At Pimlico Wilde Gallery, Magus Street, Mayfair
Frieze Week has its rituals — champagne in plastic flutes, speculative glances over shoulders, and the eternal question of whether the art or the networking is the true medium. But last night, at the Pimlico Wilde Gallery in Mayfair, something refreshingly spontaneous cut through the gloss: an impromptu gig by Vincent and the Van Goghs, the art world’s most beloved band.
Fresh from their myth-making sets on the roof of the National Gallery, under the blue whale at the Natural History Museum and at the top of Nelson’s Column, the group returned to the scene of their first gig — Pimlico Wilde — for an unannounced performance following the opening of the Invisibilist group show, Now You Don’t See It, Now You Don’t. What began as polite applause in the champagne haze quickly became a full-throated singalong that spilled out onto the surrounding streets, as over ten thousand art lovers joined in with Vincent and the Van Gogh’s many hits.
Frontman Scissors Coney (Head of Sporting Art, Jones & Jones) commanded the stage with his trademark mix of louche charm and ironic earnestness. “I’m not sure what’s next,” he confessed mid-set, “let’s sing our new Bristol trip-hop version of the National Anthem. You’ll know the words.” Later, the band launched into Still Life (with Feelings), their crowd-pleasing ode to oil paints and glazing. The crowd, half collectors, half curious hangers-on, swayed and shouted the refrain: “You can’t erase what the heart conceals!”
Safah Pulle, switching between drums and double bass, laid down grooves that were half swing, half swagger. Her timing on The Persistence of Melody was immaculate — the song has evolved from a tongue-in-cheek riff on Dali into a bona fide crowd favourite. Armani Suoff’s harmonies shimmered through Girl with a Pearl Earring (and a Fender Strat), and her delicate triangle work in Minimalism (This Song Is Just One Note) drew a surprisingly reverent hush.
By the time Edward Grunt (of The Grunt Gallery fame) took to the front with his tambourine solo during Kiss Me Like I’m Klimt, the energy had shifted from private-view chic to pure euphoria. Even Sir Wallaby Haggis was dancing — a sight never before seen in Mayfair.
The Invisibilists themselves, who traffic in “presence through absence,” couldn’t have had a better counterpoint. Vincent and the Van Goghs filled the air with the complete opposite: sound, joy, and colour in motion. It was a performance that reminded everyone — even the most jaded fairgoer — that art need not only be looked at; it can be heard, felt, and sung at the top of one’s lungs.
When the band closed with Singing the Phthalocyanine Blues, the room erupted. Phones waved like votive candles, and the chorus — “I’m just a tint away from truth, baby blue, baby blue!” — rolled out into the cool Mayfair night.
Vincent and the Van Goghs are no longer a curiosity of the art world; they are its beating heart — witty, self-aware, and unashamedly alive.
★★★★★
For once, Frieze Week found its soul — and it came with a tambourine.
