as his delivery has all the comic timing of Peter Kaye. Kloot are fellow Mancunians and Bramwell's humour is steeped in that similar northern vein - wry, observational, inoffensive and accessible to all - humour that would only make your mother choke on her Sunday teacake, because it was hilarious, not because it was crude.
My favourite 2 oft-told anecdotes run something like this:
It was The Beatles that got me into music. I learned guitar in order to play their songs. And I once had the chance to meet Paul McCartney. We had both written songs that were featured in a film, as the director was a mutual friend. And so, at the premier, I saw him on the other side of the room, putting his coat on, ready to go. And I had a girlfriend at the time called Eleanor, who urged me to go and say hello, as I'd never get another chance. I wasn't going to. You shouldn't meet your heroes. It was his music I was interested in, not him. Nevertheless, the director went over to Macca and said, 'Paul, I'd like you to meet my friend John, who's also done a song for the film.' And McCartney took his coat off - actually took it off - to come over and see me. And I didn't know what to say. So, I introduced him to my girlfriend and he said, 'Oh? I once wrote a song about someone called Eleanor.' And all I can do was frown in confusion because I had the most horrendous mental block. What song was that? For the life of me, I couldn't work it out.
And my other favourite gap-filler is when he tells the audience about playing at a music festival in a village. The acts play in each of the village pubs, but there are only two of them. Sardonically, he says to audience, 'Just imagine this - one festival, two pubs....three days!'
Maybe you needed to be there. Anyway, I was. Countless times. And to plum the depths of self-indulgence even further - because I think I am definitely only pleasing myself here - here are all the Kloot gigs I've been to and (probably, because it's harder to be sure, when I look it up) all the John Bramwell solo outings I've seen.
Kloot -
- 09/11/06 - 93 Feet East, Brick Lane
- 22/07/07 - O2 Academy, Islington
- 24/04/08 - The Koko Club, Camden
- 26/09/09 - Relentless Garage, Highbury
- 15/06/10 - Bush Hall, Shepherd's Bush
- 29/09/10 - Union Chapel, Islington
- 28/01/11 - Shepherd's Bush Empire
- 20/11/12 - Islington Assembly Hall
- 07/05/15 - Electric Ballroom, Camden
- 13/06/16 - Royal Festival Hall
Bramwell -
- 14/02/14 - The Half Moon Pub, Putney
- 13/06/14 - Harpenden Halls, Herts
- 03/12/15 - The Half Moon Pub, Putney
- 26/11/16 - Union Chapel, Islington
28/11/17 - Union Chapel, Islington
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