Big Dreams Brudenell – Ellur Live Review

If anyone was born to play Brudenell Social Club’s main stage, it’s indie-rock’s saving grace, Ellur. 24-year-old Ella McNamara, born and raised in Halifax, sold out the beloved venue on Friday 10th October. A nostalgic overture plays as her band takes the stage: keys, drums, bass and guitar. A tidal wave of whoops and cheers ripples from the crowd as the rockstar herself steps into the blue light bathing the room.

Ellur dons her black electric guitar, pin badges on the rainbow strap, before the instrumental swells to a stop and she counts “One, two, three, four!” The show begins with the first of her recent summer singles, ‘Missing Kid’, setting the impressive tone for the rest of the show. The pride in the crowd is palpable. Fans who know how big a deal playing this venue is for her might recognise her mum in the audience, her dad setting up the stage and swapping out guitars. 

After the first track, Ellur catches her breath and vocalises her shock at the size of the audience. No one here is shocked though, talent is talent. A few fans start a ‘Yorkshire, Yorkshire, Yorkshire’ chant, rallying more to join in, before Ellur launches into the girlhood lament, ‘Boys’. Hands go up in the chorus and the lyric “Where do we go when we’ve had enough?” rings out loud as the song’s message resonates. Golden lighting beams on for the next song, ‘Yellow Light’, the upbeat teenage anthem about accepting the flaws we notice in ourselves. ‘Your Dog’ follows shortly after, “for everyone with an ex who’s a bit of a [redacted].” Both are from her debut EP, God Help Me Now, released January this year. 

In between songs, Ellur’s charismatic crowd work shines. Before launching into recent single, ‘The Wheel’, she requests that everyone join in on the chorus, but describes the tune instead of simply singing it. She explains the sequence of notes that we’d sing, vaguely alluding to a key change. This prompt elicits unsure, sideways glances between members of the crowd. As I begin to wonder if she’s lost us, Ellur does a coy little hair flip. “Yeah it’s called songwriting, it’s kind of what I do.” There’s relief in the laughter that washes over the crowd and the track strums out and rocks the venue. A pair of older songs, ‘Free’ and ‘Anywhere’, sees Ellur shed her guitar and take just the mic on a prance around the stage. It’s then that it might hit you, just how bad of a performer everyone else you’ve ever seen in concert is. Not Ellur. Her energy reaches you, no matter where you’ve plonked yourself for the gig. Her every movement exudes an inspiring self-assurance and freedom. You can only wish you were just like her. 

The following song, she teases, is from an unreleased project in the works “that may or may not rhyme with “Balbum”. ‘The World Is Not An Oyster’, accompanied by the steady beat of the band and her acoustic guitar, makes a dreamy first impression. The disco ball glitters around the crowd and Coldplay influences shine through in the powerfully vulnerable lyricism. Handing her guitar off to her dad/roadie again, Ellur jumps and dances aptly to the next song, ‘Alive’, the second single she ever released. The adrenaline ridden, indie sing-along is cheered for a good while once it’s over.

The chords of her latest single, ‘Disintegrate’, play out subtly for some time after that. Over them, Ellur implores the crowd to “be completely in the room with [her], and really let go of all the weird embarrassment, and just join in and dance”. She has everyone raise their arms, breathe in, and then shake it all out on the exhale. It’s almost omniscient, the way she sees through everyone’s gig-etiquette and self-consciousness. It’s because she’s been there too. “I always leave a gig and think, ‘God, I wish I’d have just let go a little bit more’,” she says, easing the crowd into perhaps truly being that little bit more free. The song kicks off and builds deliciously, and in the swell of the instrumental, Ellur jumps down into the crowd and starts a mini mosh. In the crowd she finds her mum, who plants a big kiss on her chin. Like I said, the pride in the room is palpable.

The end of the set is nearing; here’s where the tears begin for me. Ellur slings her black guitar over her shoulder again for the second unreleased track, ‘Lonelier In Heaven’. Without sounding like a massive sap, it’s one of my favourite love songs that I’ve ever heard. I’m sobbing in Brudenell. The final song doesn’t dry my eyes either. ‘God Help Me Now’, the most streamed song in her discography, pounds out and catches the audience in its hands, everyone’s singing along. I am trying to join in, though I’m still sniffling; the song reaches all four corners of coming-of-age and wraps them in a blanket so the sharp edges don’t hurt. It was incredible to finally hear live.

As for the encore, only the band exit the stage, leaving Ellur to close the set. Now it’s just her and her acoustic guitar. ‘Mourning Song’ is a fantastic exhibition of her vocals. Like a siren, her voice casts silence over the crowd and transfixes all eyes and ears. Stage smoke wisps about like it’s listening too. The finale, yet another unreleased track called ‘Knowing’, is an ode to those who are there for you in hard times, telling you it’ll be alright, those who really see you. Throughout the song, she seems to get emotional herself, so, reader, you can guess what was happening to me. 

Those are the best kind of gigs though, I think. Ellur stepped onto the stage that night wishing to foster connection and, oh boy, did she do that. Self-connection, connection with each other, connection to the music. I found Ellur this time last year, but her music tricks me into thinking I grew up with her voice spinning on my CD player. There’s something incredibly rare going on with her, and I’ll be damned if I look away anytime soon.

Words by Erin Gascoigne-Jones