Redcarsgofaster/The Maple State/KBC (High Voltage Sounds showcase)
15th January
Metro Club
January crowds man, bloody hell, they suck. I’m not exactly one for getting in the thick of things at the best of times, but usually there’s at least some idiots who jump around in the middle, on their own. Not today though, oh no. Metro club is bare and sparse of human life. Even those in attendance look jaded and shy. So much so that Redcarsgofaster singer/dancer James Summers beckons the crowd to come one step closer, to fill in the inexplicably bald arc that is sitting directly in front of the stage.
Which, graciously, they do. Another thing that signor Summers does and does well, is front an exciting, youthful, promising five-piece. They’re all iForward Russia! and Primal Scream-ey, complete with pumping drum and bassy under-drive (very danceable) and yelping-cum-shouting Bobby Gillespie-esque vocals.
The only trouble I have with these is that the rest of the music (guitars/keyboards) gets lost in a swirling ball of sound. There’s too many people, too many things going on. iForward Russia! are the same. I just can’t grip onto anything. It’s impressive and tight and sweaty and that, but also a confusing mess. To me, anyway. Potential - yes; can do better – I’m positive.
Onto The Maple State then. One less in numbers they are - being four friendly Mancunian youths playing crisp, Futureheads inspired, indie-pop. Pleasant it is too, if unremarkable. Again tight, again promising and with less going on than Redcars they’re easier to get to grips with - perhaps too easy. It’s a tad formulaic, but Gregory Counsell, singer/leader, is funny, handsome and effortlessly charming. Maybe this is the dependable antidote to the Pete Doherty led ‘will they/won’t they show’ mayhem. Jesus. I’d rather a crack-head.
Thank the Lord then for the KBC. Not crack-heads, I imagine, but a trio. Trio’s are always best. The evening has led up to this. Chop a few people out, get rid of the flab and what are you left with: three highly skilled musicians playing a frenetic, moody, sketchy and choppy brand of experimental indie rock. Explain experimental I hear you cry. Well, firstly - sporadic adaptation of Michael Brown’s drum kit from regular to electronic; secondly – frontman James Mulhollands ability to rip shreds into his little sampler desk plus his well-timed use of a megaphone; and thirdly – their willingness to use bass-or-guitar-only breakdowns in their songs. Chuck in good vocals and good songs and you’ve got yourself a winner.
High Voltage have uncovered a gem. They are a thrill, and refreshment indeed from a tired formula. I love this band. Mulholland see: dressed in black, cool haircut – check. Richard Ormerod on the bass: Adidas trainers, baggy jeans and a scruffy hoody. He’s a mess – but they look amazing. Substance over style see, not enough of that in London. Welcome then, Redcarsgofaster, The Maple State and KBC - our friends in the North.
Tuesday, January 16, 2007
Monday, January 15, 2007
Live Review. Murder By Death - Camden Barfly - 11th January.
Murder By Death ooze hard-man, tattooed, cowboy charm. They’re not as dirty as I’d imagined (although it’s pretty dark, and after being in the Barfly for an hour or so, everybody’s dirty) but every bit as manly. They look exactly like cigarette and alcohol ravaged young men should – beards, sideburns, check shirts, earrings, all the gear.
They hail from Indiana and, I imagine, are hard drinking under-achievers. They don’t give a shit, of course, because they’re pissed, hopefully, but they’ve two albums out already in the U.S see, while their pending third long-player, In Bocca Al Lupo, will be the first on general release in England from March.
Three albums right, that’s like six years of hard toil with very little international reward, which, on this performance, is gob-smacking. Their sound is immense. Three dudes play the drums and geetars whilst petite female Sarah Balliet’s attractive hacking at her cello makes up a whisky-drenched, wild west sound pounding below the impressively lithe Adam Turla’s tales of jail break, lost love, alien invasions and the apocalypse. Indiana, it seems, gives one plenty of time to ponder.
I was cynical at first, big time, because there’s a real Johnny Cash-ness to Turla’s voice. “Deliberate, surely” - was my initial reaction. “These blood-sucking bastards are milking the world-weary Americana vibe,” was the immediate follow-up. But I think perhaps I’ll put aside my barbaric loyalty after this live show. His voice is monstrous and true and after all, MBD are all about the loyalty. To friends, family, fans, anyone on a wavelength: “I know there’s better brothers/but you’re the only one that’s mine,” they boom on new single Brother. Their craft is in storytelling, and they create blood-smattered, sweaty, sand-worn-boots-in-a-saloon-bar yarns. Clint Eastwood wouldn’t be out of place in the crowd; The Good, The Bad and The Ugly is on repeat on the tour bus.
This, of course, is probably bullshit. Clint Eastwood, believe it or not, isn’t actually a cowboy, but when it matters, you trust him. Perhaps MBD drink Smirnoff Ice and watch romantic comedies, but the point is, like the greats, like Cash, Dylan and Waits, they tell stories that are believable. Yes I can believe that Turla’s brother was in jail, why the hell not? I’m being hasty and presumptuous lumping them in with those three, perhaps the three greatest of all song-writers, but they are of similar ilk, and it’s a damn fine ilk.
They hail from Indiana and, I imagine, are hard drinking under-achievers. They don’t give a shit, of course, because they’re pissed, hopefully, but they’ve two albums out already in the U.S see, while their pending third long-player, In Bocca Al Lupo, will be the first on general release in England from March.
Three albums right, that’s like six years of hard toil with very little international reward, which, on this performance, is gob-smacking. Their sound is immense. Three dudes play the drums and geetars whilst petite female Sarah Balliet’s attractive hacking at her cello makes up a whisky-drenched, wild west sound pounding below the impressively lithe Adam Turla’s tales of jail break, lost love, alien invasions and the apocalypse. Indiana, it seems, gives one plenty of time to ponder.
I was cynical at first, big time, because there’s a real Johnny Cash-ness to Turla’s voice. “Deliberate, surely” - was my initial reaction. “These blood-sucking bastards are milking the world-weary Americana vibe,” was the immediate follow-up. But I think perhaps I’ll put aside my barbaric loyalty after this live show. His voice is monstrous and true and after all, MBD are all about the loyalty. To friends, family, fans, anyone on a wavelength: “I know there’s better brothers/but you’re the only one that’s mine,” they boom on new single Brother. Their craft is in storytelling, and they create blood-smattered, sweaty, sand-worn-boots-in-a-saloon-bar yarns. Clint Eastwood wouldn’t be out of place in the crowd; The Good, The Bad and The Ugly is on repeat on the tour bus.
This, of course, is probably bullshit. Clint Eastwood, believe it or not, isn’t actually a cowboy, but when it matters, you trust him. Perhaps MBD drink Smirnoff Ice and watch romantic comedies, but the point is, like the greats, like Cash, Dylan and Waits, they tell stories that are believable. Yes I can believe that Turla’s brother was in jail, why the hell not? I’m being hasty and presumptuous lumping them in with those three, perhaps the three greatest of all song-writers, but they are of similar ilk, and it’s a damn fine ilk.
Album Review. Screaming Tea Party - Death Egg.
What a name - Screaming Tea Party. What a title – Death Egg. Can this fail to be brilliant? No. Hurrah! Right from the terrifying, menacing beginnings of Between Air And Air this six-tracker flits between brutality and sweetness like the two are intertwined – and the more I think about it, the more it makes absolute sense.
It’s the clown thing, the puppet thing, the fairground music thing, the child-catcher in Chitty Chitty Bang Bang thing. Darkness hides in the most unlikely of sources - evil finds a home most prominently within innocence. Only one of these tracks exceeds 4.30 minutes and the simplicity of the chords dictates that it’s pop music, and it’s some of the most frighteningly original and skewed pop I’ve heard in a long time.
It comes as no surprise that there’s a female Japanese member in this three piece. Not to be sweeping or nothing, but there’s a cracking sickly/sweet hardcore scene seeping through our industry thanks to these dudes, and this lot, combining Japanese influence with a coupla’ East Londoners, have hit a magic formula.
The guitar solos are twisted, the chord changes simple, the vocals sometimes-male-sometimes-female and distorted, the flexibility impressive. The riffs are sometimes sweet, sometimes immense - Reckless Rabbit echoes Nirvana at their brutal best. There’s Jesus And Mary Chain and Velvet Underground in there too. How’s that for influences? That’s friggin’ perfect.
The bass is rampant throughout and seems to lie there, under the music, not too prominent but spine-crackingly effective. Like a shadow observed beneath you when you’re swimming in the sea, it’s terrifying without actually doing anything.
This is spot on. Spot the fuck on. These are easily the best wear-Nirvana-on-our-sleeve crew since God knows when. Nirvana’s greatest crime was the spawning of hours and hours of tedious crap. This hopefully, is about to change…
It’s the clown thing, the puppet thing, the fairground music thing, the child-catcher in Chitty Chitty Bang Bang thing. Darkness hides in the most unlikely of sources - evil finds a home most prominently within innocence. Only one of these tracks exceeds 4.30 minutes and the simplicity of the chords dictates that it’s pop music, and it’s some of the most frighteningly original and skewed pop I’ve heard in a long time.
It comes as no surprise that there’s a female Japanese member in this three piece. Not to be sweeping or nothing, but there’s a cracking sickly/sweet hardcore scene seeping through our industry thanks to these dudes, and this lot, combining Japanese influence with a coupla’ East Londoners, have hit a magic formula.
The guitar solos are twisted, the chord changes simple, the vocals sometimes-male-sometimes-female and distorted, the flexibility impressive. The riffs are sometimes sweet, sometimes immense - Reckless Rabbit echoes Nirvana at their brutal best. There’s Jesus And Mary Chain and Velvet Underground in there too. How’s that for influences? That’s friggin’ perfect.
The bass is rampant throughout and seems to lie there, under the music, not too prominent but spine-crackingly effective. Like a shadow observed beneath you when you’re swimming in the sea, it’s terrifying without actually doing anything.
This is spot on. Spot the fuck on. These are easily the best wear-Nirvana-on-our-sleeve crew since God knows when. Nirvana’s greatest crime was the spawning of hours and hours of tedious crap. This hopefully, is about to change…
Album Review. Whirlwind Head - I Fucked Up Types Of Wood.
I’d never heard Whirlwind Heat before this, so to be presented with alternative versions of the songs from their third album made me question whether I was in fact the ideal fella to be doing this ‘ere review.
Sod it though eh? Treat an album on its merits and all that. Okay so I can’t comment on Whirlwind Heat’s creative journey up to this point, and I can’t begin to compare these songs to anything they’ve previously released, or indeed the songs that they are alternative versions of. What I can do though is say this: Kazoo’s, acoustic guitars and computer voices haven’t put me off wanting to hear more by these guys.
This album is most likely an experiment of sorts, sound-wise, but the lyrics are very good, I like the dudes voice and the structures are nice. Also, I can dig a bit of experimentation and they have a good name. One of their songs is called I Fucked Up Umbrella People, which makes me giggle like a twat every time.
Sod it though eh? Treat an album on its merits and all that. Okay so I can’t comment on Whirlwind Heat’s creative journey up to this point, and I can’t begin to compare these songs to anything they’ve previously released, or indeed the songs that they are alternative versions of. What I can do though is say this: Kazoo’s, acoustic guitars and computer voices haven’t put me off wanting to hear more by these guys.
This album is most likely an experiment of sorts, sound-wise, but the lyrics are very good, I like the dudes voice and the structures are nice. Also, I can dig a bit of experimentation and they have a good name. One of their songs is called I Fucked Up Umbrella People, which makes me giggle like a twat every time.
Two Single Reviews. Tiny Masters Of Today - K.I.D.S... AND, Soho Dolls - No Regrets.
Tiny Masters Of Today
K.I.D.S
Tigertrap Records
Kids these days, bloody hell. They fucking rock! If I’d been making music like this before I’d hit puberty (or indeed, ever) God knows how I’d have turned out. It can’t be healthy, can it? Child stars never turn out okay.
Nonetheless, good press seems to follow these two, but I can’t help but feel their age may have something to do with it. This single is fine, and it’s noisy, and its kind of punk-rocky, but it’s pretty average. Its not particularly original or intelligent or nowt, and I hate to think people will just be oogling at heir youthfulness. Good luck to their carers and all that, but let’s just hope they don’t turn into some kind of freakshow. Two words: Michael… Jackson…
Soho Dolls
No Regrets
Filthy Pretty Records
“Hotter than your average bitch/flick on, flick off my switch.” Oo, dirty. Electronic too, two good things, very good. But somehow, this disappoints. It somehow drops short of what it could’ve been. Perhaps it’s the cheesy chorus, perhaps it’s that I just don’t believe the Soho Dolls. This is directionless, needless bottom-of-the-box fodder. It’s a radio edit too, but I’d be very surprised if I heard it on my, or any, transistor anytime soon.
K.I.D.S
Tigertrap Records
Kids these days, bloody hell. They fucking rock! If I’d been making music like this before I’d hit puberty (or indeed, ever) God knows how I’d have turned out. It can’t be healthy, can it? Child stars never turn out okay.
Nonetheless, good press seems to follow these two, but I can’t help but feel their age may have something to do with it. This single is fine, and it’s noisy, and its kind of punk-rocky, but it’s pretty average. Its not particularly original or intelligent or nowt, and I hate to think people will just be oogling at heir youthfulness. Good luck to their carers and all that, but let’s just hope they don’t turn into some kind of freakshow. Two words: Michael… Jackson…
Soho Dolls
No Regrets
Filthy Pretty Records
“Hotter than your average bitch/flick on, flick off my switch.” Oo, dirty. Electronic too, two good things, very good. But somehow, this disappoints. It somehow drops short of what it could’ve been. Perhaps it’s the cheesy chorus, perhaps it’s that I just don’t believe the Soho Dolls. This is directionless, needless bottom-of-the-box fodder. It’s a radio edit too, but I’d be very surprised if I heard it on my, or any, transistor anytime soon.
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