The story of Hideous Dress didn’t begin on stage but in a small bedroom, where frontman Jordan Billany started posting grunge covers online in early 2024. Things escalated quickly. One of his videos blew up overnight, pulling in over 20,000 views and sparking a growing online following. What began as raw, intimate performances soon snowballed into a full band project, fuelled by fans who wanted more than just covers. Within their first year, they’d already hit 16,000 followers, proof that their blend of scrappy charm and sharp-edged energy was striking a chord well beyond their bedroom walls.
But Hideous Dress isn’t just an online story, it’s stitched together from real-life moments. Jordan first met bassist Kat Engbrecht when they were both working in a clothing store, bonding over a notoriously ugly dress that, for some reason, customers couldn’t get enough of. That dress became their in-joke, a symbol of everything they thought was wrong with the shop’s fashion sense. Jordan ended up keeping it, and now, every so often, he pulls it back out to wear on stage, a tongue-in-cheek reminder of where it all began. The rest of the lineup came together just as unpredictably: Jordan literally spotted his guitarist and drummer, Cade Tuffin and Damien Dalby, while out shopping on two seperate occasions. He instantly pegged what instruments they played and offered them a spot in the band on the spot. It’s the kind of chaotic origin story that feels almost too good to be true, but it’s exactly the energy that defines Hideous Dress.
Their first proper gig came at The Dublin Castle, but the jump there was as unconventional as everything else about them. The show itself has already passed into Hideous Dress lore: midway through the set, Jordan called out for his mum to bring him a pint. Without hesitation, she wove her way through the packed crowd, arm raised high with the beer held above her head like some kind of offering, before delivering it straight to the stage. It was chaotic, hilarious, and perfectly Hideous Dress, blurring the line between band and family, audience and performer.
Walking into The Finsbury on the 12th September, it was immediately clear that Hideous Dress aren’t just another band on the local circuit, they are a gang of friends who’ve dragged their chaotic spirit straight from their living room into the spotlight. The room was already buzzing before they even struck a chord, loyal fans who attended every show swapping knowing looks, knowing they are in for a great night.
The gig went down at The Finsbury in Manor House, one of those North London pubs that’s equal parts cozy boozer and grassroots music hub. Its backroom stage has a reputation for giving new bands a proper chance to cut their teeth. The Finsbury isn’t about flashy production, the lights are simple, the sound system sometimes unpredictable, but that’s exactly why it works. It strips away the polish and lets a band like Hideous Dress shine in their rawest form.
The night was put on by Ranga Records, a label that’s quickly carving out a reputation for championing the scrappy, the strange, and the uncompromising. True to form, this show felt less like a corporate showcase and more like a family gathering. The kind of night where the bands, the crowd, and the organisers all blur into one community. It’s exactly the sort of platform Hideous Dress belong on: grassroots, DIY, and buzzing with possibility.
When the four-piece launched into their set, the sound was raw, messy, and completely irresistible. It wasn’t about polish, it was about connection. The guitars snarled, the bass thudded with stubborn intensity, and the vocals swung between sarcastic drawl and sharp-edged yells. Hideous Dress play with a reckless confidence, the kind that makes every note feel urgent and alive. The sound is raw and unfiltered, but never careless, it’s driven, deliberate chaos that pulls you in and refuses to let go.
Lyrically, Hideous Dress aren’t afraid to jab at real issues. One song carried a jagged critique of colonialism; another spun personal anxieties into something communal and defiant. But even in the heavier moments, they never lost that off-kilter charm. One minute you’re nodding along to a biting line, the next you’re laughing at an awkward quip from the mic.
By the time the last song collapsed into feedback, the crowd wasn’t ready to let them leave. Hideous Dress aren’t the kind of band you stand back and admire, they’re the kind of band you feel like you’re part of. Watching them live is messy, funny, and oddly cathartic, like stumbling into a party you didn’t know you needed.
For a group who once bonded over a truly ugly piece of clothing, Hideous Dress are making something surprisingly beautiful out of their sound.
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Broken Static Magazine 
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