At the upstairs bar of Piccadilly’s Rat & Pigeon, previously Old Mother Mac’s, I bump into Myron Endean, the shaggy-haired bassist of Manchester-based band Mleko. “Not yet,” he replies with a grin when I ask if he’s nervous, cracking open a can of Stella. In a few hours, the band he formed will be playing a sold-out show despite not yet releasing a single.
Next, I meet Bruno, the band’s striking synth player, who’s performing his first show with Mleko, and Ed, who introduces himself as the rhythm guitarist (I later find out he is also the frontman). “I love Britney Spears,” Bruno tells me with no sense of irony as ‘Toxic’ plays over the pub’s speakers. We walk over to a small table in the corner to join saxophonist Tom, who’s sitting at a table filled with pints. Myron disappears, and guitarist Rory arrives, soon followed by trumpet player Charlotte and drummer Ioan.
Tom takes on the role of band spokesperson and gives me the lowdown on Mleko’s history. Myron and Rory, the creative dynamos at the heart of the band, formed Mleko almost two years ago during their first year of university. They soon found Ioan on drums before Ed became their second frontman. His arrival was a pivotal moment. “It wasn’t until Ed demoed one of his tracks that we realised he was our frontman, not just rhythm guitarist,” Myron later tells me.
After various members came and went, Tom joined on sax, followed by Charlotte and finally Bruno. There seems to be an almost open-door policy in Mleko. Myron calls the recent departure of a violinist “unfortunate” and tells me of a guitarist who ghosted him after a few rehearsals – only for Myron to later find out that he became the frontman of Tombola, the band supporting them this evening. This humorous coincidence highlights how hectic things have been for Mleko since they formed.
With a current lineup of seven members, I wonder how easily things could become bloated, misconstrued, and overblown -and how often rehearsals and gigs might stall due to conflicting schedules. The band acknowledges it can be a problem but refutes any suggestion of bad blood, and I believe them. When I ask if they’re more of a collective than a band, Tom hesitates before shaking his head and clarifying, “We’re definitely a band.”
“Organised chaos,” I say to Ed. “Is that an accurate description?” He thinks for a moment before saying that it’s pretty spot-on, as the rest of the band nods in agreement. The term could also be used to describe their music. Informed by a love of post-punk bands such as Squid, Shame, and Wunderhorse, Mleko are a Black Country, New Road-esque culmination of brass, bass, and beat, aptly blending multiple genres into three- to four-minute tracks.
There’s a genuine bond between the group. Chemistry flares throughout our meeting as different versions of events are shared, appreciated, and dismissed with familial respect. With no real hierarchical structure, ribbing is indiscriminately dished out between members. They lack arrogance and false pretence; they simply love playing their instruments and making good music.
Along with discovering that Ed is the frontman, I soon learn that Bruno is an accomplished guitarist and that Tom achieved a degree of fame in his youth as a singer-songwriter, with one of his tunes surpassing the 700,000-listen mark on Spotify. All this information comes second-hand; the band’s humility and individualism are part of Mleko’s appeal and what makes them such great company.
The conversation flows as easily as the pints. A mutual affinity for The Breeders is discussed, and the hot topic of whether Ed wants to sing a song entitled ‘Lego Sex’ is broached. “There are going to be people’s parents in the crowd,” Ed almost pleads. “All the more reason to sing it,” Tom quips with a wry smile, and I’m obliged to agree. I’ve only heard two of their demos, and Lego Sex wasn’t one of them. The band heads off to Manchester institution This & That for a curry, and I’m left with my pint to make sense of my notes from the last hour.
I later catch up with Myron, Ed, and Tom in their dressing room, and the conversation turns to their creative process. “I come to rehearsal with some shite lyrics,” Ed says with customary modesty, “and everyone chips in with their bit until we’ve formulated a song.” As the first support slot edges closer, the dressing room enters a perpetual state of frenzy, so I decide to abandon any further attempt at a formal interview and, in true Mleko style, embrace the organised chaos.
Downstairs, as I chat to Charlotte about her job as a cycling instructor, a crowd begins to gather for the opening act, Tombola. The four-piece launches into a short set full of harmony, harmonicas, and indie experimentation. Their curly-headed, sunglasses-clad singer snarls through their five songs like a punkier David Byrne. The second and third songs of their set flirt with greatness.
Mleko, too, seem impressed with Tombola and their ex-member’s new role as frontman, and after a brief interlude, it’s time for Club Dada to take the stage. The first half of their set is made up of dark, synth-infused, electronic shoegaze tracks, while the second half’s thumping dance ethos feels like being transported into a club. “These are great,” Ioan leans in and says with a nod of approval.
Club Dada’s sultry frontwoman has the crowd at her mercy. Proceedings reach fever pitch as whistles blow and the floor vibrates. I look behind at Rory and Myron – both of their faces are etched with a look of concentration that’s at odds with the festive goings-on around them. Ed stands in front of me and shares apprehensive whispers with his girlfriend. For the first time, the band looks nervous.
Mleko’s jocular front is replaced with an evident sincerity for their craft. As Club Dada winds down their set, I join them in the dressing room for a pre-performance get-together. “It all comes together on stage… usually,” Charlotte tells me as the band begins to carry their equipment to the stage. I help out, grab a guitar, wade through the crowd, and plonk it on stage before taking a position a few rows from the front.
Family, friends, and everyone in between anxiously wait for the set to begin. The band need not worry – from the moment the first chord is struck, the atmosphere is electric. ‘Marxist Midlife Crisis’ is an early highlight, along with the soon-to-be single ‘White Picket Fences’. Both tracks display everything great about Mleko: their genre-bending medleys full of depth, experimentation, and noteworthy lyricism.
The much-anticipated ‘Lego Sex’ proves to be a fan favourite. With its lyrical blend of brutal honesty and biting irony – “To deny a man his one and only muse, leaves a guttural hollowness, a resin-fuelled solemness” – it sends the crowd, parents and all, into raptures. ‘Tom’s Tune’ sees Mleko’s jazz faction shine and ends with Myron standing on his amp to deliver a crowd-pleasing bass solo.
All too soon, their set comes to a close. Thankfully, the crowd’s demands for an encore are obliged, and ‘Marxist Midlife Crisis’ is all the more joyous the second time around. As the audience heads for the smoking area, I hold back and catch Myron and Rory. “What did you think?” they ask eagerly. “You were great,” I reply – and rather than exaggerating, I feel like I’m refraining from gushing over the performance.
For any band, their set would have been an impressive display; for a band that hasn’t played a gig in over four months, it’s a mind-boggling testament to their talent. There’s a triumphant atmosphere in the smoking area outside and a general feeling among the punters that we’ve witnessed something of a landmark moment. With upcoming gigs supporting Splint at Soup Kitchen and Martial Arts at Yes Pink Room for Akoustik Anarkhy’s 25th birthday party, there’s plenty more to come from Mleko.
“The main thing we have coming up is the release of ‘White Picket Fence’, but we’re still messing around in the studio with it, just trying to get it exactly how we want it. We want to gig, write, and record for the foreseeable future. We want it to be high intensity,” Myron tells me with his trademark grin. “The promoter from tonight has sent our stuff over to some labels. It’d be nice to get it released under a label rather than on our own, but we’ll see how it goes down,” Rory adds before we say our goodbyes.
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