By Saturday the rain had well and truly settled in at Larmer Tree Festival and it was quite a struggle to get out of the tent.

Our first stop was Daytime Club Larmer for the second part of Bane, which was equally as much fun as the first episode. Apparently there is a third one kicking about too and if you are going to Secret Garden Party this weekend then you will get a chance to see it! Well jel.

Overnight a host of art installations had sprung up around the Larmer Tree Gardens, including this magical bottle top Chameleon by Fiona Campbell…

…and a peacock hut inspired by a poem called The Thatcher and The Peacock by Simon Sinkinson, a tale of a poor boy who asks the advice of a peacock on how to win the heart of the girl he loves. How? Under the Larmer Tree of course! Simon is a thatcher as well as an artist, and he was also responsible for the ten hidden miniature woodland doorways dotted around the site. Sadly I didn’t find any myself.

At the Mis(Guided) Protest by Fuse these girls were bearing placards with slogans such as Processed Cheese, Yes Please and Bunting for All Ages. Worth protesting for I’m sure you’ll agree. I do find it intriguing that protest has become ripe for artistic intervention – wherein ‘revolutionary rhetoric’ is rendered utterly banal.

The Oxjam stage was hosting an open mic when we wandered in and I caught the tail end of Scottish singer songwriter Gary Stewart duetting with Rosie Doonan (I sadly missed her own slot). Beautiful folk harmonies, and great yellow wellies!

Pete Lawrie is a Cardiff based singer songwriter who nearly played on my Climate Camp stage at Glastonbury last year but had to pull out with a throat infection at the last minute, so I was excited to finally hear him properly. Since then he’s released an album and gained an enthusiastic following for his soulful singalong folk. His easy banter explained the premise of songs, including one dedicated to all those who’ve worked in shit jobs at petrol stations. At this show it was really brought home to me just how impossible it is to place a sound anymore – he may be Welsh but Pete’s music, as with most musicians now, boasts a host of international influences.

On the Garden Stage Nashville born Caitlin Rose lucked out with a bit of brilliant sunshine for her lush country-influenced tales of love and loss. Americana never sounded so good: I particularly loved the laid back dude on the steel pedals. Read our interview with Caitlin Rose.

I’m not sure if the Bill and Ben Flowerpot Men were meant to be performance art or extreme fancy dress but who cares when they look this fab?!

Over at the Wishing Tree I took a few moments to read through the fabric wishes. The most striking thing was the amount of wishes that children should grow up to be healthy and happy – another indication of the demographic at this family friendly festival.

A festival favourite: Moustache on a Stick.

Gabby Young by Gilly Rochester.

Gabby Young was accompanied by boyfriend Stephen Ellis at the ARC, dressed, as usual, with impeccable style (with a little help from Amelia’s Magazine contributor Katie Antoniou – the lilac striped dress cost £7 on ebay). Her opera trained voice sounded as beautiful as ever, and she closed the set by leading the captivated crowd in a rousing singalong of We’re All In This Together. This was Gabby’s only festival appearance this summer because she’s busy working on a new album. Very excited about that.

Film critic Mark Kermode performed some well arranged covers and plenty of old sounding new songs with his band The Dodge Brothers for the early evening slot at the Garden Stage, entertainment geared towards those who had dressed up for the 50s themed fancy dress parade.

But it was Stornoway that I was most looking forward to on Saturday (read our pre-Larmer Tree interview) and they didn’t disappoint. Classic tunes such as Zorbing and Here Comes the Blackout from album Beachcomber’s Windowsill were played with great gusto – the guest violinist perched like a mascot at the top of the stage. Stornoway manage that masterful trick of combining folk elements and great song writing to create a new and instantly recognisable sound of their own.

Stornoway by Meg McCarthy.

Lead singer Brian Briggs had a slightly deadpan style of banter so it took me awhile to understand his comment about picking up two small buoys from a Stornoway beach to include in their act. What I hadn’t anticipated, climbing into the photographer’s pit, was just what a boyband Stornoway are. The audience was a sea of screaming teenage girls disappearing into the horizon… and they all seemed to want one particular band member: ever so cute drummer ROBBIEEEEEEE, owner of the aforementioned buoys and brother of equally cute guitarist Oli Steadman. The signing tent afterwards was a seething mass of prepubescent excitement that any sane adults had clearly balked at joining.

For the finale Stornoway released a couple of giant Prisoner-esque white balloons into the audience to bounce about over our heads. The band liked one of my twitpics so much that they posted it on their website. A wonderful set and one of my festival highlights.

Over at the Big Top the ever so smiley Vieux Farka Touré finally took to the stage for his delayed performance (passport problem apparently). He’s an exceptionally gifted guitarist from Mali… the son of renowned musician Ali Farka Touré, and purveyor of that unique Mali sound: an adept blend of Western rock riffs and traditional African beats that have given him the moniker of the African Jimi Hendrix. Best of all Vieux Farka Touré was totally laid back and made it all look so utterly simple to play the guitar with such skill. Maybe not quite so rock and roll then! His drummer looked about 12 years old but played an amazing beatdown on a large halved gourd for the encore.

From the back of the packed main stage we caught the tail end of Asian Dub Foundation, who provided a suitably energetic party vibe for Saturday night.

Finally we headed back to the ARC for our daily dose of comedy, compered by kid’s TV presenter Iain Stirling. Gareth Richards attracted some drunken heckles, which he bashed off admirably… but I have to say they weren’t totally undeserved. Mediocre.

Headline act was ‘old git’ Arthur Smith, who did a sturdy routine of well rehearsed classic one-liners before ending the show with his pants down.

Don’t forget to check out my Thursday review of Larmer Tree and my Friday review of Larmer Tree too.

The first band I aim to see today is Warpaint. Breathing salty seabreeze and sipping the first flat beer of the day I make my way to the stage where they’re playing, that is already packed. I’ve been into this band since the times of Billie Holiday, and today they confirm the first impression I had of them. They play and sing perfectly, build up intricate layers of harmonies, and they look so cool on stage – having fun between themselves and engaging with the audience – that’s a pleasure to watch their show. With this performance I’m officially sold to their magic. They’re my new favourite girls band. Better, they’re my new favourite band, and the fact that they’re girls makes me empathise with them even more. “Love is the only way out”, Theresa Wayman sings with grave voice during their stunning performance of ‘Beetles’ (from their first EP Exquisite Corpse). And for a moment I believe her. What I learn from seeing this gig is that the future of music seem to be pink. Or better, it wears laddered stockings and smeared make up. And slides the guitar like a proper guitar hero(ine).

Video: Warpaint – Billie Holiday

Click here to view the embedded video.

At the end of the gig the marathon starts. Gotta reach the other end of the festival site to catch tUnE-yArDs, the noise-pop princess that recently gained popularity with the release of W H O K I L L . The sweetness of her whimsical style, reminiscent of Coco Rosie, and her flashy attire gain my sympathies. However, the festival stage is not exactly what gives justice to her music. Plus, the sound here on the Pitchfork stage is just awful. We later decide to enjoy Fleet Foxes lying on the green knoll that surrounds the main stage. Given the heath and the tiredness accumulated in these days, this is a far better way to enjoy their lulling harmonies than sweating it out under the stage. Fleet Foxes’ bold sound suits very well the festival main stage and easily wins the challenge. We let ourselves be caressed by their arias and transported into pastoral landscapes and dreamy soundscapes, enjoying the sun setting on the festival site and doing some people watching (which is always an interesting activity especially in these circumstances).

tUnE-yArDs by Laura Lotti

On my way to restore my thirsty limbs, I pass by the ATP stage and I’m totally hypnotized by an supernatural sound of violins juxtaposed to throbbing drumbeats. Who is this, I wonder. I find out this is non the less than The Album Leaf, that, despite starting as a solo project by Californian artist Jimmy LaValle, tonight plays as a whole band – a small orchestra, I should say – formed by violins, keys, drums, guitar, trumpet and bass. Their set is simply beautiful. I must admit I didn’t know much about them before, but the conquer me with a key. If you’ve got the chance, go see them live. It’ll probably be the best concert of your life. And you will never regret it.

Einstürzende Neubauten by Rebecca Elves

Time has come to go to see Einstürzende Neubauten, the historic German band among the propulsors for the Neue Deutsche Welle movement, that revolutionised the idea of electronic music mixing industrial sounds with punk attitude in the divided Germany of the Cold War period. Equipped with various percussion kits and noise machines made out of different post-industrial paraphernalia, the stage looks more like a steam punk set than a 21st century festival stage. Blixa Bargeld sings and shrieks with his monotone charming voice, and is still as crazy and charismatic as he was 30 years ago. He’s The Gentleman of industrial music. The deep bass and tribal drum beat make it impossible to stand still. With references to Italian Futurists Marinetti and Russolo, they play a wild concert, experimenting with instruments made out of the most improbable machineries. Iron and steel are not only cold lifeless “things”. Technology (either new or old) has got a primitive, lively side. And Einstürzende Neubauten take it all out.

PJ Harvey by Elliott Quince

Rhetoric review for PJ Harvey. She’s amazing as expected. Dressed as an otherworldly fairy, her voice sounds as strong as her pixie figure looks frail. After the first track, taken from her last success ‘Let England Shake’, though, doubts arise in my mind: is this PJ Harvey? Comparisons are too easy with another ageless pixie fairy gifted with otherworldly voice: Björk. There’s nothing wrong with PJ’s performance, but she’s just not the heroine from ‘Rid Of Me’ or ‘Down By The Water’. And with this in mind, and some misfeelings towards her, I make my way away from the crowd in a quest for new and original sounds. Anyway, it’s easy to know what to expect next from this concert – an array of awesomely performed songs by one of the greatest artists alive and active now (description that could fit both PJ Harvey and Bjork, by the way).

PJ Harvey by Rebecca Elves

I feel adventurous and go for Davila 666, a Puertorican rock band that’s meant to give us some rock and roll fun time. Indeed, Davila 666 rock-fucking-roll!! And, quite surprisingly, they’ve got their wee following of PJHarveydontgiveafuckers. Their rock á la Beach Boys with a grunge touch is infectious. I can’t stop jumping. Their strength is that…they are FUN! They play totally unpretentious, wholesome rockabilly tracks, with a hint of sexiness (well, rock and roll IS sexy after all, as Elvis teaches). It is that kind of music made with the spirit of having a good time and making people have a good time too – genuine, spontaneous. During their set, all the worries fade away in the sweat and the laughter. There’s a life to worry about things anyway, but it’s going to start tomorrow. Now there’s only music. And though not knowing the lyrics (that, by the way, are sung in Spanish) I find myself singing along. With a smile on my face.

Davila 666 by Laura Lotti

And after Davila 666, total change of atmospheres with Scottish post-rock stars Mogwai. Mogwai’s melodies lull my mind into faraway places and untouchable lands. I want to get closer and melt with the sound, that is so thick and heavy I feel I’m drowning in it. But I’m soon back to Planet Earth, Barcelona and Parc del Forum, when The Jon Spencer Blues Explosion kicks off. Their sound, a contemporary version of what rockabilly might have been interpreted into in the 1990s, has been labelled anything from garage rock to punk blues and blues-rock. Whatever. To me they sound just brilliant! The stage is packed. Everybody jumps, waves to the band and even thank them for this great gift of pure energy. The atmosphere is wired, I’m lost in the crowd, it will be difficult to find my friends, but I don’t really care now that I’m securely wrapped into this literal Explosion of rock. It’s a never ending groove. It makes even difficult to stand still and take pictures (in a very positive way, I mean). This is definitely the rock ‘n roll night of Primavera Sound for me. I haven’t had so much fun like tonight!

Animal Collective by Rebecca Elves

Then it’s time for the band I was mostly striving to see since the beginning of the festival: might sound banal, but it’s Animal Collective.
I must start by saying that I’ve got a huge amount of respect for Animal Collective. They are The Band of the Noughties, blending noise and pop in a lysergic swirl to create a distinctive sound of their own that’s given birth to a whole new genre, universally recognised and still difficult to label. And for Primavera Sound they deliver an outstanding performance, completed by trippy visuals and an awesome quality of the sound. Though, it lacks of intimacy and it feels almost stuck up. There’s no interaction with the adoring audience whatsoever, and, to the greatest disappointment of the public, they leave the stage after an overwhelming performance of Summertime Clothes without a word, without an encore. It was too perfect to be totally real.

Animal Collective’s psychedelic visuals by Laura Lotti

With my heart half broken, I head to see The Black Angels. With the Austin band, you can’t really go wrong. In fact, they are as good as I remember them from their last gig in London in February. The sound is pounding and the beer is flowing. Dancing to the notes of ‘Telephone’ and ‘Haunting at 1300 McKinley’, the night flows towards the end of this couldn’t-be-any-better festival. While technicians and operators start to dismount the stages, the few venturers still remained within the gates of the Parc del Forum gathered by the Pitchfork stage for the dark set by brainy dubstep mastermind Kode9. Most of them, no wonder, are British. I don’t last too long, though. It’s already 7am by the time that I make it to La Rambla. I’m literally OD’d in live music, my ears fizzle, my feet hurt, my back aches (what a wreck) and my bank account is overdrawn. But I’ve never been so happy. It’s time to sleep and metabolise all the inputs received in these 3 days of music marathon.

The Black Angels by Laura Lotti

All in all, the balance of this festival has been extremely positive. I’ve got two new favourite girls bands: Warpaint and No Joy.
Two acts to be excited about as soon as they come to play in London: James Blake and Tennis. Some contemporaries to invest into for the future: Deerhunter (as if we didn’t know). Some oldies that confirm their credibility in time and that I might not have the chance to see again: Pere Ubu, Einstürzende Neubauten and Jon Spencer Blues Explosion. Plus, I made peace with one of my idols: Johnny Lydon. And I had extreme fun with Davila 666. Yes, this is like old story. We all knew these acts were amazing. PR companies tell us every day through features on magazines, blogs, billboards. But the truth is, no matter how many CDs we buy, album and tracks we download (legally and non), music blogs and magazines we follow… It’s only through live music that one can experience fully what a band has to offer and potentially put her/his trust in them. Fact. Music festivals are for this, after all.

And finally, the main message I got from this festival is that music is ALIVE, in its past, present and future forms. You only have to be open to it. And let yourself be overwhelmed by it.

Leaving the Festival Site for the last time by Laura Lotti

I was hoping to be able to stay away from the Joy Division comparisons while writing this review of New York band Crystal Stilt’s new album In Love With Oblivion, but like many before me I’ve found it basically impossible – the influence of Ian Curtis flows through the band’s second album like a vein of precious metal. It’s singer Brad Hargett’s drone-like vocal that does it, strongly recalling Curtis as well as the similarly enigmatic Jim Reid of The Jesus and Mary Chain. (And now I won’t mention the J D words ever again…promise.)

Illustration by Stephanie Thieullent.

In fact quite a lot has been written about Hargett’s singing style, sometimes scathingly, and his vocals are a little monotonous. There are points on this record when I really wanted him to surprise me by stepping out of the echo chamber to give some these songs a bit of extra punch. On Silver Sun for instance, the whole band are doing some pretty great stuff – the guitars and the organs and the jangle of the tambourine but Hargett maintains his monotonal drawl. There are few upbeat tracks on this record and if Hargett switched his style up a bit on some of them, it would lift the whole album.

In Love With Oblivion by Nick Bellhouse.

But perhaps I’m missing the point, this appears to be an album that is more concerned with creating atmospheres or feelings than totally nailing each individual track. Hargett’s obvious attachment to the echo effect and the whole lo-fi approach towards recording and production makes this album sound dreamlike, almost as if you could be listening to it underwater, and to over-produce or clean up the sound would mean losing some of this otherworldly charm.

Click here to view the embedded video.

There’s also a kind of filmic side to the album, thanks to the murky sound and doom-laden lyrics, not forgetting the use of sound effects. Songs open and end with gusts of wind, car crashes, and crickets – it’s totally atmospheric and a big hint that Crystal Stilts aren’t your average Brooklyn-based hipster garage band.

Crystal Stilts by Libby Grace Freshwater.

The band clearly includes some skilful musicians, the Johnny Cash-inspired guitar licks of opening track Sycamore Tree provides as good an introduction as any – this is a track that sounds like it’s been around for the last 50 years. In fact there are clear 1960s influences throughout and pretty convincing in places, like the band went to sleep in 1964 and woke up in 2011 and continued making music like nothing had changed, which for someone like me, who happens to love the music of the 1960s, makes this album a really interesting prospect.

Click here to view the embedded video.

There are peaks and troughs with this record though, the seven minute Alien Rivers is a needless addition but those that follow like stand-out track Flying Into the Sun is a fantastic listen and includes the inspired lyrics “There’s a black hole/ behind these eyes/ takes everything with it/ when it dies.” Like the album title suggests there is a bit of an emo vibe running through much of Hargett’s songwriting.

Illustration by Hanako Clulow.

This is the kind of album then, that may well find itself providing the soundtrack to a whole host of late night gatherings and post-party hangouts, and I suspect could sound even better when you’re burnt out but not ready to go to bed just yet.

Crystal Stilts are playing in XOYO in London on June 21 – their only UK date and by the sounds of it, well worth getting down to. There will be support from The 1990s and the excellent Still Corners (whom we have an interview with here.)

In Love With Oblivion is out now on Fortuna POP!

Photos by Jazzy Lemon

It’s not often that a support band makes your ears prick up and pay attention; too often I’ve been to gigs where sub-standard support acts make the wait for the headliners feel that little bit longer. I doubt in their short career that Little Comets have ever had that problem.

They caught my attention when they supported the Noisettes on their national tour last year, so it was exciting to see the band headline the Joiners in Southampton last week.

Little Comets are already favourites with the music press after a few well publicised stunts such as playing on the Metro, or in the bakery isle of the local Marks & Spencer store, in their hometown of Newcastle. Their single ‘One Night In October’ reached No. 1 in the independent singles chart, so they’ve already got a relatively huge following.

It was the busiest I’ve seen the Joiners; it was a room full of sweaty, drunk lads who were all pretty excited for the band to start. When Little Comets play live they breathe life into their bouncy, poppy songs. It’s impossible not to get caught up in the fun of their live sets. At such an intimate venue, the gig really felt like we were watching something special.

Yes, Little Comets are a guitar band and that’s nothing new, but their songs and the way they approach them really are. In a genre that’s been done to death already, Little Comets are unexpectedly unique. In half an hour they convinced me that there is a future for guitar bands; something that no one has been able to do for a good year or so.

The audience sang along to pretty much every song as the band bounced their way through their perfectly formed pop-tracks such as ‘Friday Don’t Need It’ and ‘Adultery’, but it was ‘Joanna’ that really stood out. Unlike their other guitar-pop tunes, this a capella track quietened the room. It’s the song that sets them above their contemporaries and proves they’re not just four guys playing poppy lad-rock. They’re not a grown-up version of McFly, they’re a group of proper musicians who write proper lyrics and know how to engage the crowd.

Someone in the crowd shouted up to singer Rob, confessing that his girlfriend loved him. Rob got a lot of love that night; a couple of tracks in someone shouted that they loved him too. His witty responses, which were quicker than a heartbeat, had the crowd laughing throughout the set. Little Comets are the kind of band that will do well during the festival season. The fun they radiate is infectious and I can imagine nothing nicer than dancing in the afternoon to one of their sets.

They won over my friend whose CD collection extends to a collection of Now albums and the Glee soundtrack If they can do that, I have no doubt they’ll charm their audiences on the rest of the tour, and wherever else they get to play this summer.

When it comes to talking about music constructed of non-organic noises (sampled, synthesised) then I have to admit that I am at something of a loss. Badum. Kaching. Ting ting bading. Crash. Words are not music; I can talk about the words that are sung alongside the music just fine, but this is a dance record of sorts, and my knowledge of where this thing is coming from is patchy at best. I shall have to be throwing together some kind of thesis constructed out of childhood memories, ones consisting of adverts for Euphoria compilations on Channel 4 and a general understanding that there were parties happening on islands in the Mediterranean and that I was far too young to understand why everyone was so happy to be all covered in foam and wearing whistles. Oh, idle youth.

What I do know, and can talk about authoritatively, is that Caribou is the long-time project of Dan Snaith. He’s something of an intellectual (with a doctorate in mathematics), his music has always been steeped in IDM and psychedelia, and this is his (and his band’s) third album of the past ten years. At first listen it’s a radical departure from the psych-electronica-rock of 2007’s Andorra, but it can also be seen as an evolution of Snaith’s play with musical texture. This is a veritable smorgasbord of sound; pay attention to anything that feels like a gap or pause and, like some kind of aural Mandelbrot set, there are yet more treats hidden within.

Listen to first track ‘Odessa’ and feel the confusion as it dawns on you that every typical reference point is useless. As a reviewer, this is particularly challenging – hence discussion of ka-wooshing and ba-thumping. That guitar line is straight 70s funk, the percussion is halfway to dub, and half the melody is some kind of distorted animal yelp while the other half a constipated squeak from an instrument that I have yet to determine the nature of. Lyrics are mixed low, and often unintelligible – though that which does break through tends to be strangely melancholic (example: “As they watch themselves grow old/as he helps her into bed/just a hint of it survives/just a spark inside his head,” on ‘Kaili’). It is enthralling, it is fantastic.

‘Sun’, next, is a mesmerising tune that sounds how laughing gas feels – Snaith chants “Sun/sun/sun/sun/sun/sun…” over and over again, the sound fading and surging, swooshing from one side to the other, over a beat that brings to mind the electronic hip-hop of Flying Lotus. Personal favourite ‘Bowls’ has a thumping bassline augmented with dozens of overlapping chimes that are presumably bowls being tapped with metallic spoons or something of that ilk. Then there’s the pacy ‘Leave House’, sounding uncannily like the greatest track Hot Chip haven’t made.

I suppose I can draw upon a metaphor here for Swim as organic music, an ecosystem in a record. All these strange confluences, these peculiar balancing acts – they all combine to create something that is unquestionably organic and real-sounding. The noises are mostly real, created by hand, but put together like an architect using a design program, erected into something vastly complex and, importantly, homely. Again and again I struggle to find a better descriptor for this album than ‘warmth’ – this brings me towards talking about what appears to be the clearest of all the myriad reference points on offer.

Take away the wobble in the synth on ‘Sun’ and you could be listening to ‘You’re Not Alone’, pre-Tinchy; or notice that ‘Bowls’ relies on a pulsing, pointed melody absolutely typical of Faithless’ biggest single; or consider the familiarity in the saxophone refrain on ‘Kaili’. Or, perhaps, the biggest hint – 3:50 into ‘Leave House’, and 1997 threatens to break through the surface. A pounding euphoria beat rises, like some majestic fatty aquatic mammal trained to jump through a hoop, but then… vanishes again, beneath the waves. It’s only there very briefly, but it’s perhaps the only moment on the album where Snaith’s vibe is displayed on his sleeve for all to see. If I were searching for a pithy genre label here I could settle on ‘math-rave’ or ‘math-house’, but that could be tempting fate, as from Tokyo to Chicago the blogging hordes jump onto some kind of hideous bandwagon – or is that a compliment to how natural Swim feels, how it feels like something we should all already be doing? We are (weirdly, as many anthropologists have pointed out) hairless apes, the simians that love to swim, that are actually born with the ability to swim. Swim, the name being so apt, is an album that is entirely instinctual in its construction.

As befits music critics, they’ve begun cobbling together some kind of proto-hypothesis as to the fundamental characteristic of alternative American popular music. It contends that, in the US, bands still worship, that they are still in awe of, all those horribly sincere and gentle psychedelic lads from the 60s – your Grateful Deads, your Jefferson Airplanes, Allen Ginsberg setting William Blake’s Songs of Innocence & Experience to his own immature compositions. When Patti Smith came to London for the first time in the mid-70s to play her first LP, Horses, she and her band were seen as being at the front of this brave new ‘punk’ idea they had over in that New York City of theirs. Lydon and his Sex Pistols played the same night, and he opened their set with this sentient credos: “Horses? Horses? Horseshit!” That’s the kind of evidence that can, if a review demands, be taken and applied over a whole society – we are the country that had punk as mainstream movement, as political ideology, as nihilistic creed. We came out of the 70s with the tombstone of Ian Curtis and synthesisers set to ‘dread’; Americans ended up with ‘Shiny Happy People’. In short, the British are, in the main, over it when it comes to hippie idealism in music; the Americans have never really recovered by comparison, and prefer to get lost in the niceties of older eras where sincerity had yet to give way to irony.

You could, apparently, see this in effect just last year, when we saw Animal Collective release their Fall Be Kind EP with the first commercially-licensed sample of a Grateful Dead track. Perhaps Snaith is another adherent to the same trend – taking hold of stuff a lot of other musicians might consider gauche and reassembling it as exciting, bold, new. He’s a Canadian based in London, so maybe that explains why he’s been looking towards the Balearic islands for a warm and friendly drug scene to take cues from instead of San Fransciscan flower children.

What this all boils down to, regardless of whether it follows some general cultural phenomenon or not (and it can certainly be taken as one possible analysis of why this album has arrived in the form that is has), is this: Swim takes something that, to the vast swathes hogging the blogosphere, is fundamentally uncool, and completely refurnishes it. Snaith has tapped into the warmth of those synths, and that period, the sense of belonging and the sense of nostalgia, to create a work of electronica that has few faults. A masterpiece, dare I say it.

Regardless of myself or anyone else giving this some needless new label, we’re likely going to be seeing a lot of kids in bedrooms starting to raid yet another era of dance music, the rehabilitation of previously verboten dance forms, perhaps even a reappraisal of Kevin & Perry (though that will probably be the high water mark). The irony of this all is that it has taken a man with a doctorate in mathematics, a man who is clearly a perfectionist and a delicate composer (rumour has it Swim is a synthesis of over 600 original compositions) to reinvigorate genres of music entirely associated with the emotional mindlessness of ecstasy. This album has a heartbeat, a kind of Frankenstein’s monster brought to life by a scientist who believes in poetry and beauty.

Last week I had the pleasure of reviewing Petter & the Pix’s second album, Good As Gold, an eclectic bundle of folk and rock that never sits still longer than one track at a time. I urge you to seek it out, and you can listen to the first single off the album (Never Never) here. Petter, lead singer and ringleader of the group, of sorts, is an Icelandic chap from something of a musical family – his brother, Pontus, is half of the successful pop songwriting duo Bloodshy & Avant (not sure which one), and Petter himself used to be in Iceland’s first big reggae band, Hjálmar, as well as in a few other acts making everything from house beats to jazz. The Pix is Petter’s band, consisting of Mike Svensson on piano, Andreas Gabrielsson on bass, Nils Törnqvist on drums, and Mattias Franzen and Klas Ericsson on guitars. I had a quick catch-up with him to ask about his songwriting process.

Hi, Petter. What is it that you’re trying to do with the Pix? As in, what are you aiming for?

To make music and let everyone that is involved feel as involved as we are. I see music as some sort of get together, and I don’t want to work with anyone unless I can trust them to do their very best. For me a very big part of making music is to find situations where you can create moments of trust, with both your fellow musicians and a possible audience.

How would you describe your sound?

I’d say it some sort of pop.

Your music is extremely varied in style and instrumentation – how much to do you draw upon your experience with genres other than just ‘indie’ in making music?

I don’t really know how to define indie or pop if you are referring to it as a certain style of music. There are so many different music styles that people call indie or pop. The expressions seem to change depending on the decade in which they’re used. I think that for musicians, every piece of music they participate in changes the way they think about making music. If the musical history of the members in a group is varied, the outcome will somehow be a reflection of this.

What’s it like working with such a talented range of musicians? How much do they help in achieving that semi-orchestral breadth of sound?

The musicians are everything that there is! If I would choose another constellation of musicians then I’m sure that it would sound very different, not necessarily bad, but different. The fact that we’re all old friends makes it easier to work together.

What else influences you in your work? Where do you draw your ideas from? The world around you, friends, things like that?

The fact that it’s possible to survive as a musician, and that I enjoy playing and recording music, of course, are definitely the reasons why it’s worth making the effort to finish a song. But I think that what actually triggers the ideas could be just about anything, most likely it’s a combo of different components that effects your emotional state and I believe that music is just a product of that process.

This is your second album – do you feel that you’re progressing as a band?

Yes, I think that this album sounds different from the first one, so that would be progress. We haven’t been touring with this band so we haven’t been able to evolve in terms of meeting an audience. But we’ve played together in different constellations for at least ten years so I think that gives us the comfort to play what we like, even if doesn’t happen that often.

The planets collide as We Fell To Earth support 30 Seconds to Mars tonight at KOKO. After this London visit, Air require WFTE for support which shall take them to distant dreamy lands in Europe where they are sure to continue to spellbind audiences with tracks from their mesmerising self titled debut album.
The single “Deaf” is out today and album available now.

Tuesday 17th November, Plastiscines, Barfly, Camden

The Parisian pretties sail across The Channel to perform at Camden, Barfly. The quirky quartet, who can count Iggy Pop amongst their fans, formed at high school not knowing how to play their instruments. They taught themselves, became friends with Nylon magazine, Supported Little Boots and have recently featured on Gossip Girl aptly with sassy single “Bitch”, which is sure to be a significant crowd pleaser on the set list.

Wednesday 18th November, Scott Matthews and Vijay Kishore, Shepherds Bush Empire

Blues-Folkster Scott Matthews followed up debut “Passing Stranger” earlier this year with the more rock inspired “Elsewhere” on which Led Zeppelin’s Robert Plants helps him out. Helping him out tonight is Vijay Kishore whose bluesy vocals are just as likely to melt you.

Thursday 19th November, Build An Ark, Cargo

This Los Angeles based improv jazz act are lovers not fighters. The troop who formed in the aftermath of 9/11 as promoters of peace shall be filling Cargo with their soulful sounds as part of the London Jazz festival that’s happening this week.

Friday 20th November, Piney Gir, Orange Yard

Kansas born now London based, Piney Gir is launching new single “Say I’m Sorry” at Borderline, Orangeyard. The single is from album “The Yearling” on which she merged all-American country girl and electronic elements amid woodwinds with horns thrown in for good measure. “Say I’m Sorry” is out November 23rd.

Saturday 21st November, God Save the Girl and Pocketbooks, 100 Club

God Save The Girl is the storytelling side project from Belle & Sebastian’s leading lad Stuart Murdoch. Coming up with songs that he felt required female vocals, singers were scouted in a very modern manner, via social networking sites. Three of the ladies that were cast shall be sharing centre stage this evening. Fellow indie pop treasures Pocketbooks also perform tonight. Pocketbooks feature on Rough Trade Records Indiepop 09 compilation, which is out Monday November 16th.

Sunday 22nd November, Tortoise and Cluster,

Closing the London Jazz Festival with An American-German exchange are. Tortoise and Cluster who come together for a one off special performance. It’s a shame that it’s a one off because I quite like the way that their names together sound like a pair of rascals that should be on a CBBC show. Having both released much over due albums this summer they are required to showcase this separately. Electronic act Cluster shall do so with tracks from “Qua” whilst Tortoise shall perform tracks from “Beacons of Ancestorship” that was released this summer.

I’ll put up my hands and admit that as a girl, not yet a quarter of a century old, talking about music is utterly intimidating. Yet I try. At some point in my life I’ll make a concerted effort to dance about architecture too. There is an endless wealth of information on bands that have already been, that I am never, ever going to be able to catch up on. Yet I try. As a music fan (enough to write about it), I’m embarrassed to admit that I only really discovered my, now, all time favourite band, Talking Heads within the last five years. I know, shoot me down. My convoluted point is that, as much as I try and piece it together, I can only imagine what The Slits releasing ‘Cut’ meant to the females and general youth and music fans of 1979. Yes there was a sex bomb fronted Blondie, intriguingly androgynous Patti Smith and unconventional Kate Bush, but an all female, punk rock band that posed naked on their album sleeve and generally didn’t give a f***. No one saw that coming and their influence has reverberated ever since.

Fast forward then 30 years and their new album, Trapped Animal, has been unleashed to a society that is certainly far from sorted. But can the music still have the same punch? The garage approach of Cut has inevitably given way to a slicker product all round. That same mixture of reggae rhythms, scratchy guitars, anger and mischief abounds. Rather than sounding like a band thirty years past their prime, as could be said of many a reunion album, there is a freshness that means you could be mistaken for thinking you’re hearing the latest South London council estate collective. This could be explained by the new multi-generational line-up that features Sex Pistol Paul Cook’s daughter, Hollie. You also get the impression that frontwoman Ari Up has as much energy as her fourteen year old self that met original member, Palmolive, at a Patti Smith gig.

Lyrically, the album doesn’t stretch the boundaries of the concept of rhyming but you wouldn’t hear Girls Aloud bemoaning of “Men who want us to be their mother/Men who hate us because of their mother.” Where the Pop Idol-ers are concerned with their “cappuccinos to go-o”, Up and her girls are hollering about ‘Peer Pressure’, “issues with child abuse” and eschewing the shackles of a nine to five: “We don’t pay rent with a passion, and we don’t wanna follow fashion.”

The fact that foul-mouthed Lily Allen launched her career on the wave of reggae-tinged pop is no accident. The Slits invented the model for anti-establishment, men-bashing, unselfconscious pop and even though this new offering will never live up to Cut standards, it’s a welcome return of punk’s finest.

We can’t get enough of this distilled, gravelly bluesman. With Whitmore, it’s almost like you’re listening from inside a huge bottle of JD.

Tuesday 15th September
We Have Band
ICA, London

This trio spin the grooves of Talking Heads via a stop off and natter with Hot Chip, it’ll make you jive and smile.

Wednesday 16th September
Beth Jeans Houghton
Rough Trade East, London

Having supported folk heavy weights, Tunng, Bon Iver, and King Creosote, this ballsy 19 year old manages to blend the vocal lustre of Nico and Laura Marling whilst having an edgy stage presence more like Gwen Stefani. Beguiling.

Thursday 17th September
Alela and Laura Gibson
Shepherds Bush Empire, London

We chatted to Alela recently and she was as lovely as her music. Gibson toes a similar line of enchanting bluesy folk airs.

Friday 18th September
Metronomy, Male Bonding, Your Twenties and Drums Of Death
The Forum, London

We’re particularly keen on the immaculate indie-pop of Your Twenties after meeting the lovely ex-Metronomy frontman. Nice to see they’re still close.

Saturday 19th September
Tom Paley and Birdengine
The Deptford Arms, London

A traditional folk night in a scuzzy South-East London boozer. You want more reason that that? Well living legend, Tom Paley who played with Woodie Guthrie back in the day and enchantingly odd, Birdengine are two big ones.

Sunday 20th September
Viv Albertine and Get Back Guinozzi!
The Windmill, London

The Slits guitarist has picked up a guitar again after a 25 year sabbatical and come up trumps with punk rock outfit, Albertine.

The luridly lit room at 229 last night, was curiously full of loved-up couples and it’s not even Spring – but Herman Dune’s music and personal charm quickly made it clear what attracted us all to their headline slot at the Fistful of Fandango festival.

Herman Dune have been around for an astonishingly long time (nearly 10 years), yet have stayed at a level where they still perform to pretty small audiences. This seems an act by choice, as tonight, everyone was enamored. I was almost brand-new to the folky charms of the band, consisting of two emaciated, vegetarian brothers from Sweden, but the setlist was populated with what could be called their greatest hits. The wistful lovers’ prayer “My Home is Nowhere Without You” managed to feel sweet and heartfelt despite the familiar theme of being far away from the object of one’s affection.

Bearded lead singer David-Ivar tells many stories about women he has loved, with a Leonard Cohen type ability to make you feel the tenderness of a relationship moment. One song has a heartbreaking verse that is just a repetition of a boy being told by his mother that she loves his brother more; but at the end the girl wakes up in the morning sun and tells him she loves him. You could be right there with him.

After an opening interlude with just David-Ivar and his guitar, the rest of the band joins him for a more sunny pop-infused section. Things get so sunny that at one point, the drummer jumps up to take the mic and tells the security man off for trying to stop the crowd dancing. “These girls were dancing very nicely,” he said seriously.

Herman Dune as a group come across as very lovely young men, possibly because of the accents that remind me of every kind and serious young man from abroad I’ve ever known – the band have roots in Sweden, France, Switzerland and Israel. Their music put its arms out this evening and gave 229 a big old hug.

The Fistful of Fandango festival continues tonight headlined by Future of the Left.