With a hint of sea air, this folksy group from the deep dark depths of Kodiak Island, Alaska, have created a relaxing but catchy and almost addictive new album. It’s a move away from the acoustic sounds of their first but Port O’Brien has managed to retain a sense of their previous identity.
The album as a whole creates a brilliant relaxed
A splash of The Go! Team style shouting/village singing on their first track draws you in with excitement although the remainder of the album is not quite so uplifting. There is a woody, dusty feel to each song, I couldn’t help but imagine sitting round a camp fire with a few old chums, a guitar and everyone singing until their heart’s were content. Maybe even a porch, a straw hat and that trusty guitar would do the trick.
Quite a good album over all, indeed, all I could do was sing along (to the first track anyway). It won’t be making history any time soon, but a nice little listen.
White Denim's drummer Joshua Block comes from the same physical gene pool as Will Ferrell, Tom Waits and Ron Perlman and rides his kit right at the front of the stage. His arms wind milling like a man swimming with meat knives, cutting into each wave as it passes with the zeal of a drunk mid remembrance of a favorite song. Straddled either side by guitarist and bass player to make up this year's Banana Splits. This year's Magic Band. This year's Monkees.
Debut album, Workout Holiday just in the shops. A frenetic yet accessible blending of southern wildcat zest and inventive charm that could only derive from a band that are far more clued up that they'd ever let on, a similar trick to that pulled off by prime era Pavement. White Denim have everything going for them this year. Tonight's appearance at Koko's Club NME is marred by the kind of volcanic reverb an old theatre style building generates and this ill fits a band you need to see tight and dry as fuck in a sweaty bar to get a full grip on their maniacal moonshine melodies and near math-rock riffage.
White Denim are shape shifters, and tonight the song's are in mid mutation, arriving somewhere else by the time you grip what they had been playing a moment ago. A short blast of new single Shake, Shake, Shake's Beasties-esque gang intro gallops into frenetic lashes of wah wah, while the venue's reverb adds an oddly rockabilly twang to James Petralli's voice. Losing your grip here is to be encouraged. It's been a long time since a band came along both so viscerally for-the-kids and yet truly idiosyncratic and White Denim still have some way to go in terms of their name catching on before a song like 'Don't Look That Way At It' is crowned the guitar looped anthem it demands. Judging by the way they blast through tonight, like pirates drunk on loot, the more we have of White Denim, the better.
Photo: Sam Butler
Around this time last year, I spent a very depressing weekend staring at a television getting progressively more annoyed at the presenters on the BBC’s coverage of the hallowed Glastonbury festival. As Lauren Laverne, or whichever doofus it was, complained about the rain, me and the handful of my friends who were also unable to get tickets sat in a living room, sat inside a children’s play tent, gawping at what looked like more fun than an Olympic sized ball pit.
This year was definitely less of a sob story - thank god for Jay-Z and trench foot I say. I was finally able to experience my first Glastonbury and with the added bonus of being with the overwhelming majority of my chums.
We arrived around midday on the Wednesday due to our eagerness to make the most of the very expensive weekend. Our camp, in a prime location near the park, was filling nicely by late afternoon and everybody was in a party mood. Muchos kudos to my friends who brought a tent the size of a small aircraft hanger, it’s fair to say it served us well.
What struck me first of all as something that sets Glastonbury apart from any other festival i've been to is the amount of effort they put into making it look nice. There is art literally everywhere, making it such a pleasant place to be. The whole time I was there I was literally not bored once.
A small queue outside the door upon my early arrival was perhaps a sign of how great things to come were going to be. Every band on tonight has a degree of buzz surrounding them, and all deservedly so.
Wet paint began slightly unannounced, firing off with their well-crafted grungy sound, kind of like the best side of Pixies, but these guys have a certain adorable quality to them. Lead singer, James Wignall, has a voice filled with emotion, even though at points it’s as dry as a bone. Their set goes down well with the gathering crowd, and was a pleasure to watch.
The Luminaire was fairly heaving by the time I got there - a couple of other bands had earlier taken to the stage to entertain what was apparently a largely post-exam student crowd, whilst the DJ played what seemed like Joy Division’s entire back catalogue (not that I was complaining, but it did seem a little strange – maybe some cheeky scamp had half-inched his other CDs and all that was left was the Heart and Soul box set) before segueing not very convincingly into something a little more dancey for the impending arrival of the RGBs.
I’d seen the RGBs a couple of times before, having heard of them via another review on this fair blog, but this was the first time I’d seen them headlining. Led by the commanding presence of Becky Jones, their music is as spangly as their outfits - three keyboards and a drum kit combine to create a heady mix of 80’s electro pop and early 90’s dance. Come Alive throbs with the energy of an old school rave, whilst The Day name-checks Van Morrison’s Gloria amidst its’ driving electro beat.
Despite a technical hitch about half way through the set, the sheer energy of the RGBs’ performance won over any doubters in the crowd. With some festival spots coming up over the summer, I’m sure there will be a few more crowds that the RGBs will be winning over as well.
This week in June
Monday 23rd
Televised Crimewave, KASMS and Mirror! Mirror! - Hysteria@SIN, London
Beggars - Madame Jojo's, London
Wave Machines, F.Lunaire and Telegram - Chess Club@The Social, London
Ghostwood - Barfly, Cambridge
Tuesday 24th
Franz Ferdinand - Thekla, Bristol
The opportunity to see Franz on a small stage sounds fairly inviting, but the thought of them playing on a boat sounds like almost too much fun. I really wish I lived in Bristol so I could swashbuckle along to this.
Liam Finn - Barfly, London
The Sugars - Charlotte, Leicester
Radiohead and Bat For Lashes - Victoria Park
Beat Stevie, Does It Offend You, Yeah?, Metros and Example - Old Blue Last, London
Wednesday 25th
Goldfrapp and FrYars - Royal Albert Hall, London
Personally I would be more interested in seeing how well frYars goes down at the Albert Hall. I'm sure it will be epic.
School Of Language - Ten Feet Tall, Cardiff
Furthest Drive Home - My Kyps, Poole
Thursday 26th
The Cave Singers - Faversham, Leeds
Lou Reed - Theatre Square, Nottingham
I just imagine this to be something really quite special, and Nottingham is a fantastic city. I heartily recommend the Robin Hood museum while you're there. Just imagine, a day full of musical pioneers and merry men, what more could you possibly want.
My Morning Jacket - Bristol Academy
The Cool Kids - King Tuts, Glasgow
Friday 27th
The Presets - Barfly, Brighton
Gig of the week
Errors and Munch Munch - Barden's Boudoir, London
Errors are really intriguing me at the moment. I can't wait to see them live, and I’m not sure you'll be able to catch them playing boudoirs for much longer (please note, I’m not sure if the venue is an actual boudoir).
Jorge Ben Jor - The Coronet Theatre, London
Sole, SJ Esau and Joe Dangerous - The Freebutt, Brighton
Saturday 28th
Fields, Sian Alice Group and Animals Talking - Proud Galleries, London
OK Tokyo - Chinnery's, London
Sunday 29th
Underground Railroad - Boogaloo, London
A1 People, Les Hommes Du Train and Overlap - Slipped Disco@93 Feet East, London
Photo: Matt Bramford
Laura Marling, you say? Count me in. In a church? Lovely, sign me up! On Friday 13th? Oh, go on then!
I couldn't quite believe my ears when I heard about the fascinating Miss Marling's church tour - it seemed too good to be true. Arriving a little late (as almost every Amelia blogger seems too) wasn't a massive problem this time, and I found a friend of mine waving from a very subdude queue leading to the grand church entrance in the heart of London. The atendees filed in calmly and quietly, with none of the usual teenage, angst-ridden pushing and shoving. People made their way slowly to pews, even letting others pass to get in first. What on Earth was happening?
Two support bands raced through a collection of lively folk-pop tracks - Mumford & Sons and Melody & Me. Both bands are worth a mention and had been chosen to suit perfectly: it comes as no surprise, then, to learn that the first - the more mature and superior of the support acts - form together to become Marling's band in Act II.
When it was finally Laura's turn to grace us with her presence, the sun had set outside and an array of imposing church candles and tealights were lit in order to modify the ambience. The congregation shuffled between pews and appeared behind pillars to catch a better glimpse of the diminutive folk sensation. When she appeared at the altar, sporting a short crop, a t-shirt with a hole in and battered pumps and carrying an acoustic guitar far bigger than her, there wasn't a sound to be heard, except for the odd creak of old wood.
Performances kick off with No Lay, who is apparently the best female MC in the grime scene. This is the grime scene that was pronounced dead not so long ago, and I have to say I agree. It was entertaining to a point, but where is the fun in shouting “put your hands up” over and over to a non-responsive crowd.
The DJ then proceeded to generate a definitive party vibe between bands, busting out plenty of Modular style house and electronica. All of which put the crowd in a frame of mind any band would welcome, especially one that practically specializes in sleazed out party tunes.
This evening however, the bumbleez's attempts at sleaze sometimes seem to drift unnecessarily over into the nearly shambolic. With electronic beats pouring out the speakers there seemed little point in a drum kit, but it was used nonetheless. I couldn’t help but think that more use of it would have made their whole sound sit together better. If anything tonight’s performance highlighted the production talents. They certainly have the songs to keep a dance floor going when on record; I just wish this came across more in their live show.
The monthly helping of Dance Magic Dance at Shoreditch’s Old Blue Last was tonight serving up a distinctly female-fronted indie dish. First up were Kids Love Lies with their agreeably frenetic post-punk sound.
We were then treated to Betty and the Werewolves, who gave us bouncy garage-fuelled stompers with lyrics guaranteed to put a smile on your face.
Main course tonight was the all-girl group Mentalists. Taking to the stage in outfits that a cynic might have deemed as a touch Bangles-y, they mix a New Wave edge with power-pop sensibilities, led by singer Kim E. Leon’s powerful vocals, and they launched into a blistering set. With a spot at Glasto in a couple of weeks, they are bound to go down a storm. Watch out, Worthy Farm, these girls rock!
A short stroll to the venue is a very welcome change, and seemed to pass quickly due to my excitement over tonight’s bill. Golden Silvers are as Henry Dartnall from The Young Knives later states, “Very up and coming and hip.” They’re also one of my personal favorites at the moment. Their single ‘Arrows Of Eros’, which is yet to drop on Young & Lost Club, encompasses Morrissey on a shoestring vocals, jabbing, squeaky keys and Talking Heads era funk – all with a twist of beguiling originality.
The Young Knives take their place on stage with that straight from work to the office Christmas party look that they do so well. They really do know how to sport a fine pair of M&S slacks.
The first song to get the crowd hopping is the exemplary ‘Terra Firma’. I’ve never understood the meaning behind this song. I mean obviously it’s about fake rabbits, real snakes and the ground, but I’m sure it probably also has some deep metaphorical meaning which is way over my head. To me though, it just makes for a brilliant chorus, and you can’t help but get caught up in the raucousness of it all.
Between songs the most hilarious and delightfully coarse banter is exchanged between Henry and The House of Lords (I swear that never gets old). This finally escalated to point where the House of Lords shouted out to the sound guy, “Can you turn my vocals down, and turn up the voices telling me to kill him”.
‘Weekends and Bleak Days’ insights drunken, two pints aloft, shouting of “Hot summer, what a bummer” from some members of the audience. I think it’s always a delight to see stuff like this happen, in any other situation this act just wouldn’t be acceptable. I suppose it could only happen at what it says on wikipedia is “the 'rarest gig' of their career”. I know I shall treasure it like some sort of Fabergé egg of a memory.
The line-up tonight does appear a little bit thrown together, as all the bands don’t really lead on from one another. What Would Jesus Drive kick off the night’s proceedings. I’ve yet to decide on how feel about bands who get their names from bumper stickers, but judging a band by their favored car trinkets should always be avoided. This duo and their drum machine manage to put on a quirky live show of American tinged indie rock that seems to entertain this crowd at least.
Next on the bill is Polka Party, who offer a perfectly enjoyable bunch of pop songs with more southern drawl and dandy temperament than you could shake a stick at. Their latest single ‘Japanese Haircut’ is almost perfect indie disco fodder and it certainly had one girl at the front pulling Agyness Dean style pouts for the camera. I think this must be how indie music is rated nowadays.
Dananananaykroyd stole the show quite easily, though it’s not their style to do things effortlessly. The energy from their live show was infectious, and I’d have to say the catalyst for this was their duo of drummers. Facing opposite ways they dual perpetually, and the effect is almost hypnotic. Thankfully there is a large distraction from all the fun drumming in the form of the ever so brash lead singer. His microphone seemed to be broken for the majority of the set, but he truly didn’t care, and neither did I. He was shouting so loud that you could get the jist of what he might sound like if the microphone was working, and his flailing was for more interesting than any type of lyrics. I’d like to think of him as a lead flailer than a lead singer.
I’d seen the Amarylas a couple of weeks ago at an Oxjam night at Brixton’s Windmill and had been pleasantly surprised. Heading over to Islington’s hallowed Hope & Anchor, it was time to reacquaint myself with their psychedelia infused sound.
Tonight they were the opening act on the bill, so the venue was still pretty quiet, which was a shame. A guitar based four-piece, led by mop haired singer Luke Segura, they blend that classic, slightly psychedelic pop whimsy of Syd Barrett or Ogden’s Nut Gone Flake-era Small Faces with a Clash inspired New Wave edge. Basically, what Pete Doherty might sound like if he didn’t have quite so many, er, distractions!
For all of you still mourning the passing of the Libertines, make sure you check out the Amarylas when they play a venue near you.
The ominous queue in the rain outside the brand spanking new puregroove store was not even a little off putting because these punters knew they were about to become at least seven times happier.
Warming up for those most mysterious of jets was the tremendous Jeremy Warmsley. I have to admit I’d never heard of him before tonight, but his cover of New Order’s classic ‘Temptation’ was close to being the highlight of my evening. His Americana presence and suspiciously Elvis Costello looks almost had me announcing a ho-down, but I restrained myself.
By the time the Mystery Jets were set to appear the store was rammed, to the point where it was almost uncomfortable and unfortunately a little dance was out of the question. A run down of their new album’s finest tracks delighted all, especially when the request of ‘MJ’ was answered. Much to my disappointment though the hail of "Dennis" was not. The band’s guitarist William Rees gave the reasoning that “me and Dennis don’t get on anymore”. This fall out wasn’t dwelled on for long though, as every song off their new album is instantly more engaging. I had thought this was due to the production skills of Erol Alkan, but no, they’re just astonishing songwriters.
Gratuitously skin tight stone washed jeans; tanned oiled chests, enormous hair, gallons of lip gloss and dangerously bulging crotches could only mean one thing....COCK ROCK. Yes, that strange yet tantalisingly great genre is back and has been gloriously saluted by the new issue of the Freaky Jason. To celebrate the near release of issue three of this new-cult magazine, fans of Jason and cock alike gathered at the beautifully dingy Macbeth on Wednesday. Drinks were flowing and the even the bar staff were enjoying the night, performing energetic feats of dance behind the bar.
We were entertained by bands Le Shark and Benin City and later by DJ the Juliets, all organised by Freaky Jason events master Jackson. The atmosphere was fun and vibrant without being so busy that you cannot move and get covered by other people's sweat! I had a little dance, the crowd were very appreciative and the bar staff performed acrobatic routines whilst pouring a steady flow of rum and cokes. Good times were had by all!
For those who have not yet been introduced to the ways of the Freaky Jason, this magic independent magazine is the creation of two Sydneysiders who have left the sunshine of Australia to bring their us 'contorted' sense of humor, obsessions and whims. The magazine is themed by underground-pop-culture and the phenomena of 'Jesusy Boys' and 'Euro' have been explored in the previous issues. In preparation for the new issue I have been blasting out 'Poison' classics and watching 'Rat' videos on you tube with rapturous glee! This fantastic and free publication is soon to be available across London, so be sure to look out for it!!
It’s a Thursday evening in late spring and deep within the bowels of Shoreditch’s 333, something is stirring. Awakened from it’s property redevelopment-enforced slumber, the spirit of the Spitz is once more ready to tantalise. And if any band on tonight’s bill is there to tantalise, that band is Audioporn. Seeing Audioporn live is not like seeing any other band live. There are no skinny jeans or Hoxton fins on view, there are no NME fodder join-the-dots guitar riffs. For the uninitiated, Audioporn don’t do “normal” songs. They are lyrically reminiscent of the Clash and PIL, sardonically dissecting the inanities and insanities of modern life and working for The Man, to a backbeat that echoes Kraftwerky motorik, hints of dub-reggae, early Roxy Music and the more outré bits of Bowie’s Aladdin Sane, with an added dash of the Morricone’s for good measure. Live, they have an air of theatricality and the mannered delivery and presence of front-man Adrien Munden, a former thesp, recalls, if anyone, the Thin White Duke himself.
Warming up for a spot at Glasto in a few weeks time, the band come on stage, dressed in uniform white and sporting matching shades, save for the be-jacketed Munden, to launch into their second album, 2007’s A Message From Our Sponsors. I’ve seen them a few times before and have always been blown away, but this time there seemed an added frisson to their performance, certainly during Johnny Popstar, always one of the more explosive numbers during the set. Before you knew it, we had reached the climactic finale, the (dare I say it, without sounding too much like the archetypal pretentious music journo) anthemic Get Up Get Happy. Leaving the stage to the cheers of the faithful (yours truly included), they head off to surely more widespread acclaim, despite (or because of) their defiantly anti-commercial approach. To quote from one Johnny Popstar, “resistance is fertile”.
A mad dash to find the venue led to my great relief in realizing that I hadn’t missed tonight’s support act, Thomas Tantrum. Their captivating lead singer was perhaps one of the best things of the evening. Her voice is enriched with dry wit and British charm, and I found it difficult to take my eyes off her. There was a point in their set though when I was particularly worried for the safety of the bassist, he seemed only moments away from careering right off the stage and into me – which would have spilt my beverage for sure!
Born Ruffians seemed to gather on stage from all over the place. In fact the whole set was a somewhat magnificently ramshackle affair. Considering the first half compiled of only drums, bass and vocals (due to some technical difficulties) I found them so endearing I barely noticed. This band use vocals to full effect, layering their drawls, yelps and pirate-like garrrs to create something so effortlessly catchy that the crowd can’t help but attempt to sing along.
Brainlove Records were holding an all-day session at the Windmill, comprising of various (often slightly bonkers) artistes on their impressive roster. I’d wanted to catch the wonderful Tim Ten Yen (accompanied, as ever, by the Sinister Cat), as I’d seen him at the same venue some time ago, but sadly I’d missed him. However, the other main attraction for me, Napoleon IIIrd, did not disappoint.
Tonight he was playing the many highlights of his debut album, In Debt To - backed by a full band. Running through favourites like Defibrillator and Guys In Bands, the supporting line-up of bass, backing vocals and drums provided a much beefier sound than on record, with the often weird and frequently wonderful toytronica accompaniment that dots the album more in the background. The set finished, with the aid of a guest trombonist, on the marvellous Hit Schmooze For Me, probably the greatest, wittiest dissection of the daily 9-to-5 yet committed to vinyl. How can you argue with a song that reminds you that a day job is just that, and not your life?
The quintessentially English Bragg arrives on-stage in a vibrant Colston Hall this evening looking decidedly American – Elvis quiff, black and gold cowboy shirt and boots. It's a look he just about pulls off thanks largely to the fact that though now in his 50’s, Bragg’s looks have barely altered in over 20 years. The bard of Barking is here showcasing his first studio offering in 5 years, the rather good 'Mr Love and Justice', but tonight he cuts a lonely figure on-stage as he opts for a solo performance without long term backing band The Blokes, who's rugged musicianship on said album offered a nice clarity of depth. So, we are left with Bragg's no nonsense , one man attack approach for the best part of the next two hours.
With little way of introduction, 'The World Turned Upside Down' gets things under way, much to the delight of tonight's knowledgeable audience. It's a solid opening but soon, Bragg is bemoaning the fact that his voice is not quite 100% - the fallout of a St George's day inspired session on Stella just the day before. Correctly, he is reminded that people don't really come and see him for his voice, and the gripe is quickly forgotten. In between musings on Public Schools, Marmite – which is the source of a running gag throughout the show – and English breakfast tea, there is a workmanlike take on 'Farm Boy' from the new record and an excellent Woody Guthrie cover 'I Aint Got No Home In This World Any more.'
An acoustic rendition of 'Shirley' reminds us of Bragg's ability to write a brilliant piece of radio-friendly pop – something for which he receives little credit, albeit understandably given his commitment to the tireless promotion of weighty political and cultural ideals through his music. He returns to this ground with the engaging 'O Freedom' again from the latest record, which is preceded by a 5 minute introduction concerned with human rights and liberty. These type of soapbox moments are a staple part of the Bragg live show, and whilst he does tend to, on occasion hammer the point home a little too much, it's forgiveable given his staunch libertarian stance, and obvious pride and belief in what he is preaching.
He gushes about this years Rock against Racism, (which took place two days after this) and harks back to the personal effect the initial event had on his personality and beliefs 30 years ago. Whilst 'Power In The Union' is in homage to the teaching strike that took place across England and Wales earlier in the day, and Bragg's arms in the air youthful exuberance throughout this is refreshing.
Regrettably, a host of trite lyrical changes on 'Waiting For The Great Leap Forwards' manages to completely ruin what is one of Bragg's finest compositions, but a superb encore consisting of a lovely ballad version of 'Like Soldiers Do,' 'Sing Their Souls Back Home' – probably the best anti-Iraq war song of the newbies and an audience sing a long of 'A New England' mean things end on a high.
Changes have been afoot in the Tindersticks camp ahead of tonight’s show, the band’s first in London since their appearance in the Don’t Look Back series of retrospective gigs a couple of years ago. The original line-up is in somewhat reduced circumstances, now comprising a core of singer Stuart Staples, keyboard player Dave Boulter and guitarist Neil Fraser, whilst their first album as a three-piece, the Hungry Saw, provided the bedrock for this performance in the reverential hush of the Royal Festival Hall.
The new album sounds fresher than their last couple of outings, though there are no radical departures, musically or lyrically. There are still the sweeping strings, as well as the more soulful inflections that have characterised their sound since the late ‘90s, whilst the interjection of jarring, off-tempo guitar during Mother Dear is a nod to their murkier, edgier (untitled) debut album. As always, there are the dolorous tones of Stuart Staples, whose delivery has in the past been unfavourably compared in some quarters to Vic Reeves’ pub singer!
As a long term fan of Nottingham’s finest, and having seen them a couple of times before, I wasn’t sure quite what to expect from the new look band. We began with a solo Dave Boulter playing the simple piano motif of the album’s opening track, the rather sensibly titled Introduction, a piece very reminiscent of a score from a French indie film (in which Tindersticks have form, having twice collaborated in the past with French director Claire Denis). Gradually he was joined onstage by the various additional musicians (including a full string section and a horn section led by the redoubtable Terry Edwards) and the rest of the band.
The Hungry Saw was played in its’ entirety, and though not exactly a Year Zero style statement of intent, it did make sense to focus on the restructured Tindersticks’ present and future, rather than dwell on the past. There was a brief intermission of older songs, including the aching Travelling Light from the masterful second (again, untitled) album and the gorgeously laidback cover of Odyssey’s If You’re Looking for A Way Out from 1999’s Simple Pleasures, by which time the audience were feeling brave enough to cheer on their heroes rather than offer polite applause between numbers (though between-song banter with the crowd was never the band’s forte).
Tindersticks lit up two encores with the blackly humorous My Sister (always a favourite with this reviewer) and the playful She’s Gone, but on the strength of their new material, I’d say the future for the new band looks bright.
A Monday night venture into an extremely damp Soho led me to the welcoming bosom of Madame Jo Jo’s, hosting a single launch by up-and-coming band The Outside Royalty. Sheltering from the elements, we were treated to two other acts in support, so a big “big up” to the wonderful Penny Black Remedy and their mix of psychobilly country skank and to the powerful voice and big piano sound of Ciara Haidar.
A couple of years ago the Outside Royalty took an almighty leap of faith and moved from their native Pittsburgh to London, acquiring an English bassist and French cellist along the way. They’ve quickly built up a sizeable and dedicated following, garnered some favourable reviews and late last year supported Young Knives on tour. Tonight we were promised the last airing of some favourites from their current repertoire before they disappear on a mini UK tour, road testing some new material.
Musically, the Outside Royalty blend electro-acoustic guitar, violin, cello and synths to create a euphoric blend that is by turns reminiscent of Arcade Fire, Pulp and early Roxy Music (amongst others), and vocalist Adam Billings’ voice has a definite hint of the Ferries and Bowies about it. Before launching into their renowned version of Eleanor Rigby, they joked that they haven’t yet made it to Liverpool, so they don’t know what sort of reception their cover would receive round those parts. The debut single, Falling, is an insistent track with a memorable chorus that quickly embeds itself in the little grey cells and, after a bit of a false start of an encore, they finished with the driving Liquid.
Stepping back into the sodden Soho streets, I think it is time for people to welcome in the Outside Royalty. Watch this space.
Reviews for the Sheffield band’s second long player, “Couples”, have been decidedly mixed, to say the least, but The Long Blondes faithful were out in force at the Forum tonight. Flanked by a phalanx of female mannequins (a post-modern twist on Kraftwerk, perhaps? Maybe not). Kate Jackson and co took to the stage and opened the set with probably the most off-kilter of the new tracks, Round The Hairpin. To me it sounded better than on record (as did most of the “Couples” tracks aired tonight), though the audience largely seemed a little unsure with the new material, only really springing to life with the more familiar territory of 2006’s debut, Someone To Drive You Home.
Whilst lyrically the Long Blondes cover pretty much the same ground as before (though the “Couples” in the title refers ironically to the Abba-esque situation of the two inter-band relationships coming to an end), musically they have opted-for a smoother, more disco-punk sound reminiscent of Parallel Lines/Eat To The Beat era Blondie. Certainly, Kate Jackson’s vocals on the new songs have a distinct hint of Debbie Harry about them, especially on Century. The band’s detractors have often focussed on her often one dimensionally bombastic delivery in the past, though she is much more nuanced and controlled on the new songs.
A quick encore of Lust In The Movies sent the audience home happy into the Kentish Town night, and though “Couples” may not be a great album, it certainly shows a rare willingness for a (reasonably) new band to change direction stylistically so quickly.
Thanks to the Victoria Line (or lack thereof), I was running late for my inaugural Guided Missile night at the Buffalo Bar, at the very upper end of Upper Street. The main attraction for me tonight was the Outside Royalty, who I’d seen a number of times over the last year or so, but I’d also heard good things about Official Secrets Act, who were headlining.
I’d missed the opening act but, after squeezing up to the bijou bar, settled down with the help of a bottle or few of the Czech Republic’s finest to enjoy the rest of the night. Almost immediately, the stage was taken (in more than one sense) by the rather improbably named Ape Drape Escape. Hailing from Sheffield, they were a heady blend of glam and electro punk, and like many of their predecessors from the Steel City, from the Human League to Pulp to Arctic Monkeys, they drew from the same wellspring of wit and attitude (and in Phil Oakey’s case, hair styling tips and eyeliner). Their frontman, Martin Clark, when not engaging in witty banter, was busy thrashing about the stage and often disappearing into a sometimes bewildered audience (once on all fours!), like some weird hybrid of Iggy Pop, Ian Curtis, Jarvis Cocker and, er, Peter Kay.
The Outside Royalty’s star is very much in the ascendency. Having taken part in the Road To V competition and toured with Young Knives during the last year, whilst garnering lots of favourable reviews along the way, this Pittsburgh-born but London-based band have an imminent single release on Bloody Awful Poetry Records and were tonight having a video filmed for said single, Falling. As it was, we ended up with Falling being performed twice, for the benefit of the cameramen (not that we were complaining). The Outside Royalty have been compared to Arcade Fire, but in a positive sense, due to their driving acoustic guitar mixed with cello, violin and synth accompaniment, and they never fail to be uplifting, especially with a rousing and unexpectedly energetic cover of, of all things, Eleanor Rigby.
Similarly, headliners Official Secrets Act appear to have a bright future in store, with words of encouragement of from the likes of Steve Lamacq and Marc Riley behind them. They played a fast and furious set of angular guitars, lyrical waxing, pulsing synths (with what looked suspiciously like a harmonium thrown into the mix) to get the crowd going. They even snuck in a cover of The Ronettes’ Be My Baby which, in the immortal words of the Fast Show, was nice. A good line-up overall from this well-established club night.
Winding my way from the general hubbub of Old Street on a chilly Tuesday, sanctuary was sought in the welcoming environs of the Macbeth, which was playing host to an album launch by Lynch Rider Lulu, coupled with a launch for the band’s label, Alien Frequency Productions. I’d seen a bewitching set by Lynch Rider Lulu at the Vibe Bar some weeks ago, so my expectations were high, and I knew I wasn’t to be disappointed.
In front of an appreciative and attentive audience, the evening opened with a solo set of Americana-tinged acoustica from Sam Semple. Hexicon offered a mix of jaunty lo-fi pop and mellow alt-country, backed variously with wistful harmonies, a French horn and a wobbly Farfisa which was reminiscent of Stereolab’s fluffier moments.
The night, though, belonged to Lynch Rider Lulu, showcasing their debut album, Who’s Gonna Live There Now? The intimate setting of the Macbeth, with its’ suitably ambient decor, provided an ideal environment for their distinct sound. A bassless three-piece led by the deceptively delicate voice of Lucy Underhill, they blend brooding lo-fi twin guitars, melodies that can explode when you least expect them to and lyrics that swoop from the achingly tender (It’s You) to the macabre (Lady Betty, recounting the tale of a notorious 18th century hangwoman). The line-up was augmented for a couple of numbers by a guest bassist, but just as a trio they produced a remarkable, atmospheric set. Believe me, they’re well worth checking out.
I missed Pre. But I am sure they were suitably stirring and pleasurable and that Akiko got partially naked. They are like a Fun Park. Always there and always frequented. But next on where Skeletons, who I definitely did not plan on missing. Grungy and demin clad, Matt Mehlan former solo project, were instantly charming. Mehlan is a co-founding member of Shinkoyo records, an advocate of collaboration, experimentation, his Skeletons project does not disappoint. Percussion like drums, metronomic bass lines they have a mid-Seventies sound with late 80s slower tempos, dissonant harmonies, and more complex instrumentation. With lyrics like, “Every day he falls in love with the gorgeous backsides of every girl he sets his eyes on/ Follows them home to catch a glimpse/ But they never, they never, they never turn around” on Fake Tits delivered with wavering and delicate vocals. They have tribal rhythm and punchy brass, experimental instrumentation and inventive arrangements. They are inescapably endearing. Next. HEALTH, who for one have an insane drummer. Insane defined as ‘extended in time or space beyond what is consideration normal, reasonable, or desirable’ not legally incompetent. He was truly terrifying. Scratchy and rhythmic yet undeniably tight, HEALTH make you feel lazy. There are controlled moments though, with long hair being rhythmically swung about in a routine manner. But they do not last. As we return to feedback, which microphones being put on guitar amps and reverb-laden vocals teamed with an abundance of power. They are like a sped up version of Liars. In short, pretty incredible.
Not to be confused with Shoreditch Hall, Hoxton Hall is a stunning Victorian venue more commonly used as a community centre, hosting coffee mornings and craft sessions in the forgotten art of basket weaving. For tonight, the ornate iron balcony and draped red curtain were the perfect setting for an intimate gathering of just eighty invited guests to showcase Micah‘s forth coming album.
Micah performed with all his usual vim and vigour, a two hour set of tracks old and new, from the tender, heart-wrenching chords of Beneath The Rose to the crashing tones of The Leading Guy. Insisting that nothing he played from the upcoming album sounded anything like the record, Micah sang quiet songs about wishing wells and loud songs about regret intermission by anecdotal tales of life’s ironies. He also spoke of the happiness he’s found with wife of two weeks and four days, Mrs Ashley Bryn Hinson, a picture of whom now adorns his guitar.
Picture if you will a young man sitting on the front porch of his family home in the secluded town of Abilene, Texas. Convalescing from intensive surgery, the young man is confined by a back brace and the haziness induced by a cocktail of sedatives and weed. He spends his days writing songs for the girl next door whom he longs to see if only for a moment as she cycles past. This was just one of many fables regaled by Micah at the showcase. Such romantic yarns are the stuff of fiction, just another chapter in the life of Micah P Hinson.
A pale, brooding character takes to the stage armed with only a small keyboard, which hangs from his neck, and a laptop. Joe (not so) Dangerous’ lack of musical apparatus and physical presence does not do justice to the richness of sound he creates from so little, filling the spacious Hoxton venue with fragmented tones and hushed, eloquent vocals. To celebrate the release of his debut single, My Allergies And Me, on Mannequin Republic (the label owned and run by Sam Duckworth of Get Cape. Wear Cape. Fly), the short set he performed included songs inspired by diverse and weighty topics ranging from religion to Michael Jackson. I’m informed that Joe Dangerous is soon to appear with a full band including backing vocals, drums and violinist which can only add to his intensely atmospheric electronica
There’s plenty in the pipeline to keep this young man busy in the coming months. Joe Dangerous will be performing at the Dot to Dot festival alongside Hercules & Love Affair and the Mystery Jets, he’ll also be appearing at Kendal Calling in Cumbria and the Kentish Town Forum festivals with the likes of Amon Tobin and Chris Clark. All in a days work for this rare, unassuming gent.
Here's a tip London's A-Z is missing. If you're looking for venue 229, you won't find it next to 228 or even 230 on Great Portland Street. Oh no, turn around, cross over the road and you’ll stumble upon it, cunningly disguised amongst some scaffolding and badly designed street signing.
First up were Red Light Company. Super skinny with lustrous tresses and a Hugh Fernley-Whittingstall lookalike for a drummer, this band was a visual masterpiece. To be honest, I was so caught up staring at the tightly packaged bulges that were hidden behind their guitars; I phased out their grinding, indie rock tedium. Then came an incredibly disturbing foursome who donned masks before hitting the stage. But these weren’t comedy representations of superheroes, or ex-presidents of the USA. Oh no, these were masks featuring their own faces, duplicated in two-dimensional form. The effect was a bit eerie and made me quite nervous of their pseudo Hot Chip sounds. The band that followed was overshadowed by a cocky, Kelly Jones wannabe of a front man who kept climbing into the audience and was too fat for his skinny jeans.
Finally, Frightened Rabbit graced the stage. Every bit the Scottish stereotype, these hairy, boisterous, tequila swigging lads (I still think it might have been apple juice) awoke a weary crowd with thundering songs about fucking and other delicate matters of the heart. Lyrically beautiful, yet delivered with a masculine insouciance, songs such as Modern Leper, and Old Fashioned proved that these lads are going to win their audiences hearts without wanting to make them sick on their laps. The night came to a halt after the venue reached its curfew, and Frightened Rabbit's powerful sounds rolled away back up north.
Saunas and beautiful people with angular ice white hair are a couple of the great things Sweden has given to the world. Alongside these national treasures should be Jose Gonzalez.
He should be neatly bottled and labeled so that he can remain purely Scando-tastic and uncorrupted by the outside world. Born in Sweden to Argentinean parents, Jose Gonzalez is clearly a superior being (and a guitar picking genius).
When Jose first walked on stage and humbly took his seat I was struck by his awkwardness and unease at performing to such a large, buzzing audience. I almost felt guilty for being part of the expectant crowd. If only the rest of the Shepherd's Bush Empire would disappear and Jose could play to my friend Holly and I in his flat in Haga, Gothenburg.
His tall figure hunched over the guitar seemed to be pressed down by the weight of the audience's gaze. It reminded me of tales of the late Nick Drake who was rumored to have played from behind a curtain or with his back to the audience to escape the feeling that everyone was looking at him. But when the first few bars rippled out across the theater, he seemed to hide behind the music; introverted yet strangely sparkling at the same time. After the third song, strangely sweet animations began to appear on the screen above his head and as the gaze of the audience lifted form him, so did his unease. He relaxed, I stopped worrying about him and we all settled down to enjoy the show.
Jose Gonzalese first entered the wider popular consciousness with the hauntingly beautiful track 'Heartbeats', a cover of fellow scando-band The Knife, that was featured on that commercial (the one with all the colorful balls bouncing down the street, for anyone who doesn't know). Since then he has been widely praised and enjoyed by the population at large. And really, there is little not to like about the minimal, melodic songs which include covers of Kylie's Hand on Your Heart and Massive Attack's Teardrops.
Live, his voice was incredible, perfect record quality...and then some. This vein of music can often be less exciting live than a high-energy band, but there was a certain magic in hearing the squeak of his fingers across the steel strings. There were subtle differences in each track from album. He kept each song tantalizingly pop-song short in length as I suspected that otherwise, live, songs might stray into fifteen minute territory. The crowd were very appreciative and the now famous shhh-ing at people chatting created a community atmosphere in the auditorium.
Jose was accompanied at various points throughout the show by two friends adding percussion and helping to create a big warm sound. Visually, the show was quite minimal. Simple Scandinavian-style animations by Elias Araya were sporadically projected on the screen behind the musicians showing gently rocking white trees with arms or my personal favorite, a little twitching white horse whose squishy head changed size throughout the song! The atmosphere was warm and friendly and I was happy to sit back and daydream...of cooking meatballs with Jose in a little wooden house in the woods??
Usually I vehemently detest encores especially second encores but as my friend holly commented, Jose's return to the stage felt very genuine. We were both warm and cosy from our pre-show Italian dinner and beer and were happy to sit a be lulled by the Jose's strumming. His second encore was almost like a gift to the audience. He took his seat and began to play the song that everyone had been waiting to hear. Heartbeats had been noticeably absent from the set and I had assumed the over-playing and advert association had put him off the song. As he bashfully came back on stage, he played the song with an air of ..."Okay, seeing as you all have been very nice, here it is.." Aw, Jose.
After he finished, he stood up, shyly smiling and gave an awkward little bow, and then another and waved and self-conscious little wave before carefully steeping off stage. You could almost hear him saying to himself, "Don't trip, don't trip....."
I wanted to put him in my pocket and take him home so he could serenade me cooking dinner. Well done Sweden, you've produced another winner!
After seeing this Arkansas trio perform the same live set for over two years now, it’s disappointing to hear Beth Ditto informing us that they will not be playing new material when she strolls out to three levels full of expectant faces in a packed-to-bursting Shepherd’s Bush Empire. The iconic vocalist looks as striking as ever tonight in a combination of figure-hugging, shimmering green dress, huge bouffant hair with dangling crimped ringlets and dramatic black eye make-up – an outfit conjuring up the spirit of Hairspray’s Tracy Turnblad. She hitches the frock up completely during blistering opener ‘Eyes Open’ before the band treat us to fiery versions of ‘Yr Mangled Heart’, ‘Coal To Diamonds’, ‘Yesterday’s News’ and ‘Fire/Sign’.
Gossip have toured their essential breakthrough fourth album to death - so it’s no surprise that on occasion these songs have less energy than when they first unleashed them on a hungry UK audience in 2006 - but what makes this act so special is that even when they’re not firing on all four cylinders, they still knock the socks off their peers performance-wise. Ditto roars, shrieks and shakes along manically to drummer Hannah Blilie’s thundering rhythms and engages in witty banter between songs while fashionably speccy guitarist Brace Paine gives the frequently-photographed frontwoman a run for her money in the stage-owning stakes, creeping, crouching and hopping from one foot to the other while dishing out bluesy, attacking riffs and squalling solos. The outfit also pay tribute to some of music’s most influential females as Ditto sings snatches of X-Ray Specs songs and quotes Nina Simone before unleashing their famously sultry version of Aaliyah’s ‘Are You That Somebody?’.
Photograph by Tamsin Green
These references seem to be lost on the audience, however, the majority of whom are only interested in hearing that Skins song, an advertising campaign responsible for transforming Gossip from a cult act into a mainstream proposition last year. In fact, they barely pay attention to the first airing of infectious electronic-tinged newie ‘Eighth Wonder’ - complete with pulsing beats and samplers - and dance half-heartedly to the first encore of ‘Listen Up’, before the familiar opening thrash of ‘Standing In The Way Of Control’ kicks in, its pulsing bassline sending shivers down spines and sending the Empire into a frenzy. Suddenly Ditto is nowhere to be seen, enveloped by the crowd as she pulls hundreds of people over the barrier to dance with the band. They swarm the stage and flail around wildly, providing a spectacular visual finale to a show which, despite its intermittent failings, still packs a well-placed punch in the belly of modern music.
After a guestlist mix-up that had me convinced I’d be attempting to review this gig from outside the venue, we finally get the green light and find the perfect perching spot for first support act Youthmovies as a heaving throng of expectant early arrivees go wild for this Oxford fivesome’s thrillingly complex riff attacks. They are also very keen on next act Esser and rightfully so, as the pint-sized ex-Ladyfuzz drummer kicks off an energetic and compelling performance by dramatically thrashing at a cymbal and snare. Along with frYars and Micachu, the quirky chap is currently one of the capital’s most innovative young songwriters as he caters in everything from dark, off-kilter pop to shimmering electronics, stripped-down hip-hop and frantic thrash, throwing in maracas, creepy piano samples, strings and cowbells along the way. 'I Love You' and ‘Headlock’ sound like hits in the making and as Esser tumbles off at the end of a thundering finale, kicking over drums and microphone stands in his path, he leaves us gagging for more.
However, it’s headliners Foals that really bring the house down tonight, rather unsurprisingly as before they are even on stage a real party atmosphere pervades the Astoria with pissed-up punters chanting the band’s name and excitedly lobbing glowsticks into the air. The extremely talented quintet commence an intense and perfectly executed set of tracks from debut ‘Antidotes’ with a brief warm-up as smoke fills the stage, blinding us with red and blue flashing lights before ‘The French Open’ surges into action, all discordant horns, juddering guitars and clattering percussion. Gone is the tight circle formation of old, replaced by an increasingly confident live outfit unafraid to own all of the space they are entitled to – Jimmy Smith manically thrashes at his guitar while Yannis Philippakis pirouettes, hops and skips around the stage gesticulating wildly from behind his microphone and even launching himself into the front row at one point to dance with the crowd.
‘Cassius’, ‘Balloons’, ‘Heavy Water’, ‘Hummer’, ‘Two Steps, Twice’ and ‘Electric Bloom’ all incite screams and hysterical flailing from audience members, however, it is nothing compared to the encore of ‘Mathletics’ which sees people grabbing at the frontman and guitarist, pulling them into the pit and hugging them, as growling basslines, twittering riffs and rhythms at breakneck speed erupt around the venue. Anyone worried that a move to stages of this size would detract from the power of the Foals live show should leave tonight feeling appeased. The band are now more adept at putting on awe-inspiring performances than they ever were…