Turnstile give Ally Pally some T.L.C.

I’m not sure what I thought when I first heard the term “Turnstile summer” (as declared by the previously coined-phrase torchbearer herself, Charli XCX, at her Coachella performance), but I think it probably took a while for my eyes to return from the back of my head. Still, here I was, walking, mostly alive and pleased, into Alexandra Palace, after having microdosed on a few near-death experiences on the M1. You know, the kind that make you wonder if perhaps the universe is trying to warn you about something.

I’ve considered myself too old, too fragile and too short for mosh pits since my teens, so I’d picked a perceived safe spot along the side of the stage, close enough to maybe see something, yet far enough to avoid being swallowed into the madness (the universe laughs). From the fictitious comfort of my carefully considered position, long before the band came on, I could already feel a surge; a communal roar that made me reconsider every snobbish eye-roll I’ve ever aimed at a band for getting too big. After joining the pre-show collective boogie to Bowie’s ‘Let’s Dance’, the lights dimmed and Turnstile drifted in with the ethereal gleam of ‘NEVER ENOUGH.’ The crowd burst in a kind of charged calm where you just know they are teetering on the edge of something. At this point, a sold out Ally Pally was already singing along, and I started to get a flavour of what was to come.

In the right place
At the right time
And still you sink into the floor

I’d been joking about needing some ‘T.L.C.’ (Turnstile Love Connection) since joining the queue that night, but as the band slid seamlessly into this song, I actually got it, just not in the form I’d expected. Within seconds, I got swept up in the mosh pit’s tender loving care, and every car rehearsed rule of self-preservation evaporated. Doused in beer and stranger sweat, the concept of safety became myth rather than measure, and whether it was the music, the atmosphere, or whiffs of questionable deodorant, I started feeling more euphoric than I have ever felt at a gig.

Turnstile went on to unleash both their barrage of newer hits and deeper cuts with relentless precision. When they tore into three consecutive songs from their 2013 EP Step 2 Rhythm, it felt like a love letter to the past, and a reminder that no matter how big the stage gets, they still sound like the best night at a pub that probably shouldn’t be hosting gigs. Amidst the chaos, there are pockets of quiet, a radical softness that sneaks through. The breakdowns hit hard, yet there’s always a light beaming, a bliss that feels almost subversive. We hear a lot about sitting with your negative feelings, but what if we started to flip the script? When the disco ball descends for ‘SEEIN STARS’, it really felt like an invitation to take a second and give into the joy, the warmth, the human connection. And then, just like that, you’re back into the thick of it with ‘HOLIDAY’, heart racing, arms flailing, shoes flying, part of the unstoppable beating core of it all.

Beauty is built not from the outside
And I imagine it
So i can never feel the cold

Brendan Yates isn’t a frontman of many words. Softly-spoken, he encouraged the audience to put their hands together and often said how much he needed us. And that’s enough, because it’s his singing that commands the room. Not a single person was still, even at the back where I eventually floated, shoved along by the sea of bodies. Brendan is a living spark, and yet his voice is flawless. The rest of the band are equally exquisite. When Daniel Fang hits that cymbal, you know something wild is about to go down. Meg Mills and Pat McCrory’s guitars tear through the room bright, raw, and unhinged, riffs catching fire midair filling the room with an uncontainable energy. Then Franz Lyons’s funky basslines slip in, like a wink from across the room, softening the edges. It’s this amalgamation of genres, sounds, and feelings that make Turnstile almost universally irresistible.

On a night where we could have been pretty much anything, Turnstile gave ten thousand people the opportunity to be themselves. As I sit writing this with ringing ears and a bruised arm memento, I’m still buzzing from their unbridled energy, like the entire underground scene somehow stretched across Ally Pally. I am sure now this hasn’t been a Turnstile summer. It’s been a Turnstile year.