The May Culture Review
Music, books, food, and more from across our towns
Once a month, we bring together reviews of Medway’s cultural highlights in a single round-up, produced exclusively for our paid supporters. This month, our team of intrepid cultural reviewers present music, books, and food from across our towns...
Inside Out: Selected Lyrics of the Singing Loins book launch
Rochester Library, 3 May
Four years on from the passing of Chris Broderick, prolific wordsmith and charismatic frontman of the Singing Loins amongst many other achievements, we are gathered in Rochester Library to celebrate the publication of a comprehensive compendium of his song lyrics and personal reflections. This was the culmination of a huge collective effort to realise the final project of one of Medway’s most beloved poets, and every contributor is represented today.
Simon Mills, the co-publisher of the book, speaks first about his involvement. He credits Gary Woodhams and Graeme Jacobs’ jam night at the Man of Kent for introducing him to Singing Loins' songs and for quickly determining that they were fantastic and inspirational enough to reach out to the lyricist about the book. Chris's friend and ex-wife, Amanda Randall, speaks next to thank those who brought the project to fruition, reminding us of what a truly family affair it was as Katie, their artist daughter, helped with the layout of the book and has her own designs included. By now, the emotion in the room is palpable, and Ian Damaged seems visibly moved as he takes the mic to recount his personal reminiscences of meeting Chris before reading his reflections on each album released on Damaged Goods. Having played a pivotal role in boosting their profile beyond Medway, this chronological overview also pays tribute to the band’s sympathetic, productive working relationship with Jim Riley at Ranscombe Studios, reminding many in the audience of just how long The Loins have been a presence in our lives.
Post-Loins is covered by Stuart Turner, picked by Chris to be his collaborator on his final musical projects, the song suite And One Red Mitten and the band Pod. Despite their processes being interrupted by covid lockdowns and Chris becoming ill, this proved to be one of his most satisfying, mutually compatible songwriting partnerships. Bill Lewis reads two poems next, one his personal tribute to Chris, blending their words together. The inclusion of the image of the girl who combs her hair with a raven’s wing makes these lyrics jump out when Chatham Girls is performed by the Singing Loins at their gigs later in the day. The core of the Loins take to the stage next for stripped down acoustic versions of some of the songs from the book - opening with Angel of the Medway is a jolt to those expecting this at the culmination of the set, but quickly establishes a feeling of community, if not family amongst everyone in room, brought together by the words of Chris Broderick initially and now sharing so many connections and experiences together.
This becomes even more tangible when the band are joined on stage by Billy Childish, who leads a spirited rendition of I Don’t Like The Man That I Am. No one can resist singing along, a wondrous moment of touching unity. Oliver Allen closes proceedings - a humble introduction leads to a stunning and emotive solo version of With All Your Blessed Heart. A beautiful conclusion to a powerfully moving occasion. - Moira Mehaffey
The Hoo Heddern: A National Dish of Hoo? community feast
Thrift & Thrive, Chatham, 28 Mar
The Hoo Heddern Community Feast was billed as a celebration of the flavours and stories of that “almost-island” Hoo. Long tables were laid out in the rear of Thrift & Thrive in Chatham Intra, which occupies the old Gray’s of Chatham buildings, admittedly under some unlovely pigeon netting.
Cherry Truluck is an artist, chef and food systems researcher whose mobile trailer, the Hoo Heddern (its name derived from the Saxon word for a storeroom), has been travelling around the Hoo Peninsula collecting food, recipes and memories. The project asked a seemingly simple question: “What does Hoo taste like?” The project investigates how communities can take care of their land and food, and how they might respond to the loss of rural knowledge and tradition by building new relationships with what they grow and eat.
The meal itself seemed simple enough at first glance, with chicken and some salads. But this was an archival recipe of Potted Chicken cooked in butter with herbs, spices, ginger, and garlic, accompanied by blanched spring greens and roasted spring onions with a citrus dressing and pine nuts, a ‘pink salad’ of forced rhubarb, goats cheese, radicchio and beetroot, dressed with rapeseed oil, orange juice, and herbs, a rhubarb salad with chilli and Gala apple, and a tabbouleh with mixed vegetables, accompanied by bread baked in Hoo. All the ingredients were sourced locally or from Thrift & Thrive’s stores. Presented in a room that offered no glamour whatsoever, the quality and depth of these flavour combinations was second to none.
The communal nature of the meal, with friends and strangers sitting together at a long table, meant that conversation flowed equally between people who already knew each other and strangers sitting across the way. Men with face tattoos broke bread opposite middle-class art professionals, eating together in a way that almost never happens. The shared meal is one of the most consistent ways that humans have marked belonging either to a family, a community, or a place. Research consistently shows that people who eat regularly with others report greater wellbeing, stronger social networks, and a stronger sense of identity and belonging. In communities like ours that are under pressure from poverty, isolation, rapid change, and the erosion of shared spaces, the communal table can create a place where different people can meet as equals. This feels like an experiment that should be repeated across these towns.
Any niggles about why a project celebrating the foodways of Hoo was taking place in Chatham Intra were dispelled by a second course of roast chicken and roast potatoes doused in a ridiculously good vegetable-filled gravy, which stopped me from questioning any further as I concentrated on eating.
Deceptively simple, and served in unprepossessing surroundings, this was food of the absolute highest quality, clearly prepared with great skill and a love of ingredients. As we left, quite stuffed, but pretending we were making room for people who were still arriving, Cherry was ladling cream on an enormous cake that I wistfully eyed on my way to the door. Whatever the Heddern project is, almanac, archive, act of community, or more likely all three at once, the queue at the door suggested it has found its people. - Chris de Coulon-Berthoud
Bez at the Platform 3 Club
Oast Community Centre, Rainham, 9 May
The art of not knowing what to expect has, woefully, gone the same way as the diplodocus and the affordable food shop. In an age where social media and sites such as setlist.fm have made substantial inroads towards the banishment of any element of surprise when it comes to seeing an act live, we are almost resigned as a species to accepting the fact that gone is the mystery, the romance, the speeding heartbeat of not knowing what’s around the corner. An Evening with Bez in Rainham, you say? Will the Master of Mancunian maracas be regaling us with his native north-country wit, ala a stop on a sort of indie/baggy after-dinner circuit? Will he be spinning some vintage choice cuts, so influential to the Happy Mondays bacchanalian sound? And just how big a role will the maracas be playing? Like Captain Willard hot on the trail of the renegade Colonel Kurtz in Apocalypse Now – one didn’t know what one was going to find...
Support act Pastel Waves (complete with barefoot singer) took to the stage first, beneath the timbered rafters of Platform 3 at The Oast. Although well-rehearsed and tight, and certainly an apt opener, given their obvious influences (The Mondays, Kula Shaker, Weller, The Roses, Oasis), they were just the wrong side of derivative. Of course, it is a joyous experience to wear the crests of one’s heroes on one’s sleeve – provided that this doesn’t come at the expense of pushing your own identity and individuality.
And then, without further ado, there he was. Once indie rock's most lauded massive caner, more recently serial reality TV journeyman, Bez took the mic, and treated us to what was effectively the most bizarre form of karaoke on historical record. MCing, they tell me it’s called, over student union Britpop classics – Rock n Roll Star, Parklife, Disco 2000. Quite what wisdom the great man was imparting, one can only speculate, due to PA distortion, but the words “Kent” and “Rainham” were randomly audible at times. He certainly engaged excellently with the faithful, bedecked in bucket hats and Kangol cagoules, pulling salivating punters up onto the stage for a bit of a melon twist here and there – and they were, as the popular idiom goes, loving it. There were times when it felt a bit like your profoundly refreshed uncle Kevin hogging the mike before the first dance at a wedding, but few could deny that he gave the people what they wanted. And for that, beanies are doffed. There are perhaps broader discussions to be had as to how many ticket holders were there because of their love of the Happy Mondays music, or as a result of seduction by that most potent of elixirs – a celebrity reality TV star being on the plot. Ultimately, though, such post-mortem discourse is irrelevant – there was a palpable sense of euphoria permeating the room in Rainham that night. And no maraca, neither singular nor plural, was harmed in the course of the evening. - Simon Grey
Sweeps Festival
Rochester, 3 May
Sunday morning at Sweeps begins in the opulent surroundings of the Guildhall Museum, the room filled with portraits of royalty and local dignitaries. A fitting setting for a luminous Sally Ironmonger. Oh, and Brian is here too. The acoustics of the room are perfect for the clarity of Sally’s unamplified voice and the airy, fluid jazzy guitar accompaniment from Brian. Overt humour (Murder On My Mind) is intertwined with grittier local colour (The Ballad of Flying Isaac) in a sparkling set from a slick duo.
Hungry punters heading for a Bratwurst at Three Sheets to the Wind are stopping in their tracks to listen to South Shore on the Eastgate Stage. Rob Grigg’s immaculate percussion has adapted to the festival setting with the introduction of cajon and twinkly tubular bells. Both A-sides of the band’s imminent single release (The Ballad of Rats Bay/Blanche) are sounding mighty here. The repertoire of the band has expanded to include Fading Out, which allows Nick and Rachel to swap vocals - a potent combination, and a cover of the Travelling Wilburys’ Handle With Care on which she plays bass and looks totally badass doing so.
Up to the castle main stage for a fully fleshed out Singing Loins, showing no ill effects from the previous late night. Sweary Uncle Arf is on his best behaviour almost until the end of the set, when the extra playing space of the main stage gives him room for shaking that ass at the delighted crowd. Oli Allen looks less delighted. Few things all weekend are as joyous as the singalong to Big Wheel beside the real thing. Brendan’s bass has never been groovier than on the introduction to this, and Richard Moore lends his Tiggerish energy to working the crowd (“It’s imperative that we have sex! WHEN? NOW!”). Chris Grenfell’s drums on Chatham Girl have made this an anthemic call to arms. It’s a vigorous performance all round. Rob Shepherd looks like he is having a ball up there. By way of stark sonic contrast, over at Three Sheets to the Wind, The Missing Persons List are strutting their magnificent stuff. In performance, they are nowhere near as shambolic and chaotic as they look, thanks to the razor-sharp precision of Chris Garth’s drumming keeping everyone in line. They are immense fun to watch, disarmingly so, considering they are dealing with themes of mental illness and police corruption lyrically. Bob has ample opportunity to use the smoke flares and confetti cannons left over from their surprisingly family-orientated guerilla gig at “Pisshead Ledge” the day before.
We finish our evening’s entertainment here with the glorious noise of The Sleepers. Frenetic, rhythmic and above all LOUD, they are somehow perfect in this evening slot. A counterbalance to the folk music on offer elsewhere in the festival, their relentless pounding edge is captivating and invigorating. Their inclusion in the Sweeps programme testifies to how the festival now has something for everyone, and they remain one of the most thrilling live bands out there. - Moira Mehaffey
South Shore: Ballad of Rats Bay
Bandcamp New & Notable May 20, 2026
Shimmering crystals of arpeggiated Promise usher us in to the auditorium of South Shore’s ‘Ballad of Rats Bay,’ and show us warmly to our seats. The trailers don’t last long – one is immediately grabbed by the high-octane kick of singer Rachel Lowrie’s voice. While South Shore readily classify themselves as part of the indie-folk insurgence, so prevalent in Medway, her voice is much more akin to Chrissie Hynde, but with an invigorating dose of 30’s Parisian chanteuse in the mix, along with what threatens, more than once, to climax into a Bassey-belt.
There are some cockle-warming backing vox in the chorus, with some celestial harmonies, and the song bobs along with a rhythm that perfectly evokes the lilting swell of our very own brown River of Dreams – the muse for the song. ‘Ballad of Rats Bay’ has an elementary but ear-wigger of a melody underpinning the verses. Lyrically, while it may not necessarily be breaking new ground to look to the natural elements for inspiration, there is some strong (and accurate) imagery at work here – “As I look at the trolley sinking in the muddy river, rusting scaffold poles, bottles and cans.”
More Pretenders than Pentangle, more PJ Harvey than Peter, Paul and Mary – and hooks and dynamics so solid you could hang your jerkin on them. - Simon Grey
Doon Delight
Chatham High Street
Welcome to your new favourite restaurant. Spoiler alert: This might be a positive review.
Based in the former Dylan's, in what may or may not be Chatham Intra, Doon Delight is a friendly, positive environment to sit and look forward to a delightful meal. A meal where they acknowledge that the food is ‘slow-cooked,’ so they bring out additional plates to tide you over. All of which are better than other venues' actual menu options.
Following some delightful spicy lentil crackers, I have the chicken tikka platter starter, a selection of Chicken Tikka, Haryali Tikka and Malai Tikka, baked in a charcoal clay oven. For the main, I had Gosht Mugal, which, unlike the starter, isn’t self-explanatory. It is grilled chunks of lamb served in a spiced tomato and cashew nut masala gravy, with mushroom fried rice and a butter naan.
The tikka platter successfully delivered three types of chicken that looked and tasted different, something that is not always guaranteed. The lamb curry was incredible, covered with a delightful tomato soup, and well worth the wait.
For two people with drinks, the meal came to a little over £80. - Steven Keevil
Obituary: Jamie O’Hara, 1973-2026
There were no half measures with Jamie. If he loved you, it was a full-force gale of devotion. If he wanted to argue with you, you certainly knew about it. He was connected to everyone. If he didn’t know you at the start of the evening, he did by the end of it.
Hugely proud of his Irish family and heritage, he was forthright in his political views, but hidden deeper, he was spiritual too. Ferociously clever, Jamie was an autodidact. His erudition spilt from him in torrents of words and ideas. Even in our last few conversations, he ranged from the ideal Chinese meal menu to 1960s situationism, via his admiration for Angela Davis and Lisa Left Eye Lopes. “I could have saved her, Mo!” A born entertainer, a consummate yarnspinner about his million lives lived in Dublin, London, America, Vietnam and Italy, he could make you laugh like no one else. Jamie was quick-witted, quick-tempered, quicksilver. Brimful of imagination and creativity, he was a screenwriter, a poet, a lyricist, an actor, an artist, the carnival barker of Grinners. A great beginner, if not necessarily always a great finisher, of projects. His drive and force of personality were irresistible - whether you found yourself swept up in providing the soundtrack for, or acting in Pubmonkey, collaborating on a musical or getting out of bed at 10:30 on a Sunday night to knit a model of Stonehenge just because he asked you to. You were never sure how you got there, but the ride was always thrilling. You had to stand firm to stand still against his momentum.
Jamie had his demons too, and faced some health concerns in his final years, throughout which he was supported by a vast circle of friends who loved him unconditionally. He was very, and I do mean very, sweary. A romantic fool, a buck eejit and far and away my most imaginary friend. - Mo (he was the only person who ever did, or ever got away with, calling me Mo.) - Moira Mehaffey
A tribute has been established in memory of Jamie, which you can contribute to here.
