Not Another Cover Band

“We are the only original band in St Andrews.” These words were spoken into the microphone on the 6-inch stage of Sandy’s Bar by Felix Saint-Bris, one of the two singers of the three-man band, The Herons. What ensued was a setlist of songs about wearing designer clothes on a Hinge date and eating porridge in the morning. What could’ve been a coy and slightly embarrassed performance was the opposite. They gave us a show in every sense of the word. Felix repurposed his microphone stand as a fireman’s pole and, clinging to it, fell onto the drum kit, which Ilya Husan continued to play as Ben Bagley followed on guitar and voice. Hypnotic Beckettian intervals of silence punctuated the songs, which themselves held an absurdist quality. And, in between dancing some estranged version of the twist, I looked at it all and felt an odd sense of pride. The songs were originals; they belonged to The Herons, but they also belonged to us.

I sat down with Felix and Ilya to discuss cover band culture in St Andrews. Ilya also drums for The Macaronis, a band built around curated covers with the occasional original. Asking him which band he preferred would’ve been like asking a politician a yes or no question. We started basic. I asked what made The Herons different, but it turns out things aren’t so simple. “Everyone starts off with covers,” Felix explained. Original music does not arrive fully formed, nor as a reaction to the St Andrews cover scene. It started off with half-and-half sets until it felt “good to stick to originals, and see progress, as musicians and as a band.” Over time, those originals wove their way into the band’s identity: “If The Herons were to play covers, we wouldn’t be The Herons.” 

Cover bands dominate the St Andrews music scene, but for good reason. As Ilya mentioned, “they are easy and reliable,” and even more importantly, “they are safe,” not just for the musicians, but for the venues that hire them. Friendly to pubs and events, cover bands give audiences something they already know, whereas playing originals removes that immediate point of comfort. Not all cover bands play it safe, however. Thrush has been one of the few bands to show originality and artistic liberty with their covers. Originality that often goes unappreciated by pub owners. As Ilya went on to question, “If the event organisers are booking a live band, are they gonna book a band whose songs nobody knows? Or someone that can get a whole crowd going?” Like a faint echo of 1950s lounge singers, copy-and-paste cover bands are easy listening. Audiences don’t need to work very hard. They already know the songs, the lyrics, and can afford to half-listen. Where covers fade into the background of a Friday night, originality refuses to. It demands your attention. “If you're making the effort to come see a band, that band better put on a show for you,” or, as Felix poetically put it, “get freaky with it.” That explains why last semester’s show in Sandy’s Bar felt like a critically acclaimed play at the Byre. Simply playing the music isn’t enough. Original bands must give audiences a reason to stay, because unlike cover bands, they cannot lean on familiarity to carry them through the set.

The pull of a good cover, however, goes far beyond St Andrews. After all, the best of Ella Fitzgerald often overlaps with the best of Sarah Vaughan, both covering Cole Porter’s jazz standards. With some stretching of the imagination, orchestras could be considered the original cover bands. The Beatles, The Who and The Rolling Stones all started off as human jukeboxes. That being said, I don’t know how many more well-worn covers I can take from St Andrews. “In my first year, there were four or five bands. Tops.” Felix said, “Now, thanks to Signpost, there are a lot more, which is great.” But perhaps, just as Signpost helped grow the scene, it could encourage bands to take their next steps. Because, as Ilya said, “I feel like people are yet to see the true potential of some musicians and bands in St Andrews,” and maybe, when they do, St Andrews might hum with the sound of new music, rather than simply chiming the old.

Photo by Loulou Sloss