The Favours – A Weekend in NYC The Bowery ballroom - The Onions War on Christmas January 13, 2006 & Piano’s Headline January 15, 2006 Written by Dan Tulino Photographed by Bruce Alexander

I was drunk and sitting in a backstage stairwell at the Bowery ballroom. So I asked myself, “Just what am I doing?” “Well, I am a music journalist, covering 'The Onions War on Christmas Party,” I said to myself. “But more importantly, I am supposed to be here to see and interview the British band The Favours, a band I have been in constant email contact with for one whole year.”

So why this back hallway? Well, I was waiting for The Favours. They had just completed their set and now it was the headliner Wren’s turn to take the stage. But the Favours are a different kind of band, they listen. And that night Martin Knight and Sara Bates, founders of The Favours, listened to every band that took to the stage at the Bowery Ballroom. So there they were, out in the middle of the audience enjoying music, while I listened alone from a dank hallway, sipping a Bud and waiting for a chance to talk to them.

I did see their performance that night at the Bowery Ballroom, and it was one for the ages and one that will hopefully bring them the attention they deserve. Martin Knight’s song and frightening baselines violate your soul. And then of course, there is Sara Bates.

Sara has been compared to Blondie and PJ Harvey. But there is no comparison. Not only is she the girl every man dreams about marrying, but when she takes to the stage, she is every lead singer’s envy. The control, the swagger, the sex appeal, the raw energy. And she somehow pulls off a little Iggy too. She rocks, she pounds, and she is unafraid.

As the night and my drinking progressed, I drooled through The Wrens, stumbled to my car, turned on one of Mike Watt’s albums and passed out for three hours. I should have worried that I might die (if I had been capable of worrying). Somehow I made it back to Jersey.

Less than 36 hours later, I am at Pianos Bar and Club and I carefully sit my hung-over ass on a stool and every so gently sip a bottle of water. I was finally sitting with Sara and Martin. We were listening to the opening act, Monument, and chatting about The Strokes’ new brilliant album. Martin left for a bit, leaving Sara and me with only uncomfortable questions as conversation. I opted to keep my recorder off; this was not the time or place. They have become my friends, and I just wanted to talk. I wanted know how tired she is, how she misses her boyfriend, who still resides in Hull ( United Kingdom) while she lives four hours away with Martin in South London. Sara wore a cute little hat, a perfect frame for her face. I want to look in her heartbreaking eyes and at her lips, lips that Scarlett Johansen could only dream of having. But I don’t want to make my attraction too obvious. I look at Martin too when he returns, but with a different motivation. That guy has a coolness that reminds me of the legendary Joe Strummer.

It is three hours before The Favours are scheduled to go on stage, but not once do Martin or Sara leave the bar. They watch and applaud each of the other band’s songs, just like they did at the Bowery Ballroom. Their class trumps the world we exist in. They love music and through their music and their performance, they prove who they are and what they stand for. They have integrity.

4 Volt preceded the Favours to the stage and as they were leaving they said, “And stick around for The Favours, I think they write love songs.” But when 4 Volt stuck around to see The Favours perform, they must have been very surprised. Martin and Sara took to the stage and made it their home. They brought Hull (not love songs) to the Lower East Side, giving everyone a look-see at their hometown’ vibe. They didn’t just come to NYC; they took us on a journey. Sara relentlessly drove the crowd wild, at one point hoisting up some random dummy resting on the side o f the stage, causing every photographer in the venue to run over to get the shot. And rocking with her was Martin Knight, the man who writes the music that makes The Favours who they are. He is M the man, the man whose bass lines form the foundation of their music.

There were no hipsters at Pianos that night. It was a slow cold night and the crowd was sparse. There was just an intimate yearning group, asphyxiated by what they were hearing and seeing. Throughout the Favour’s forty minute set, there wasn’t a single moment when someone was not flashing a camera, trying to get a shot. Every photographer present must have instinctively known the importance of catching this band now and more importantly of capturing Sara Bates. On this planet today, there is no other woman I would rather see perform.

The show ended with Sara, in Jimi Hendrix fashion, kneeling in front of her amp with her back arched, a vision of sexual aggression that will never leave my memory. The guitarist, threw himself into the drum set that ended all possibilities of an encore. But there was no need. The Favours had come to America to prove they weren’t just another Cribs, Libertines, or Rakes and they had done their job.