The group’s razor-sharp set is perfect for the festival setup on a long summer’s afternoon in Oslo.

Festivals have a strange way of blending physical closeness with mental distance. Hundreds of bodies brushing shoulders, sharing the same presence, but minds drifting elsewhere. On a Saturday afternoon at a festival in Oslo, Dry Cleaning perfectly channel this fractured feeling with a set of songs combining emotional distance with razor-sharp precision.

The London-based band find themselves in Norway on the cusp of an extensive run with seventeen shows across seven countries. The festival, Langs Akerselva, meaning “along the river Akerselva”, takes place over a late summer afternoon in Oslo (the city, not to be confused with the Hackney venue of the same name). A breeze hinting at the first edge of autumn sends a quiet shiver through the crowd just before the band step on to the open-air stage, which is nestled on the riverbank.

The rhythmic foundation of ‘Strong Feelings’ cuts through the churn of the river, anchoring the crowd in something almost physical. Florence Shaw’s surreal yet mundane observations, spoken rather than sung, drift over the music with disembodied composure. “In a painted foreground at the bottom / Is a famous anamorphic / Which when we examine more / Is revealed to be human skull,” she speaks into the microphone, barely moving. Her performance, arms slack down by her sides and eyes unfocused, cultivates an atmosphere of intentional reserve.

Guitarist Tom Dowse threads jagged textures through the melodic framework, sharpening the band’s sound. Each riff adds a sense of urgency that keeps the gentler elements from ever settling into complacency. 

Shaw’s voice briefly softens as she, in between her deadpan spoken word, sings only the name “Gary” on ‘Gary Ashby’. The shift from her usual dry, monotone narration to an almost playful tone creates a moment both amusing and absurd. The unexpected warmth of the single sung word sparks subtle laughs, and soft sways ripple through the crowd. 

On ‘Don’t Press Me’, the rhythm teeters between rigid structure and restless disorder. Guitars grow increasingly frantic, a brief but cutting moment of harsh dissonance and lyrical surrealism. The set flows with the same steady momentum as the river beside the stage, its sound still audible in the quiet between songs. The tracks arrive in rapid succession, audience interaction kept to a minimum, yet the band’s unfaltering stage presence holds the crowd in rapt attention.

Estrangement is a deliberate part of the set and we feel it as the afternoon slips into evening. The bright August sun, still high in the sky, serves as an extra spotlight on the stage. A gritty guitar riff reverberates as Shaw, with restrained clarity, delivers the final line of ‘Hot Penny Day’. The words “stiff undergarment” linger in the air like a honed declaration, followed by complete stillness.

Throughout the set, the thick bass pulse of Lewis Maynard provides a grounding force. On ‘Scratchcard Lanyard’, a gritty guitar melody adds texture to the percussion’s steady framework. Shaw’s lyrics cut through with surgical precision. The line “Do everything and feel nothing” feels as honest as it is cutting. The dry, fragmented lyricism, delivered with emotional neutrality, is shaped a profound sense of disaffection and heightened by a jagged, dissonant guitar solo. As one of the most distinctive voices in modern post-punk, Dry Cleaning continue to build a language of their own, blending surreal, fragmented lyrics with deadpan spoken delivery and tightly wound instrumentation.

Reverberating guitar feedback blurs the lines between tracks as the pace is picked up with ‘Magic of Meghan’. Shaw’s spoken word delivery carries an urgent restraint that holds the crowd in a visceral grip. Despite at times displaying a sense of quiet remove, the audience meet ‘Magic of Meghan’ with a rare burst of energy and loud cheers, introspection giving way to shared catharsis. The band’s sparse movements and dense lyrics command a different kind of listening, where tone, texture, and silence carry as much meaning as volume.

For the final song of the performance, ‘Anna Calls From The Arctic’, the drum kit falls silent as Nick Buxton sets down his sticks and picked up a saxophone. The instrumental pivot seizes the crowd’s focus, adding an unexpected texture to the closing song. A pulsing rhythm of synths and electronic percussion introduces an artificial edge, contrasting sharply with the song’s blunt lyrics. Shaw stands with her hands clasped behind her back, still and composed. Only when the final note fades does a smile break through her detached façade, as she turns to acknowledge the buzzing crowd.

For a few hours, the crowd dissolves into the music. The rough texture of guitar feedback buzzes against skin. Emotions tangle, blurring the boundaries between strangers, only to return to anonymity when the final chord cuts and reality fills the space between bodies. There’s a quiet intimacy in that estrangement. Dry Cleaning thrive in the tension, creating a live moment that feels raw, honest, and alive. As the river flows beneath the festival lights, sound waves ripple through dissonance and fragmented noise. Dry humour bleeds into emotional ambiguity, and disconnection becomes the thread weaving strangers together.