Redcarsgofaster are a sextet from Leicestershire. They play the kind of music you can dance too first, and then think about later, a non-too-common combination in the current musical climate. They are on the small indie-label High Voltage and are yet to receive the critical acclaim they deserve. Their lead-singer is called James Summers, and I caught up with him for a small chat about philosophy, the current ‘9-til-5’ lyrical trend and earplugs…
Hello James, I’m Tom from Maps Magazine. First things first, bland is bland etc; how did you all meet and what made you form a band?
I’ve known Andy (guitarist) since I was five. The rest of us all met at college in Leicester. We formed in 2003 and to be honest it just began as something to do and we didn’t take it very seriously. The first time we realised we might be any good was after winning a Battle Of the Bands competition. There were only really two other bands in the comp that were decent but it was amazing to win and it meant we got our arses in gear and made a demo in 2005. We sent that off to High Voltage and they featured it in an early compilation. We’ve been with them ever since.
Give a brief run-down of how your songs are generally born. Are there any trends to the bands creative process?
Andy, Dave (guitar) and Matt (guitar) tend to lie at the origin. They come up with a riff or an idea and it develops from there. I step in later on to add the lyrics.
Your lyrics have a philosophical edge. In the song ‘Micro’ you declare “I’ve read books on the power of the will, I know accounts of human behaviour, but I can’t read you.” I read on Myspace, I think, that you did a Philosophy degree. This is of great interest to me as I did too. To what extent does what philosophy has taught you influence how you write?
Massively. A lot of bands these days don’t really write very interesting lyrics and just retread the same old shit. I like to try and write about things I know about and am interested in. I hate inane lyrics. My favourite lyricists are people like Nick Cave and Thom Yorke. They have the ability to take everyday phrases and make them terrifying. I really don’t like by-the-by everyday observations, the whole ‘9-til-5’ thing, it’s boring. I like lyricists that take their levels of thought one step further, and I like to try and do that.
What other bands made you want to be in your own group?
Radiohead, Super Furry Animals, At The Drive-In and Idlewlid.
Are you comparable to Cedric from ATD-I? That’d be ace.
Well, I’m not as limber as him and I can’t do back-flips and shit but I try and put as much energy in as him. I really put most of my energy into playing live, it’s what it’s all about.
Which philosophers have influenced you the most?
I really love Immanuel Kant and Bertrand Russell.
Okay, interesting. Now both of those are very analytic thinkers, which fits with how I interpreted ‘Micro’. To me, you are saying that no matter how many theories or philosophies you study, you cannot rationalise love and matters of the heart.
I suppose you could interpret it like that. I don’t think I was being that specific. At university though, Kant actually blew my mind. He changed the way I looked at everything. I think when you read a book that makes you change the way you think, that is the ultimate, you can’t possibly achieve anything else. Like I was saying, ‘9-til-5’ lyrics will never do this. Music should be about escapism, or at least thinking about the bigger picture, outside of the box. I can’t be arsed to write lyrics like, “I bought some chips, they were shit, I’ve wasted a quid, what the hell am I gonna do now” etc.
So where are you all based, and is it difficult to get together and play?
It is difficult yes. Three of us live in Leicester, and the rest are spread out over Sheffield and London. At the time of speaking we haven’t practised in over a month. It gets to me, but juggling jobs, uni and a band is quite difficult. We a load of gigs over the summer (2006), so we needed a break to get some money in and start afresh in the New Year. We’ll hopefully be making a 7 track mini-album around April or May next year.
Does the band make money?
We pretty much break even every gig but that’s about it. It’s tough.
Does Leicestershire have a good scene? I’m pretty ignorant about it. Or does it begin and end with Kasabian?!
It’s better than it was. Obviously it’s nothing like London or Manchester. Gig going is not exactly a high priority for your average resident.
What new music do you like then? Who have you played with that wet your whistle?
I adore Forward Russia and I really love Kubichek. There are two bands called Shut Your Eyes And You’ll Burst Into Flames, and Rotary Ten who really deserve a lot more attention than they get. To be honest, I really don’t like a lot of new music. Bright Eyes and Sufjan Stephens. They’re good.
Last Wednesday I went to see Richard Hawley at Shepherds Bush, just as a punter, and it was absolute quality, a really good gig. I don’t get to a lot of gigs though. When you’re in a band and you spend ages gigging, you sort of relish the break. Plus I think I’m going a bit deaf.
Really?! Nightmare. Do you wear earplugs?
Yeh. When I go to gigs I do sometimes, not when I’m playing though, you lose too much of what’s going on around you. Supposedly, for like £150, you can get properly good earplugs that don’t take out frequencies and just reduce the volume. Most earplugs reduce frequency and volume though, so you can hear fuck all.
Okay, so it’s nearing the years end, and it’s list time. What’s your album of the year?
I have three. The Eraser by Thom Yorke; Breaking And Entering OST by Underworld and News And Tributes by The Futureheads. That Futureheads album is very underrated. It’s a travesty that they’ve been dropped.
Monday, December 18, 2006
Wednesday, December 13, 2006
Live Review. Future Of the Left - London Luminire - December 1st.
Future Of The Left have fine lineage. Three parts from two deceased bands they are: two ex-Mclusky -Jack Egglestone (drums) and Andy Falkous (guitar, vocals); and one ex-Jarcrew - Kelson Louis Tregurtha Mathias (bass, vocals). Both were Welsh bands, both heavy, both commercially pretty darn unsuccessful - and both superb. This is also the second spin-off since Mclusky’s demise after John Chapple’s creation of Shooting At Unarmed Men – another fine musical output. Talent throughout – hurrah!
Angry, punk-rock is clearly very much alive and kicking in Britain. Falkous is a ferocious little fella. Quite small he is, still with his massive side-burns but with newly grown hair and freshly slimmed body. He berates, mocks and taunts the crowd something rotten, any slightly throw-away comment made by an audience member is ripped to shreds, as if ‘twere a cultured stand-up comic on the stage
He’s an obnoxious little bastard though. Genuinely funny for sure, but he loves to piss people off. “This one’s for that cunt who got poisoned and won’t get out of the news.” Below the belt? Definitely. But the bands he fronts would be nothing if he wasn’t fully charged with un-necessary belligerence. He’s like Kelly Jones for arseholes. Someone’s gotta do it.
Mathias too is a fine frontman in his own right, restricted somewhat though he is by the addition of a bass guitar to his person, his yelping and sharing of vocals with Falko is perennially effective. Their combined guitars, of course, ooze ‘fuck you’ disdain and their sound is visceral, powerful and rude. They echo, naturally, Fugazi, Shellac and Pixies. Far from being imitators though, their lyrical content ploughs the same simultaneously-ferocious-and-amusing furrows as Mclusky, and provide their tower of originality.
The way Falkous’s neck veins look like they’re about to burst as he screams his verging-on-the-inane blurbs is quite the testament to the fact that what he’s singing really gets on his nerves. “Take her to the Body Shop” he screams incessantly in an early tune, “violence solves everything,” he continues on another. Mocking? Literal? Think for ourselves is perhaps a more suitable adage.
There is, in my ears, more Mclusky than Jarcrew evident in this amalgamation of talent. Mathias’s bass reminisces somewhat with the old times but there is none of the playful electro or spazz-influences that the ‘Crew boasted; instead Falkous’ character and fondness for balls-out rock dominates proceedings. This is no quibble but a worthy observation. As is this: these lot are one of the finest, funniest, interesting rock outfits around right now – pennies at the ready for the album y’all…
Angry, punk-rock is clearly very much alive and kicking in Britain. Falkous is a ferocious little fella. Quite small he is, still with his massive side-burns but with newly grown hair and freshly slimmed body. He berates, mocks and taunts the crowd something rotten, any slightly throw-away comment made by an audience member is ripped to shreds, as if ‘twere a cultured stand-up comic on the stage
He’s an obnoxious little bastard though. Genuinely funny for sure, but he loves to piss people off. “This one’s for that cunt who got poisoned and won’t get out of the news.” Below the belt? Definitely. But the bands he fronts would be nothing if he wasn’t fully charged with un-necessary belligerence. He’s like Kelly Jones for arseholes. Someone’s gotta do it.
Mathias too is a fine frontman in his own right, restricted somewhat though he is by the addition of a bass guitar to his person, his yelping and sharing of vocals with Falko is perennially effective. Their combined guitars, of course, ooze ‘fuck you’ disdain and their sound is visceral, powerful and rude. They echo, naturally, Fugazi, Shellac and Pixies. Far from being imitators though, their lyrical content ploughs the same simultaneously-ferocious-and-amusing furrows as Mclusky, and provide their tower of originality.
The way Falkous’s neck veins look like they’re about to burst as he screams his verging-on-the-inane blurbs is quite the testament to the fact that what he’s singing really gets on his nerves. “Take her to the Body Shop” he screams incessantly in an early tune, “violence solves everything,” he continues on another. Mocking? Literal? Think for ourselves is perhaps a more suitable adage.
There is, in my ears, more Mclusky than Jarcrew evident in this amalgamation of talent. Mathias’s bass reminisces somewhat with the old times but there is none of the playful electro or spazz-influences that the ‘Crew boasted; instead Falkous’ character and fondness for balls-out rock dominates proceedings. This is no quibble but a worthy observation. As is this: these lot are one of the finest, funniest, interesting rock outfits around right now – pennies at the ready for the album y’all…
Live Review. I Was A Cub Scout - 93 Feet East - 28th November
People are getting better at things at younger ages these days. You have your Theo Walcott’s and Wayne Rooney’s; your David Cameron’s; your Andrew Murray’s and even your Huw Edwards’. All of whom boast a reasonable amount of power in their fields at a relatively young age compared to contemporary standards. It always used to be like this though – think Napoleon – but things tailed off with education and experience replacing inate skills. The absurdity.
The slight turn-around makes sense though. Natural talent combined with increasingly terrifyingly powerful science and technology will soon mean it is children, rather than adults dominating all spheres of the world. Maybe.
Anyway, new-ish duo I Was A Cub Scout, as with the apparently-good-but-possibly-just-novelty Tiny Masters Of Today and the excellent Be Your Own Pet (among others, obviously, but ya know, time/space etc) continue the trend of people being better at things younger. Of course, to bang on about their ludicrous youth is crude and even patronising, but it’s interesting nonetheless no? No? Fine. The music then…
Electro-y, emo-y, disco-pop-y darkness is the main agenda. Dark Saddle Creek moments are an obvious reference point. The most interesting thing about them though was the quality and use of the drummer (whose name I cannot find anywhere). Awesome he was, considering how young… Haha, a joke, of course, but he is bloody good. If it wasn’t for him I hazard daringly that the Scout would be rather dull.
That’s a stupid thing to say probably, because they do have him and he fills all the gaps superbly and acts as a alternative focal point for the band. Someone or something exceptional is required in any half decent rock-duo I tend to find. Jack White is a master of the art and the Lightning Bolt percussion defies belief.
Neither of these heights are scaled, yet, but they have potential and exhuberance galore. Todd, the lead singer, is an energetic ball of hair and self-taught dance moves who yelps into his mic atop his synthetic beats or guitar repetitions and seems to love the whole experience. Their youth as a band, rather than as people, plus their obvious talent would seem to be their main advantages. I Was A Cub Scout are thus very worthy indeed of a ‘watch this space’ tag.
The slight turn-around makes sense though. Natural talent combined with increasingly terrifyingly powerful science and technology will soon mean it is children, rather than adults dominating all spheres of the world. Maybe.
Anyway, new-ish duo I Was A Cub Scout, as with the apparently-good-but-possibly-just-novelty Tiny Masters Of Today and the excellent Be Your Own Pet (among others, obviously, but ya know, time/space etc) continue the trend of people being better at things younger. Of course, to bang on about their ludicrous youth is crude and even patronising, but it’s interesting nonetheless no? No? Fine. The music then…
Electro-y, emo-y, disco-pop-y darkness is the main agenda. Dark Saddle Creek moments are an obvious reference point. The most interesting thing about them though was the quality and use of the drummer (whose name I cannot find anywhere). Awesome he was, considering how young… Haha, a joke, of course, but he is bloody good. If it wasn’t for him I hazard daringly that the Scout would be rather dull.
That’s a stupid thing to say probably, because they do have him and he fills all the gaps superbly and acts as a alternative focal point for the band. Someone or something exceptional is required in any half decent rock-duo I tend to find. Jack White is a master of the art and the Lightning Bolt percussion defies belief.
Neither of these heights are scaled, yet, but they have potential and exhuberance galore. Todd, the lead singer, is an energetic ball of hair and self-taught dance moves who yelps into his mic atop his synthetic beats or guitar repetitions and seems to love the whole experience. Their youth as a band, rather than as people, plus their obvious talent would seem to be their main advantages. I Was A Cub Scout are thus very worthy indeed of a ‘watch this space’ tag.
Live Review. Good Shoes - Kings College London - 27th November
Good Shoes appear to be adored already. They’ve gone from playing small Barfly shows earlier this year, to Kings College Students Union with no album (out next year apparently) but a loyal fanbase. The Myspace phenomenon? A sign of their quality? The power of the NME? Ceratinly the crowd tonight knew a lot of the words to most of the songs, which probably means they’re doing something right.
They look good and young too. Remember when Oasis first started out, and Liam wore stupid anoraks and Noel looked like the council estate kid who got bullied? Wicked. But then they went and got all famous and subsequently all nice and trendy. Bands look cool when they look like shit. That’s why people who dress like bands look like wankers. Good Shoes are all ripped jeans, high-topped Nikes, ill-fitting t-shirts, detached hoods on heads - and they look ace. Shabby as hell.
They sound good too. Testament to the venue no doubt and a certain professionalism from the band – to the extent that lead singer Rhys Jones meekly suggested that stage-divers stage-dive either side of his microphone so as not to upset the sound. That’s correct, there were stage divers. I ain’t seen that shit since Nirvana. Good shoes, of course, sound nothing like Oasis or Nirvana, but like Gang Of Four, Clap Your Hands Say Yeah and The Libertines.
The guitars (Steve Leach) are all sketchy scrambled and urgent, the bass (Joel Cox) a perennial pounding, the drumming (Tom Jones) is fast, frantic punky, and the vocals have an impressive, shouty Mark E Smith quality to them complete with in-decipherable lyrics. A lot of bands are indulging in this new-wave post-punk shenanigans, and some do it much better than others. These chaps do it well, and they know it. That’s why they look like shit see, no need to be hyper-trendy yet, still got the tunes to get them through. That can all wait until they’ve sold their first coupla’ hundred thousand records.
They look good and young too. Remember when Oasis first started out, and Liam wore stupid anoraks and Noel looked like the council estate kid who got bullied? Wicked. But then they went and got all famous and subsequently all nice and trendy. Bands look cool when they look like shit. That’s why people who dress like bands look like wankers. Good Shoes are all ripped jeans, high-topped Nikes, ill-fitting t-shirts, detached hoods on heads - and they look ace. Shabby as hell.
They sound good too. Testament to the venue no doubt and a certain professionalism from the band – to the extent that lead singer Rhys Jones meekly suggested that stage-divers stage-dive either side of his microphone so as not to upset the sound. That’s correct, there were stage divers. I ain’t seen that shit since Nirvana. Good shoes, of course, sound nothing like Oasis or Nirvana, but like Gang Of Four, Clap Your Hands Say Yeah and The Libertines.
The guitars (Steve Leach) are all sketchy scrambled and urgent, the bass (Joel Cox) a perennial pounding, the drumming (Tom Jones) is fast, frantic punky, and the vocals have an impressive, shouty Mark E Smith quality to them complete with in-decipherable lyrics. A lot of bands are indulging in this new-wave post-punk shenanigans, and some do it much better than others. These chaps do it well, and they know it. That’s why they look like shit see, no need to be hyper-trendy yet, still got the tunes to get them through. That can all wait until they’ve sold their first coupla’ hundred thousand records.
Some Short Reviews. Rose Kemp - A Handful Of Hurricanes (Album) ...and... Grace/Boy Kill Boy/365/The Little Ones/Ripchord/Jeremy Warmsley (Singles)
Album:
Rose Kemp - A Handful Of Hurricanes
Would you care for a treacle-voiced British torturess intermittently forging monstrously powerful walls of sound reminiscent of The Smashing Pumpkins or Scout Niblett complete with some bona fide faux-Albini produced Shellac/Todd Trainer drumming sounds, whilst crooning about fear and violence? Yes please sir.
Singles:
Grace – Stand Still
Stand Still by Grace has nice, excitable rolling drums and uppity bass for starters, that almost get it to ‘good song’ level, before John-Paul Jones sings his bizarre words of patronising encouragement, aimed presumably at a less than thoughtful teenage crowd… “Touching tables made of wood, in a way that makes you perfect/Why try something twice, waste your precious time/If you stand still long enough, the world will come to you.” Quite.
Boy Kill Boy – Shoot Me Down
The problem with singles is: they’re too damn short, there’s too damn many, and not enough of them are any good. It’s enough to make you ponder with yourself that Shoot Me Down by Boy Kill Boy might be worth some of your pennies. Dreary balladry, it would seem, is the next step for these hyper-contrived, definitely-not-self-styled pretties - an attempt to cover all the potential bases of indie-rock perhaps; one that will go largely unnoticed, hopefully.
365 – One Touch
It’s not all indie music round here though you know; sometimes we like some brass backed beats with lyrics about instantaneous love/misogyny/casual sex, from new boybands like 365. One Touch (November 13th - Innocent Records) it’s called, and it’s less appealing than an evening jamming with Michael Jackson (2006, not 1986) and The Backstreet Boys at one of the ‘other’ members of *NSYNC’s house – which coincidentally is probably what these dudes wish they were doing.
The Little Ones – Lovers Who Uncover
The Little Ones Lovers Who Uncover sounds like Mercury Rev would probably sound if they went to hang out in some happy-clappy Hawaiian funk bar with a coupla’ post-rock guitarists. That scenario would probably be less weird than it sounds, but a whole load of fun. The b-side too retains the vibe and has bloody maracas - ace. This lot might be worth keeping an eye on.
Ripchord – Lock Up Your Daughters (And Throw Away The Key)
Ripchord sound like Just A Mustache era Thunderbirds Are Now! and probably don’t even realise, judging by the press release. This then, is a good thing. Speedy, urgent, sounds-casual-but-probably-isn’t, verse/chorus/verse/chorus with a bit of shouting, bratty lyrics and some nifty guitar work over a relentless bass and you have yourself a cracking little single that proves two things: British pop-punk isn’t all bad; and not everything Ian Broudie touches is easily scoffed at, responsible as he is for the production of Lock Up Your Daughters (And Throw Away the Key)
Jeremy Warmsley – Dirty Blue Jeans
Jeremy Warmsley is a young man with supreme control over words and sounds, which he combines expertly to make some of the most attention-worthy music released this year. Frantic his delivery is on Dirty Blue Jeans, a track riddled with contradiction thanks to a perennial sounds-like-a-recorder ditty that hovers throughout this otherwise gritty ditty. Lyrically velvetine and sonically intriguing and original - this is a gem.
Rose Kemp - A Handful Of Hurricanes
Would you care for a treacle-voiced British torturess intermittently forging monstrously powerful walls of sound reminiscent of The Smashing Pumpkins or Scout Niblett complete with some bona fide faux-Albini produced Shellac/Todd Trainer drumming sounds, whilst crooning about fear and violence? Yes please sir.
Singles:
Grace – Stand Still
Stand Still by Grace has nice, excitable rolling drums and uppity bass for starters, that almost get it to ‘good song’ level, before John-Paul Jones sings his bizarre words of patronising encouragement, aimed presumably at a less than thoughtful teenage crowd… “Touching tables made of wood, in a way that makes you perfect/Why try something twice, waste your precious time/If you stand still long enough, the world will come to you.” Quite.
Boy Kill Boy – Shoot Me Down
The problem with singles is: they’re too damn short, there’s too damn many, and not enough of them are any good. It’s enough to make you ponder with yourself that Shoot Me Down by Boy Kill Boy might be worth some of your pennies. Dreary balladry, it would seem, is the next step for these hyper-contrived, definitely-not-self-styled pretties - an attempt to cover all the potential bases of indie-rock perhaps; one that will go largely unnoticed, hopefully.
365 – One Touch
It’s not all indie music round here though you know; sometimes we like some brass backed beats with lyrics about instantaneous love/misogyny/casual sex, from new boybands like 365. One Touch (November 13th - Innocent Records) it’s called, and it’s less appealing than an evening jamming with Michael Jackson (2006, not 1986) and The Backstreet Boys at one of the ‘other’ members of *NSYNC’s house – which coincidentally is probably what these dudes wish they were doing.
The Little Ones – Lovers Who Uncover
The Little Ones Lovers Who Uncover sounds like Mercury Rev would probably sound if they went to hang out in some happy-clappy Hawaiian funk bar with a coupla’ post-rock guitarists. That scenario would probably be less weird than it sounds, but a whole load of fun. The b-side too retains the vibe and has bloody maracas - ace. This lot might be worth keeping an eye on.
Ripchord – Lock Up Your Daughters (And Throw Away The Key)
Ripchord sound like Just A Mustache era Thunderbirds Are Now! and probably don’t even realise, judging by the press release. This then, is a good thing. Speedy, urgent, sounds-casual-but-probably-isn’t, verse/chorus/verse/chorus with a bit of shouting, bratty lyrics and some nifty guitar work over a relentless bass and you have yourself a cracking little single that proves two things: British pop-punk isn’t all bad; and not everything Ian Broudie touches is easily scoffed at, responsible as he is for the production of Lock Up Your Daughters (And Throw Away the Key)
Jeremy Warmsley – Dirty Blue Jeans
Jeremy Warmsley is a young man with supreme control over words and sounds, which he combines expertly to make some of the most attention-worthy music released this year. Frantic his delivery is on Dirty Blue Jeans, a track riddled with contradiction thanks to a perennial sounds-like-a-recorder ditty that hovers throughout this otherwise gritty ditty. Lyrically velvetine and sonically intriguing and original - this is a gem.
Album Review. Richard James - The Seven Sleepers Den.
Ah, the second strike of the Gorky’s fall out. The name: 'The Seven Sleepers Den' is an extract from a John Donne poem, metaphysical musings galore. The sound: hyper-chilled acoustic profundities abound; some in Welsh, some in English, some with no words at all.
The Welsh language has never sounded more beautifully luscious. This is a less schizophrenic effort than Mynci compadre Euros Childs and provides an anecdote to the often overbearing 'Chops'. Two phenomenally creative individual forces have been unravelled on GZM’s hiatus; but James has the edge thanks, perhaps, to his greater patience.
Apart from slide-guitar stomp ‘Wanna See You Die’, he slips effortlessly and constantly from one perfect noise to another, This is ideal log-fire, loved one, bottle of wine, comfort fodder; lapping over you as it does like a blanket of soft warmth.
The Welsh language has never sounded more beautifully luscious. This is a less schizophrenic effort than Mynci compadre Euros Childs and provides an anecdote to the often overbearing 'Chops'. Two phenomenally creative individual forces have been unravelled on GZM’s hiatus; but James has the edge thanks, perhaps, to his greater patience.
Apart from slide-guitar stomp ‘Wanna See You Die’, he slips effortlessly and constantly from one perfect noise to another, This is ideal log-fire, loved one, bottle of wine, comfort fodder; lapping over you as it does like a blanket of soft warmth.
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