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.
Monday, December 18, 2006
Interview. James Summers from Redcarsgofaster.
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.
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.
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.
Sunday, November 12, 2006
Two Short Reviews. Good Shoes - The Photos On My Wall (Single) ...and... Psychic Ills - Early Violence (Album).
Good Shoes - The Photos On My Wall:
Sketchy guitars – check. Vocals/delivery akin to various 70’s post-punk bands – check. Cheeky lyrics – check. Less than two minutes long – check. Nice little break a minute and a half in – check. Indie-schmindie – check. Nothing new then, but reasonably adept nonetheless; and it’ll please the scenesters – nice.
Psychic Ills - Early Violence:
If you like dense, lyrically sparse fuzz-rock with minute-long portions of feedback and slow, chugging repetition en masse that leave the overall impression that physical time and song structure are largely irrelevant, I recommend you consume this prelude to the current Ills material.
Sketchy guitars – check. Vocals/delivery akin to various 70’s post-punk bands – check. Cheeky lyrics – check. Less than two minutes long – check. Nice little break a minute and a half in – check. Indie-schmindie – check. Nothing new then, but reasonably adept nonetheless; and it’ll please the scenesters – nice.
Psychic Ills - Early Violence:
If you like dense, lyrically sparse fuzz-rock with minute-long portions of feedback and slow, chugging repetition en masse that leave the overall impression that physical time and song structure are largely irrelevant, I recommend you consume this prelude to the current Ills material.
Album Review. Thunderbirds Are Now! - Make History.
This lot create records by tweaking and pulling at their particular brand of ever-present post-punk: from hyperactive spaz, through uber-tight disco, to what is now a melodic and insightful brand of pop.
Uncertainty loomed after first perusal of Make History, dismissiveness even, but slowly – like illness that you know is coming but hasn’t hit yet – I got it. TAN! used to be more fun than sticking one’s head out of a car whilst being driven, in a car, on a motorway.
Now, Ryan Allen sings like a girl no more, they’ve observed and critiqued the world, got all raucously tuneful and written a wise LP about life and the people who are living it (they are dumb, misunderstood/we’d eat our young if they tasted good/people don’t impress me much) – ace.
Uncertainty loomed after first perusal of Make History, dismissiveness even, but slowly – like illness that you know is coming but hasn’t hit yet – I got it. TAN! used to be more fun than sticking one’s head out of a car whilst being driven, in a car, on a motorway.
Now, Ryan Allen sings like a girl no more, they’ve observed and critiqued the world, got all raucously tuneful and written a wise LP about life and the people who are living it (they are dumb, misunderstood/we’d eat our young if they tasted good/people don’t impress me much) – ace.
Live Review. Tapes 'n' Tapes - Kings College London - Wednesday 8th November 2006.
Tapes and Tapes are a lucky band for sure. $1000 to make their much revered debut, a clear gift for a quirky tune and a charm that, up close and personal, is unexpectedly endearing. These dudes look and act like American College kids done good, so Kings College London’s Tutu Club was in many ways an ideal venue, packed with people with whom they can relate. Plus it’s a considerably more intimate setting for the band than my previous encounter with them at this years Reading festival.
There, in the tent, their charm, their subtleties and their sound were dwarfed by the enormity of it all. Too many people, too many wankers, too many other bands and not enough amps – festivals are an appalling place to watch live music: quantity is guaranteed, quality is sparse.
Here, as I view from on high, balancing on an excellently positioned balcony, they pay me back with a vengeance – thank Christ. Nothing pisses me off more than when great records are backed up by shoddy live shows…no names shall be mentioned…apart from Clap Your Hands Say Yeah…Ahem.
T ‘n’ T’s sound was crisp, the vocals were clear and they played like they were having a whale of a time. Scant words between songs is something which gigs are always better off for - apart from Cobain at MTV Unplugged: so poignant, so fragile, those words were songs - and the odd jibe went down well, but when you’ve got a record like The Loon under your belt, you may as well pipe down and play the bloody lot.
And they duly did, pretty much, and how they played. To begin: Just Drums and The Iliad, the first two tracks on the album, but no track three, not yet, that’d be ridiculous; first, a dash of old material, an eerie Omaha, and a much appreciated In Houston – omitted at Reading - oozing with cracked desperation. Then, chuck in Cowbell dripping with dirty revenge and the bombastically energetic Insistor to complete the hit parade and let Jacov’s Suite finish it all with a bass bashing “I-don’t-care-if-we’re-inde-minimalism-I’m-gonna-get-on-my-knees-anyway” finale. Sod encores.
Yes they sound like Pavement, but goddamnit Pavement were fucking great - and so are Tapes and Tapes… Roll on album number two and I’ll be seeing them again for definite y’all.
There, in the tent, their charm, their subtleties and their sound were dwarfed by the enormity of it all. Too many people, too many wankers, too many other bands and not enough amps – festivals are an appalling place to watch live music: quantity is guaranteed, quality is sparse.
Here, as I view from on high, balancing on an excellently positioned balcony, they pay me back with a vengeance – thank Christ. Nothing pisses me off more than when great records are backed up by shoddy live shows…no names shall be mentioned…apart from Clap Your Hands Say Yeah…Ahem.
T ‘n’ T’s sound was crisp, the vocals were clear and they played like they were having a whale of a time. Scant words between songs is something which gigs are always better off for - apart from Cobain at MTV Unplugged: so poignant, so fragile, those words were songs - and the odd jibe went down well, but when you’ve got a record like The Loon under your belt, you may as well pipe down and play the bloody lot.
And they duly did, pretty much, and how they played. To begin: Just Drums and The Iliad, the first two tracks on the album, but no track three, not yet, that’d be ridiculous; first, a dash of old material, an eerie Omaha, and a much appreciated In Houston – omitted at Reading - oozing with cracked desperation. Then, chuck in Cowbell dripping with dirty revenge and the bombastically energetic Insistor to complete the hit parade and let Jacov’s Suite finish it all with a bass bashing “I-don’t-care-if-we’re-inde-minimalism-I’m-gonna-get-on-my-knees-anyway” finale. Sod encores.
Yes they sound like Pavement, but goddamnit Pavement were fucking great - and so are Tapes and Tapes… Roll on album number two and I’ll be seeing them again for definite y’all.
Extended Album Review. Yo La Tengo - I'm Not Afraid Of You And I Will Beat Your Ass.
Yo La Tengo are not just a band. Ira Kaplan, Georgia Hubley and James Mcnew go above and beyond the call of duty; with their output, their integrity, their ‘cult’ status. Their dedication to their art has encouraged the growth of respect, amongst those who buy, those who try, and those who pay. With a growth of respect comes trust, and with trust a willingness for folk surrounding them to allow them freedom.
Freedom is a tricky concept – possibly overrated and probably misunderstood. Some people do not, and will never, know what to do with freedom, and this naturally applies to bands. It is what makes bands great in fact; that they are created by people, and some/most people are fragile and often lost. They need guides and a helping hand – a push in the right direction, and when they get this, they can produce, and by no means is this output lesser, but it is different, and less pure.
Artistic genius lies in the loners. Those that are out there doing it on their own and thriving from it. Members of this clan are fortunately limited and few can achieve it satisfactorily; those that spring to mind are Radiohead and Sonic Youth – they are among those that can harness the respect, recognise they deserve the respect and use the platform of trust to produce records born from pressure-less creativity.
I’m Not Afraid Of You And Will Beat Your Ass is one of these; it is the sound of a band letting rip. Yo La Tengo’s creative juices are gushing like an irrepressible geyser on this record.
Whilst press and fans alike have been complementary it has been suggested that the record is less accomplished, less seminal and less essential than there other work – but this is to miss the point. Music, especially when critics get the chance to stick there oar in, is often reduced to a ‘better-or-worse-than’ criteria that can be helpful, but at the same time is far from being a formula that can be relied on.
Yo La Tengo surpass this. It is art, they are creators and everything they do, I believe is part of a journey. They have garnered such respect that any doubt into the love and care and soul put into their work doesn’t even get the chance to root. This is not a case of blindness, they have earned my trust and until they give me a reason to doubt it, everything they produce is good art, real art. They have always been in love with music and still are; I like to think that like so many bands don’t do these days, they will almost certainly quit when the love is gone. They, like I, do not trust bad art.
This record emphasises all that Yo La Tengo do with first class adeptness. As much flowery word-smithery and well though out metaphors cannot hide the fact that as opener ‘Pass The Hatchet, I Think I’m Goodkind’ ploughs and rumbles it’s deep, dark riff at you through a cloud of distortion, it just sounds cool. That word can be desriptive, just listen to the song.
The starkly contrasting Beanbag Chair follows with its outrageously jaunty piano riff which stews nicely with the tenderness of Hubley’s voice on ‘I Feel Like Going Home’. Graze over the distinct trumpet-backed niceties of ‘Mr Tough’: “If you need to tell me something once, you won’t have to tell me twice/And if you ask for a nickel,I’m going to give you a dime,” through the still-innocent-in-love tweeness of Sometimes I Don’t Get You, “Sometimes I don’t know you/It’s like we never met/Sometimes I think I don’t know how to be on my own/Sometimes I won’t answer the door or talk on the phone” and the versatility of both Kaplan’s vocals and Yo La Tengo as a unit are clear as day.
The instrumental Daphnia is sweeping, eerie, and beautifully well thought out music, and at seven and a half minutes long, almost borders into classical, what with its intricacies. On Black Flowers they sound like Daniel Johnston with a violin backing – outsider music created not necessarily by outsiders, not in the way Johnston was, but by those with a deep understanding of outsider music, and indeed as is well documented – all music.
Yo La Tengo’s superiority lies in their adaptability and their switching from styles and genres as if they don’t exist. They make genres look foolish, childish. A hard rock riff, to a piano break, to a horn section, to an electro-riff with bongos in four songs and you have enough evidence that this lot remain masters of the art. The fact that there sound, approach and direction never seem to change that much throughout this, is testament to the single-minded force they are – they push boundaries and they test the water, but they do it together.
Freedom is a tricky concept – possibly overrated and probably misunderstood. Some people do not, and will never, know what to do with freedom, and this naturally applies to bands. It is what makes bands great in fact; that they are created by people, and some/most people are fragile and often lost. They need guides and a helping hand – a push in the right direction, and when they get this, they can produce, and by no means is this output lesser, but it is different, and less pure.
Artistic genius lies in the loners. Those that are out there doing it on their own and thriving from it. Members of this clan are fortunately limited and few can achieve it satisfactorily; those that spring to mind are Radiohead and Sonic Youth – they are among those that can harness the respect, recognise they deserve the respect and use the platform of trust to produce records born from pressure-less creativity.
I’m Not Afraid Of You And Will Beat Your Ass is one of these; it is the sound of a band letting rip. Yo La Tengo’s creative juices are gushing like an irrepressible geyser on this record.
Whilst press and fans alike have been complementary it has been suggested that the record is less accomplished, less seminal and less essential than there other work – but this is to miss the point. Music, especially when critics get the chance to stick there oar in, is often reduced to a ‘better-or-worse-than’ criteria that can be helpful, but at the same time is far from being a formula that can be relied on.
Yo La Tengo surpass this. It is art, they are creators and everything they do, I believe is part of a journey. They have garnered such respect that any doubt into the love and care and soul put into their work doesn’t even get the chance to root. This is not a case of blindness, they have earned my trust and until they give me a reason to doubt it, everything they produce is good art, real art. They have always been in love with music and still are; I like to think that like so many bands don’t do these days, they will almost certainly quit when the love is gone. They, like I, do not trust bad art.
This record emphasises all that Yo La Tengo do with first class adeptness. As much flowery word-smithery and well though out metaphors cannot hide the fact that as opener ‘Pass The Hatchet, I Think I’m Goodkind’ ploughs and rumbles it’s deep, dark riff at you through a cloud of distortion, it just sounds cool. That word can be desriptive, just listen to the song.
The starkly contrasting Beanbag Chair follows with its outrageously jaunty piano riff which stews nicely with the tenderness of Hubley’s voice on ‘I Feel Like Going Home’. Graze over the distinct trumpet-backed niceties of ‘Mr Tough’: “If you need to tell me something once, you won’t have to tell me twice/And if you ask for a nickel,I’m going to give you a dime,” through the still-innocent-in-love tweeness of Sometimes I Don’t Get You, “Sometimes I don’t know you/It’s like we never met/Sometimes I think I don’t know how to be on my own/Sometimes I won’t answer the door or talk on the phone” and the versatility of both Kaplan’s vocals and Yo La Tengo as a unit are clear as day.
The instrumental Daphnia is sweeping, eerie, and beautifully well thought out music, and at seven and a half minutes long, almost borders into classical, what with its intricacies. On Black Flowers they sound like Daniel Johnston with a violin backing – outsider music created not necessarily by outsiders, not in the way Johnston was, but by those with a deep understanding of outsider music, and indeed as is well documented – all music.
Yo La Tengo’s superiority lies in their adaptability and their switching from styles and genres as if they don’t exist. They make genres look foolish, childish. A hard rock riff, to a piano break, to a horn section, to an electro-riff with bongos in four songs and you have enough evidence that this lot remain masters of the art. The fact that there sound, approach and direction never seem to change that much throughout this, is testament to the single-minded force they are – they push boundaries and they test the water, but they do it together.
Sunday, October 29, 2006
Single Review. Sparklehorse - Don't Take My Sunshine Away.
‘Don’t Take My Sunshine Away’ is a cute, sweet, subversive effort at a love song that works pretty well on the whole with the simple declaration that “Baby you are my sunshine/Please don’t take my sunshine away” ruling the chorus and a well disguised ‘Heart-Shaped Box’ moment two and a half minutes involving a heavily distorted guitar solo ripping through the absent serenity that the majority of the track creates.
Whether this signifies a corruption of the love that Mark Linkous seems to be battling so hard to retain, or if he just thinks it sounds cool, I know not. I suspect the latter, and you know what? It does sound cool.
‘Ghost In The Sky (2006 version)’ and ‘Knives Of Sumertime’ are further confirmation that Linkous is a one-man, good mood construction machine. Like perhaps a snow machine at a particularly sparce Winter Olympics, he can pump out spring and summertime, on demand, like they’re the only seasons that exist. “You need summer? I’ve got summer,” is the kind of thing he’d say before blasting you with warm, glowing, relaxed sonic waves that make me think of gleeful spring-stepped children running in hay fields. He makes me feel like I’m getting a sun-tan in my cold room, in my bad chair, with a bowl or warm soup – and I cherish him for that.
Clearly he must live in his own world of niceness and joy, a different world to mine for sure, but whatever world that may be, I am certain that they are fully aware how talented he is.
Whether this signifies a corruption of the love that Mark Linkous seems to be battling so hard to retain, or if he just thinks it sounds cool, I know not. I suspect the latter, and you know what? It does sound cool.
‘Ghost In The Sky (2006 version)’ and ‘Knives Of Sumertime’ are further confirmation that Linkous is a one-man, good mood construction machine. Like perhaps a snow machine at a particularly sparce Winter Olympics, he can pump out spring and summertime, on demand, like they’re the only seasons that exist. “You need summer? I’ve got summer,” is the kind of thing he’d say before blasting you with warm, glowing, relaxed sonic waves that make me think of gleeful spring-stepped children running in hay fields. He makes me feel like I’m getting a sun-tan in my cold room, in my bad chair, with a bowl or warm soup – and I cherish him for that.
Clearly he must live in his own world of niceness and joy, a different world to mine for sure, but whatever world that may be, I am certain that they are fully aware how talented he is.
Single Review. Babyshambles and Friends - Janey Jones.
Babyshambles are still going, up to a point, and given their strife recently, this offering will do nicely in keeping interest and awareness in the music buying public – and it’s for a good cause too, splendid.
It’s not just them though, members of Test Icicles and The Paddingtons (among others) are reportedly on the track - not that you’d notice, given that the only people you can hear are Pete Doherty and…Carl Barat. Hearing Pete and Carl vocally spa again (sort of, they recorded their parts separately) won’t fail to bring out any Libertines sentiment that may be sitting in your soul., and the track sounds great.
Pete is a bloody mess, no doubt, but for anyone still holding a torch for the little scamp this will be a joy. He was born to cover The Clash, he’s probably been doing it since his blood ran clean and free. Let’s just hope that cover versions aren’t what it’s come to.
It’s not just them though, members of Test Icicles and The Paddingtons (among others) are reportedly on the track - not that you’d notice, given that the only people you can hear are Pete Doherty and…Carl Barat. Hearing Pete and Carl vocally spa again (sort of, they recorded their parts separately) won’t fail to bring out any Libertines sentiment that may be sitting in your soul., and the track sounds great.
Pete is a bloody mess, no doubt, but for anyone still holding a torch for the little scamp this will be a joy. He was born to cover The Clash, he’s probably been doing it since his blood ran clean and free. Let’s just hope that cover versions aren’t what it’s come to.
Album Review. Battle - Back To Earth.
If I ever encounter Battle, I’ll be sure to ask them about their favourite Cure and Smiths albums. I won’t patronise them though, oh no. Instead, I’ll compliment the classy, synth-backed homage of ‘Tendency’, the gloomy wit when pondering “how can you ever chase happiness when you don’t have the heart to be hurt” (in ‘I Never Stopped’) and the piercing dance-ability of ‘Isabelle’.
Then, I’ll eliminate the question in my notebook regarding their slim output and failure as yet to provide a full length debut, privately forgive them and explain the extent to which I appreciate how British this seven track mini-album sounds without it descending into half-witted, pub-rock nationalism.
Indie disco etiquette should dictate that this lot become large.
Then, I’ll eliminate the question in my notebook regarding their slim output and failure as yet to provide a full length debut, privately forgive them and explain the extent to which I appreciate how British this seven track mini-album sounds without it descending into half-witted, pub-rock nationalism.
Indie disco etiquette should dictate that this lot become large.
Album Review. The Long Blondes - Someone To Drive You Home
The words ‘style’ and ‘substance’ sprang immediately to mind on first encounter with this ultra-trendy, Sheffield-heralding, girl/boy garage outfit. Having cynically suspected the former to dominate I was delighted, after inspection of the fresh-from-Debbie-Harry-wannabee-school Kate Jackson, to deliberate over and decide that she might just be a British Karen O.
Elderly sister wiser-than-thou witticisms and advice-from-experience word smithery ensure she bubbles with kudos – and she can sing too, “nineteen, you’re only nineteen for God’s sake/you don’t need a boyfriend” her impressive pipes clamour on the ludicrously enjoyable ‘Once And Never Again”. ‘Giddy Srotospheres’, ‘Seperated By Motorways’ and ‘Weekend Without Makeup’ continue the indie-pop romp with choruses so darn catchy that involuntary movements of one’s body can virtually be expected.
Jackson is an all singing, all hip twitching, one-woman therapy group for indie-girl singletons. This woman will be a hero and if their hits carry them far enough, maybe they all will.
Elderly sister wiser-than-thou witticisms and advice-from-experience word smithery ensure she bubbles with kudos – and she can sing too, “nineteen, you’re only nineteen for God’s sake/you don’t need a boyfriend” her impressive pipes clamour on the ludicrously enjoyable ‘Once And Never Again”. ‘Giddy Srotospheres’, ‘Seperated By Motorways’ and ‘Weekend Without Makeup’ continue the indie-pop romp with choruses so darn catchy that involuntary movements of one’s body can virtually be expected.
Jackson is an all singing, all hip twitching, one-woman therapy group for indie-girl singletons. This woman will be a hero and if their hits carry them far enough, maybe they all will.
Album Review. Various - 30 Years Of Rough Trade
Rough trade are good at compilations and they duly create many, each it would seem with its own peculiar trait. This particular double disc of self-appraisal celebrates the shops thirty year history by asking famous fans and members of the label (Jarvis Cocker, Bjork, Thurston Moore, Bobby Gillespie, James Murphy) to pick their favourite offerings and we are presented with a chronological catalogue from almost every year from 1976 up until 2005 that Rough Trade has been releasing records.
Right from The Modern Lovers verbal gold – “some people try to pick up girls and get called assholes/this never happened to Pablo Picasso” – I was listening. A sonic safari ride through girl pop-punk (Kleenex), murder soundtrack schizophrenia (The Mekons), super funky, thrust-defying groove (Afrika Bambaataa And The Soul Sonic Force) plus a personal introduction to Adam And The Ants and I was the proverbial child in the also proverbial candy store of un-tapped resources of musical history – not to mention the fucking Pixies. Well you would put the Pixies in a compilation if you could, wouldn’t you eh? Disc one, then, is complete.
High praise indeed so far, and I actually prefer disc two: from Joe Strummer gone solo; cowbell enhanced, guitar-lick-heavy trip-hop (Stock, Hausen and Walkman), deep, dark, experimental electronica (Stereolab and Nurse With Wound); to the aching serenades of Lal Waterson and Oliver Knight; the trembling beauty of Karen Dalton’s fragility and the ring-leading, woman admiring, sex-licked, circus freak show of James Luther Dickinson, it’s a relentlessly entertaining trip trough a small section of the Rough Trade archives that repeatedly transcends genres. It dips in quality occasionally, but provides so much of interest that it’s really hard to take any issue with that – and anyway, of course it does, it’s a double-disc compilation.
A number of things became clear to me throughout this celebration: firstly, the mass of quality artists that Rough Trade have had on their books over the years, and thus how influential they have been, to listeners and creators of music alike. Secondly, that as a label - whilst retaining a commendable ethic - they have deftly moved with the times, swapping from the dirty, dangerous, obnoxious punk-rock/butt-rock of the seventies, through hillbilly gospel (The Carter Family), overtly homosexual, sadistic clamourings to be fucked by a sailor (The Frogs), up to and including the way too well observed wit-fest of LCD Soundsystem’s ‘Losing My Edge’.
I knew I liked Rough Trade, but not this much. This is the best compilation I have heard this year, and I recommend you get yourself a copy, especially if you think you might like to hear Schneider TM vs Kpt. Michi. Gan turn The Smiths’ ‘There Is A Light’ into a slowed-down, synthed-up , ambient bleepathon. You might think this is a good thing, you might not.
Right from The Modern Lovers verbal gold – “some people try to pick up girls and get called assholes/this never happened to Pablo Picasso” – I was listening. A sonic safari ride through girl pop-punk (Kleenex), murder soundtrack schizophrenia (The Mekons), super funky, thrust-defying groove (Afrika Bambaataa And The Soul Sonic Force) plus a personal introduction to Adam And The Ants and I was the proverbial child in the also proverbial candy store of un-tapped resources of musical history – not to mention the fucking Pixies. Well you would put the Pixies in a compilation if you could, wouldn’t you eh? Disc one, then, is complete.
High praise indeed so far, and I actually prefer disc two: from Joe Strummer gone solo; cowbell enhanced, guitar-lick-heavy trip-hop (Stock, Hausen and Walkman), deep, dark, experimental electronica (Stereolab and Nurse With Wound); to the aching serenades of Lal Waterson and Oliver Knight; the trembling beauty of Karen Dalton’s fragility and the ring-leading, woman admiring, sex-licked, circus freak show of James Luther Dickinson, it’s a relentlessly entertaining trip trough a small section of the Rough Trade archives that repeatedly transcends genres. It dips in quality occasionally, but provides so much of interest that it’s really hard to take any issue with that – and anyway, of course it does, it’s a double-disc compilation.
A number of things became clear to me throughout this celebration: firstly, the mass of quality artists that Rough Trade have had on their books over the years, and thus how influential they have been, to listeners and creators of music alike. Secondly, that as a label - whilst retaining a commendable ethic - they have deftly moved with the times, swapping from the dirty, dangerous, obnoxious punk-rock/butt-rock of the seventies, through hillbilly gospel (The Carter Family), overtly homosexual, sadistic clamourings to be fucked by a sailor (The Frogs), up to and including the way too well observed wit-fest of LCD Soundsystem’s ‘Losing My Edge’.
I knew I liked Rough Trade, but not this much. This is the best compilation I have heard this year, and I recommend you get yourself a copy, especially if you think you might like to hear Schneider TM vs Kpt. Michi. Gan turn The Smiths’ ‘There Is A Light’ into a slowed-down, synthed-up , ambient bleepathon. You might think this is a good thing, you might not.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)