It’s a cold Friday night in Norwich, the type that only the haunted autumn insists – and I’m standing in the toilets of Space Studios, holding a dressing gown.

I’m here to see the spectre of the underground student music scene: The Aide. A four-piece band cut from the stained cloth of punk; they’ve been playing the Norwich circuit for around a year now.

I’d been pulled to them ever since I witnessed their live debut in the SU Bar. They seemed to have already graduated with a first in Punk Rock Performance.

“We’d been rehearsing for months before that gig”, James, the drummer, told me. “You want to make sure that when you play for the first time, you make an instant impression.”

That’s exactly what they did, splintering the stage with a sound already fit for the wired circuit of the Norwich underground. Tonight, they were to take to the stage of Space Studios for the second time that month – charred and burning with momentum. 

The gown belonged to Anthony, the bassist, who was changing into a full set of pyjamas in preparation for The Aide’s gig, which was due to begin in five minutes.

The band had committed to a one-off bit — they were playing a hardcore punk night in clothes fit for bed. 

So, in a shot of ironic extravagance, Anthony exited the cubicle in an armour of nightwear and an outstretched hand like a claw towards his dressing gown. He spoke and his voice smelt of sugar and iced coffee. He led me downstairs to the foot of the stage. The room held a community of gig-goers and students, all united in anticipation of anarchy. 

Earlier that week, I’d sat in for one of The Aide’s rehearsals. I watched in silence as James sat at an altar of hi-hats, induced in a drug like rhythm and eyeing the band with a mechanical readiness. Arthur held a guitar adorned with vibrant stickers and a pro-Palestine graphic; the decor looked like the sketchbook of a revolutionary child. Anthony, who’s usually stitched with a radiant smile, stood deadpan and stone- lipped. His cold face was contradicted by his fingers, which moved in uncompromising snake-twists up and down his bass.

“I’m not interested in using bass as filler,” Anthony told me. “I love ska rhythms, and I always treat my bass like a second lead.” Joe, guitarist and vocalist, barked with visceral might beside Anthony’s grooves.

Before this, knelt over his pedals, Joe joked that The Aide played “post-spunk clarity”, a fun poke at the exhaustion of post-genre discourse in the modern era. 

My generation seem to be so overtly aware of the history of countercultures and genres that it’s impossible to truly create anything without it being a form reinvention.

I think The Aide know this, and so they embrace it – one of their songs pastiches, “Holy, Holy” by Geordie Greep, they entangle their sardonic influence with a primal release of chaos and do so without apology.

The Aide reinvent the conventions of punk in a wired cultural montage, like a creative page of a scrapbook collage. 

Glimpses of Sonic Youth, the poets of counterculture, ska-styled bass, drums that kick like a fleshy machine, all spiral across The Aide’s sound.

That night in Space Studios, I saw them bludgeon the crowd out of reservation, the room in a release of twisted will. The Aide injected their turmoil to the heart of the crowd, unapologetic and primal, and Joe singing agonising, powerful poetry,“ When I talk to Dad, I forget I’m a man, and I dribble when I speak.” 

The Aide are quickly becoming a pillar of the student-led Music community in Norwich.

Between the haunted lanes and cathedral grounds, they manage to reanimate the ghost of punk rock with an abstract passion that transcends cynicism, injecting the Norwich music community with an abrasive and youthful core. 

Image Credit: Ben Heiss