White balloons litter the dancefloor; some popped, some not. Tulle and ribbons are everywhere as fittingly sugar-fed children stampede around The Gasometer Hotel’s bandroom, dancing in a way that only under-ten kids can.
Their young parents stand midway towards the back watching on; relaxed, but not too relaxed. They still anticipate a slip, a fall, or any minor byproduct from the rabidly dancing kid. It’s Mother’s Day evening and the crowd is a little different from usual. The odd soul in their mid-20s watches on from among the flurry of mums, dads and young’uns enjoying parmas and red wine or, alternatively, chips with lemonade.
All Day Fritz is on at 5pm: a Russian folk-inspired, double bass-yielding quintet whose mantras of “ya-ya-ya-ya” and “honk-honk-honk” are a clear hit with the kids. The rhythm pulsates and an inevitable sense of ‘gypsy’ is conjured as some members of the audience waltz rigidly around the floor. All Day Fritz are the main attraction for many of the children and, in the aftermath, some are partied out as expected.
DJ Emma Peel churns some tangy soul from the back of the room. For the headliners, Sugar Fed Leopards, the theme for the evening is white and gold. They take the stage clad in sequins and svelte white suits, the two Beehive-d backing vocalists wearing gowns reminiscent of gospel church attire and earrings that are almost as large as their voices. Flitting between soul, funk and tropicana, Sugar Fed Leopards take the audience on a smooth ride through the plumes of saccharine ‘60s niche. The three singers go high and low and here and there, meshing doo-wop vocals with harmonies fit for aforementioned gospel church. They coordinate dance moves, which are punctuated with timely “oohs!” and “aahs!”, and these razor-sharp surf boogies captivate a harem of kids who are happy to just sit and watch at this point. A little girl in costume looks down meekly as the band dedicate a song to her for being the best dressed leopard. A mostly a cappella cover of Sharon Jones & The Dap-Kings’ Mama Don’t Like My Man briefly mesmerises the silent audience before sugary-sweet tracks such as Lemonade.
The band play their final songs, and for once The Gasometer Hotel empties around 7pm. Children exit the pub slung over their parents’ shoulders, hazy if not asleep. Who can blame them? It’s been a pretty damn stimulating night.
