Just as the extremities of freezing cold can feel like burning, so too when a musical act plummets the depths of death, drugs, doom and despair so thoroughly they uncover light, irony, absurdity and humour, albeit of the gallows variety. The Tiger Lillies delight in the underbellies of life, they dig a pathway to empathy for the downtrodden and tap into the shattered beauty of the broken. Playing songs from their new ‘Serenade From The Sewer’ album, alongside a smattering of older catalogue classics, the pictures they paint of London pavement dwellers are vividly brought to life. Singer Martyn wrote these latest songs whilst reflecting about the pre-yuppie city life he saw from his window after first moving to Soho in the 1980s. He says the drug dealers, prostitutes, addicts and gangsters recall “a happy time for me. But it was tragic for many of the people I knew and watched from my window.” And so it is that a song about suicide, complete with sonic imagery embellishments like a theremin volt of electrocution, ends tonight with audience laughter. At the songs close our narrator reflects on his age and the decision not to end it all by his own hand with the deadpan words, “I remembered I will die soon anyway.”

The Tiger Lillies have absolutely landed in the right space for the launch of their new LP, performing a long run of shows at East London’s oldest surviving Victorian music hall. With its exposed brickworks and timber galleries, this unique location is alive with ghosts of the past, its decadence evoking the spirit of the late 19^th century era when the music hall and cabaret was enjoying its imperial boomtime. And much like the Tiger Lillies themselves, the place is reheating the flavour of an era long consigned to the history books. In fact, Wilton’s, named in 1859 after John Wilton took ownership of the site and transformed it into an entertainment venue, had spent the second half of the twentieth century in disrepair, coming close to demolition. And yet the turn of this century saw a restoration leading to revival and with their tombstone cabaret lurching forward onstage from the shadows, the Tiger Lillies presence feels like a perfect marriage of performer and situation. They take to the stage with this Saturday night audience hungry for musical stimuli presented with a unique theatricality, they are met head on by a band who appear to have absorbed every last drop of learned performance experience from the departed souls who stepped these boards in decades past.

They are a three-piece consisting of central leader and composer Martyn Jacques, these days a judicial presence in the eye of the storm, performing mostly perched on a stall with accordion or hunched over his upright piano kneading mournful serenades. His writing has a canorous classicism to it, something which spectacularly enhances the cabaret element of his band. Then there is Adrian Stout on double bass, theremin and musical saw (for me one of the saddest sounding of all hand tools). He is simultaneously dapper and as menacing as an apparition emerging your wardrobe. His playing is both a low-end back bone for the ensemble and a veritable buffet of spookily, textural frills and adornments. Adrian’s presence is authoritative, which is in stark contrast to drummer Budi Butenop, who is the living embodiment of the joke about people who hang around with musicians. His stage presence is that of a man who needs to prove himself and is suffering for his art, to the extent that he can look panic stricken by and increase in tempo and fearful of a lull. In reality his playing is a masterclass in rhythmic performance art, to the extent that towards the end of a superb crash bang wallop of a drum solo, a silently observing Martyn and Adrian are almost purring with looks of approval.

Even though this trio’s style is macabre and surreal, they impossibly manage to mine disparate influences such as opera and the outsider art of cutting edge of punk. This is not to say they are aggressive, but the chilling white face paint they all adorn does give them an unsettling presence. It is a shield that makes The Tiger Lillies rather impenetrable, so they are free to express themselves within their dark ballads, waltzes and shanties of morbidity and doom. The intensity of Jacques is offset by the menacing falsetto of his singing voice, which is a tricky mannerism to maintain but he pulls in his classical training as a countertenor to execute a pitch that can slice a crowd in two with its conviction. These are songs that delight in the grotesque, they swim in a sea of morbid alienation and irrationality. The effect on an audience of desperate narratives rising up from the stench of the sewers, delivered by a senior man imitating the exaggerated voice of a Victorian child, can raise your hairs just as it sends shivers.

In tandem with the nightmarish horrors is a counterbalance of comedy too. Drummer Budi is something of a court jester, especially with the variety of clownish expressions he pulls. Tonight, a mobile phone goes off in an unfortunately quieter moment and he does not miss a beat in reacting with a look of sudden bemusement. Then when standing in front of his kit with a washboard around his neck, the body language is hilariously exaggerated naughty-step misery. Adrian too is an expert in the art of smiling insincerity and when both he and Budi join in forced falsetto backing vocals, repeating the refrain “stupid,” it is like we have entered the surrealist realms of a Hammer Horror musical on ice. Of course, amongst the older tunes played tonight the band play arguably their most notorious song ‘Heroin.’ With its “if you want to win, take heroin” centre piece lyric, it is a grand example of both irony and pathos being rolled into a gloriously infectious musical singalong. Later however, seated at the piano, Martyn Joseph lays bare all the human empathy and yearning for light at the heart of his writing with ‘Birds Are Singing In Ukraine.’ This 2023 hymn to the beauty of nature, overwhelmed by destruction from invaders, shows unwavering defiance amidst devastation. It does not deny the horrors but clings to hope, in so doing revealing the one facet of the Tiger Lillies music that is mostly submerged but is key to their vitality and clout; a sensitive character guides this band with heart and soul. Martyn does not need to end the song with a four letter send off to Putin, but he does so because he has a feel for theatre. He can sense that the Tiger Lillies have played this room like the modern-day vaudeville master’s they undoubtedly are, small wonder this crowd tonight demanded two standing ovation encores.

Words: Danny Neill Pictures: Sophie Reichert