Playing on Friday
You can spot Cabbage a mile off. Hunched around the top table of a Shoreditch Wetherspoon’s, among a white shirted sea of Friday lunchtimers, they look every inch the band (or at least three-fifths of one – the remaining two having missed the 6.00 am Megabus down from Manchester).
“You got any papers?” asks singer and lyricist Lee Broadbent, hankering for a fag but coming across instead like some sort of border inspector for the North of England (“These papers expired three weeks ago! You’ll have to come along before you get a nosebleed above Watford”). Guitarist Eoghan Clifford sits cooly as any band’s resident suedehead must, while other singer and lyricist, Joe Martin, scribbles quietly in a handmade lyric book – Psalms from the Patch – that I’m later presented with alongside a pack of matches, a sachet of tomato ketchup and tin of Pilsner lager (sheathed inside a blue placcy bag).
So far, so bizarre then, but that’s because the band interview just as they play: a glorious crash of ideas, one piled high on top of the other in a rush to get what it is they want to say off their chests in three minutes or less.