A kind of magic

WITCH / HUTCH / DACTYL TERRA, 30TH JULY 2024, CARDIFF CLWB IFOR BACH

Back in the 1970s, rock dinosaurs roamed the earth; half a century on, South Wales' Dactyl Terra offer an aerial overview of that past. Their bop 'n' stomp boasts a heady groove but also a lightness of touch, suggestive of what might have transpired had the fun-lovin' Super Furries taken greater inspiration from the more serious psych stylings of their transatlantic pals Dead Meadow. New album Fee Fi Fo Fum is out on Dactyl Terra's own label, the wonderfully named Wasabi Overload, and the foursome generate a welcome level of heat without making us feel the burn.

Maybe it's just the fact that summer is belatedly upon us, but self-proclaimed "twang-pop post-yacht rock soft psychers" Hutch seem perfectly attuned to the season. The Brighton-based longhairs' first track in particular - a serenely melodic daydream of a daydream that recalls DIIV, It Hugs Back and Cardiff natives Sock - is redolent of hot, hazy summer afternoons blissfully zoning out at outdoor festivals, marvelling at individual blades of grass. They subsequently pick up the pace a little, but it's always a canter, never a sprint.

Such music often speaks of dejection, regret and narcotised apathy, but Hutch exude the happy-go-lucky joie de vivre suggested by the title of their EP Smile And Wave, whether giving the intro to The Who's 'Pinball Wizard' a fresh lick of paint on 'Rainbow' or paying homage to a legendary local shop on 'Radiator Centre'. Sure, there are levels of whimsy that would ordinarily stick in my throat, but it's counterbalanced by charm, musicianship and, in the final song (about snails), a genuinely goosebump-inducing climax. Fortunately for beaming frontman Jack Pritchard (think The Darkness' Justin Hawkins after three days stuck in a trouser press), who can't stop telling us how delighted they are to be here, it's fair to say they're welcome back anytime.

Few comebacks are quite as remarkable as that of tonight's headliners. WITCH formed in the newly independent Zambia in 1972 and soon earned the nickname the "Zambian Beatles", establishing themselves on record and through six-hour-long gigs as the ambassadors for "Zamrock" - less a style of music than a rich stew of Afrobeat heavily flavoured with Western influences (particularly funk and hard rock). But, as the 1970s wore on, political authoritarianism tightened its grip, and, tragically, the AIDS epidemic ravaged the band as it did the nation, reportedly taking the lives of all but one original member, vocalist Emanuel "Jagari" Chanda. After a pivot to disco, the collective disbanded in the late 1980s.

Fast forward to 2012, and - after years working as a music lecturer and gemstone miner - Chanda was inspired by rabid cratedigger enthusiasm and reissues to bring WITCH back to life, with the help of the band's now UK-based disco-era keyboardist Patrick Mwondela, lured away from a career in data protection. Since then, everything has snowballed: a 2019 documentary directed by Gio Arlotta (now the band's manager), festival appearances (including at Green Man in 2022) - and finally, in 2023, Zango, their first studio album for nearly four decades.

Is it any wonder, then, that tonight's set has a joyous, celebratory feel from the off? Chanda and Mwondela are front and centre of course, the former in particular energised by the crowd's appreciation (as well as the occasional piece of fruit), but their resurrection of WITCH clearly also hinges on the assistance of a strong and cosmopolitan supporting cast. They're a rag-tag bunch, including a poodle-haired Bulgaria-via-Switzerland guitar whizz, a metalhead bassist in a Rage Against The Machine T-shirt and a percussionist wearing white dungarees and a bucket had, but collectively they convey the vibrancy for which WITCH are famed.

Hard rock riffs rub up against loose-limbed jive on 'By The Time You Realise', a warning to wise up and mend your ways or face losing your partner; the slinky rhythmic groove of the bilingual 'Waile' underlines how Mwondela won his role in the band; and 'Introduction' from the debut LP of the same name sounds exactly like what inspired it - vintage US garage rock heard through a cheap radio. Chanda explains the stigma attached to being a musician in Zambia, especially in the disapproving eyes of paramours' parents, and tells us that if we don't buy Zango "I'm going to swim back home - and your waters aren't safe".

WITCH orginally stood for "We Intend To Cause Havoc" - as Stewart Lee once said of the IRA, they were "gentlemen terrorists" who thought it was only fair to give advance warning. But, according to Mwondela, it now means "We Intend To Cause Harmony, Healing And Bring Hope" - a laudable mission in troubled times. They can still kick up chaos, though, concluding with a riotous cover of Rufus Thomas' 'Do The Funky Chicken' and a stage invasion that (if my eyes don't deceive me) features Sam from Hang Fire/Sam And Shauna's Big Cook-Out on backing vocals.

As Mwondela told Buzz's own Billy Edwards in the run-up to the show, "a lot of people come to shows to experience the energy and warmth". On that measure, no one leaves remotely disappointed.

(An edited version of this review appeared on the Buzz website.)