My Christmas in numbers
Christmas dinners eaten prior to Christmas Day: 3
Chuckles raised by cracker jokes: 0 (rather fewer than by the Christmas special of Outnumbered)
Pairs of socks received as presents: 1
Slow cookers owned before Christmas: 0
Slow cookers owned after Christmas: 2
Comedy back-jarring falls on black ice: 1
Disappointing Newcastle Utd festive fixtures endured: 2
Hours of post-Christmas sales shopping tolerated: 1
80th birthdays celebrated: 1
New arrivals celebrated: 1 (well, 2, I suppose, if you include that JC chap). Congratulations to Andrew and Kay.
Thursday, December 31, 2009
Quote of the day
"Hot and smoky, almost irreverent. Imagine W. C. Fields extinguishing a cigar on your tongue."
What it feels like to be stung by a yellowjacket, according to the rather marvellous and imaginative Schmidt Sting Pain Index.
(Thanks to Simon for the link.)
"Hot and smoky, almost irreverent. Imagine W. C. Fields extinguishing a cigar on your tongue."
What it feels like to be stung by a yellowjacket, according to the rather marvellous and imaginative Schmidt Sting Pain Index.
(Thanks to Simon for the link.)
You're in the establishment. Now
Silent Words Speak Loudest salutes Francis Rossi and Rick Parfitt OBEs.
Said Parfitt: "I think the rest of the band knew something was up - we dropped some hints. We would walk around the dressing room and talk about what we were going to eat and say, 'just One Boiled Egg'"...
In the course of their rockin' all over the world this year, the BBC article suggests they played to 250,000 people - more than that, surely, taking Glastonbury into account?
Silent Words Speak Loudest salutes Francis Rossi and Rick Parfitt OBEs.
Said Parfitt: "I think the rest of the band knew something was up - we dropped some hints. We would walk around the dressing room and talk about what we were going to eat and say, 'just One Boiled Egg'"...
In the course of their rockin' all over the world this year, the BBC article suggests they played to 250,000 people - more than that, surely, taking Glastonbury into account?
Wednesday, December 23, 2009
Behind the times
As you may have noticed, the SWSL end-of-year lists are yet to materialise, fashionably late as ever. The reason is that I've still got hazy recollections of two whole festivals to form into words and commit to blog, so you're looking at January, to be honest - by which time I should hopefully have digested more of the albums for which I've crossed palms with silver this year, so I'll have a better idea of what really merits a place in the Top 10.
In the meantime, being out of reach of a computer from tomorrow until Boxing Day at least, I'll direct you to the lists taking shape/already up on Sweeping The Nation, Sick Mouthy and The Auditorium (to name but three blogs) and wish you a merry Christmas.
As you may have noticed, the SWSL end-of-year lists are yet to materialise, fashionably late as ever. The reason is that I've still got hazy recollections of two whole festivals to form into words and commit to blog, so you're looking at January, to be honest - by which time I should hopefully have digested more of the albums for which I've crossed palms with silver this year, so I'll have a better idea of what really merits a place in the Top 10.
In the meantime, being out of reach of a computer from tomorrow until Boxing Day at least, I'll direct you to the lists taking shape/already up on Sweeping The Nation, Sick Mouthy and The Auditorium (to name but three blogs) and wish you a merry Christmas.
Quote of the day
"My advice, as a Christian priest, is to shoplift."
Father Tim Jones directs his parishoners to go forth and help themselves to a five-finger discount.
Must admit I missed the qualifying statement in the Bible after "Thou shalt not steal" that said "... unless you're really on your uppers and it's from 'national businesses'". And, as was pointed out in conversation down the pub this evening, the Church of England is itself effectively a wealthy national business - so how's about popping down your local C of E church and seeing what you can come home with, or just treating the collection bowl as a lucky dip?
"My advice, as a Christian priest, is to shoplift."
Father Tim Jones directs his parishoners to go forth and help themselves to a five-finger discount.
Must admit I missed the qualifying statement in the Bible after "Thou shalt not steal" that said "... unless you're really on your uppers and it's from 'national businesses'". And, as was pointed out in conversation down the pub this evening, the Church of England is itself effectively a wealthy national business - so how's about popping down your local C of E church and seeing what you can come home with, or just treating the collection bowl as a lucky dip?
So near, yet so far
As regular readers may be aware, I'm a bit of a sucker for pictures of deserted manmade environments - so it was something of a revelation to be directed towards photographer Stephen Wilkes' beautiful and poignant images of the abandoned hospital complex on Ellis Island where the journeys of many hopeful immigrants to the USA came to a tragic end just short of the promised land. "The Statue of Liberty loomed over my shoulder", Wilkes noted of his initial exploration, "yet I felt no less an archaeologist than those who first ventured into the Mayan tombs".
(Thanks to Matt for the link.)
As regular readers may be aware, I'm a bit of a sucker for pictures of deserted manmade environments - so it was something of a revelation to be directed towards photographer Stephen Wilkes' beautiful and poignant images of the abandoned hospital complex on Ellis Island where the journeys of many hopeful immigrants to the USA came to a tragic end just short of the promised land. "The Statue of Liberty loomed over my shoulder", Wilkes noted of his initial exploration, "yet I felt no less an archaeologist than those who first ventured into the Mayan tombs".
(Thanks to Matt for the link.)
Monday, December 21, 2009
Nice and spicy
STEWART LEE / TONY LAW, 26TH NOVEMBER 2009, OXFORD REGAL
Would the cavernous Regal have been booked for Lee's new stand-up show - If You Prefer A Milder Comedian, Please Ask For One - on the strength of his BBC2 series Stewart Lee's Comedy Vehicle, perchance? I rather think it would.
It being a late November evening, the auditorium isn't exactly warm, and it's an equally cool response that greets support act Tony Law. You sense he's already lost people when he begins by pondering why it only seems to be wolves who raise abandoned children ("Why is it that no other animals step up to the plate?"), and the acoustics and frequent accent switching don't help his cause.
For a comic widely renowned for having a dazzlingly offbeat mind, his material strays surprisingly (and disappointingly, for my liking) close to the sort you might be subjected to on a work night out at Jongleurs - the cheap mockery of South Africans and didjeridoo-playing trustafarian students, an expression of bafflement at the experience of eating in Nandos.
But there are flashes of something more interesting - the whirling surrealism of the segment about his penchant for tapping goats and griffins, for starters - and when he says he loves playing with Lee because he attracts all the town's liberals and that "We had all 580 of them in Portsmouth" I know what he means (as well as knowing at least two of said south coast liberals).
Ignore Stewart Lee's sardonic comments about the success of his Comedy Vehicle. That's just part of the self-deprecating comic persona which has this new show advertised on his website with a critic's comment "His whole tone is one of complete, smug condescension" and which sees him arrive onstage to flashing lights and loud intro music ("the entrance for a younger man") before starting off by talking about a visit to Caffe Nero. Despite professions to the contrary, there's no doubt that his long-awaited return to what he's referred to as the "idiot lantern" gave him exposure to a wider audience (while also probably helping some put a face to the much reviled name of the man behind Jerry Springer: The Opera).
If You Prefer A Milder Comedian, Please Ask For One - no doubt many people's introduction to the live Lee experience - is classically constructed. From humble beginnings (the mundanity of that trip to Caffe Nero, fodder for the unimaginative observational comic), the show spirals smartly through a sequence of routines - reflections on what the phrase "quality of life" really means and the desirability of "visible otters" when buying a house; ruminations on Frankie Boyle's claim that comedians lose their anger and edge once they hit 40 (a claim to which Lee naturally gives the lie) - before climaxing not once but twice.
Much has been made of the most notorious segment of the show, an extended anti-Top Gear rant which finds Lee imagining in absurdly graphic detail Richard Hammond's death in that car crash and which has had the Daily Mail predictably fleck-mouthed in response. As ever, though, he's not being gratuitously offensive for its own sake (unlike, say, Boyle or Jimmy Carr), but rather making a forceful point about the show's hypocritical justification of its crassness as a supposedly noble assault on "political correctness gone mad". And his suggestion that Hammond's survivor's story On The Edge should have been published by BBC World rather than Weidenfeld & Nicolson because the license-payer funded the crash and so should reap the financial rewards is one of the show's most brilliantly acid observations.
As I've said on this site many times before, Lee's particular comic modus operandi is to lay bare the art of construction, offering not so much a running commentary on what he's doing as a guided tour of the backstage - pulleys, levers, trapdoors and all. In a recent Guardian piece previewing the show's six-week run at the Leicester Square theatre, Sean O'Hagan astutely described one routine from 2007's 41st Best Stand-Up Comedian Ever! as a "tightrope walk" - but that could apply equally to either of this show's climaxes.
First he takes a simple ad slogan and - through characteristic single-mindedness and relentlessness and a compulsion to break all the "rules" of stand-up (staying silent, dropping the microphone to the floor, leaving the stage, relying on nothing but his own projected voice in an aircraft hangar of a venue) - crafts a devastating (and devastatingly funny, it should be noted) assault on the misappropriation of art, culture and language.
And then, to illustrate his point that the "last taboo" in stand-up isn't jokes about this or that subject but "doing something sincerely and well", he sets out to reclaim Steve Earle's 'Galway Girl' from the ad men by delivering his own performance of the song. With Lee there's always the feeling of being dragged out of the cosy comfort zone, but now the sense of awkwardness is palpable, the tightrope frayed thinner and the weight of expectation of disaster possibly heavier than ever before. But he makes it to the other side - and in some style - and we rise in unison to applaud.
A milder comedian? No thanks - Stewart Lee'll do just nicely.
STEWART LEE / TONY LAW, 26TH NOVEMBER 2009, OXFORD REGAL
Would the cavernous Regal have been booked for Lee's new stand-up show - If You Prefer A Milder Comedian, Please Ask For One - on the strength of his BBC2 series Stewart Lee's Comedy Vehicle, perchance? I rather think it would.
It being a late November evening, the auditorium isn't exactly warm, and it's an equally cool response that greets support act Tony Law. You sense he's already lost people when he begins by pondering why it only seems to be wolves who raise abandoned children ("Why is it that no other animals step up to the plate?"), and the acoustics and frequent accent switching don't help his cause.
For a comic widely renowned for having a dazzlingly offbeat mind, his material strays surprisingly (and disappointingly, for my liking) close to the sort you might be subjected to on a work night out at Jongleurs - the cheap mockery of South Africans and didjeridoo-playing trustafarian students, an expression of bafflement at the experience of eating in Nandos.
But there are flashes of something more interesting - the whirling surrealism of the segment about his penchant for tapping goats and griffins, for starters - and when he says he loves playing with Lee because he attracts all the town's liberals and that "We had all 580 of them in Portsmouth" I know what he means (as well as knowing at least two of said south coast liberals).
Ignore Stewart Lee's sardonic comments about the success of his Comedy Vehicle. That's just part of the self-deprecating comic persona which has this new show advertised on his website with a critic's comment "His whole tone is one of complete, smug condescension" and which sees him arrive onstage to flashing lights and loud intro music ("the entrance for a younger man") before starting off by talking about a visit to Caffe Nero. Despite professions to the contrary, there's no doubt that his long-awaited return to what he's referred to as the "idiot lantern" gave him exposure to a wider audience (while also probably helping some put a face to the much reviled name of the man behind Jerry Springer: The Opera).
If You Prefer A Milder Comedian, Please Ask For One - no doubt many people's introduction to the live Lee experience - is classically constructed. From humble beginnings (the mundanity of that trip to Caffe Nero, fodder for the unimaginative observational comic), the show spirals smartly through a sequence of routines - reflections on what the phrase "quality of life" really means and the desirability of "visible otters" when buying a house; ruminations on Frankie Boyle's claim that comedians lose their anger and edge once they hit 40 (a claim to which Lee naturally gives the lie) - before climaxing not once but twice.
Much has been made of the most notorious segment of the show, an extended anti-Top Gear rant which finds Lee imagining in absurdly graphic detail Richard Hammond's death in that car crash and which has had the Daily Mail predictably fleck-mouthed in response. As ever, though, he's not being gratuitously offensive for its own sake (unlike, say, Boyle or Jimmy Carr), but rather making a forceful point about the show's hypocritical justification of its crassness as a supposedly noble assault on "political correctness gone mad". And his suggestion that Hammond's survivor's story On The Edge should have been published by BBC World rather than Weidenfeld & Nicolson because the license-payer funded the crash and so should reap the financial rewards is one of the show's most brilliantly acid observations.
As I've said on this site many times before, Lee's particular comic modus operandi is to lay bare the art of construction, offering not so much a running commentary on what he's doing as a guided tour of the backstage - pulleys, levers, trapdoors and all. In a recent Guardian piece previewing the show's six-week run at the Leicester Square theatre, Sean O'Hagan astutely described one routine from 2007's 41st Best Stand-Up Comedian Ever! as a "tightrope walk" - but that could apply equally to either of this show's climaxes.
First he takes a simple ad slogan and - through characteristic single-mindedness and relentlessness and a compulsion to break all the "rules" of stand-up (staying silent, dropping the microphone to the floor, leaving the stage, relying on nothing but his own projected voice in an aircraft hangar of a venue) - crafts a devastating (and devastatingly funny, it should be noted) assault on the misappropriation of art, culture and language.
And then, to illustrate his point that the "last taboo" in stand-up isn't jokes about this or that subject but "doing something sincerely and well", he sets out to reclaim Steve Earle's 'Galway Girl' from the ad men by delivering his own performance of the song. With Lee there's always the feeling of being dragged out of the cosy comfort zone, but now the sense of awkwardness is palpable, the tightrope frayed thinner and the weight of expectation of disaster possibly heavier than ever before. But he makes it to the other side - and in some style - and we rise in unison to applaud.
A milder comedian? No thanks - Stewart Lee'll do just nicely.
Three things that alleviated Christmas shopping hell in Cardiff on Saturday
1. My first visit to Spillers in ages for some post-ATP purchases, Melvins' Houdini and Deerhoof's Offend Maggie.
2. A rummage around a post-apocalyptic Borders in search of some diamonds in the rough of diet-yourself-dead and Sid Owen autobiographies being soundtracked briefly and somewhat unexpectedly by Fuck Buttons ('The Lisbon Maru', I think it was).
3. Jen overhearing one woman discussing possible Christmas presents with another: "Well, he doesn't even really use his nunchucks".
1. My first visit to Spillers in ages for some post-ATP purchases, Melvins' Houdini and Deerhoof's Offend Maggie.
2. A rummage around a post-apocalyptic Borders in search of some diamonds in the rough of diet-yourself-dead and Sid Owen autobiographies being soundtracked briefly and somewhat unexpectedly by Fuck Buttons ('The Lisbon Maru', I think it was).
3. Jen overhearing one woman discussing possible Christmas presents with another: "Well, he doesn't even really use his nunchucks".
Is it just me...
... or is 'Killing In The Name' unlikely to be appearing on any Christmas compilations any time soon? Were they too busy Raging Against The Machine to add some sleigh bells to the chorus, or shoot a video of them pulling crackers and roasting chestnuts on an open fire?
The beginning of the end for X-Factor? Possibly. Either way, it's a big poke in the eye. Merry Christmas Cowell.
... or is 'Killing In The Name' unlikely to be appearing on any Christmas compilations any time soon? Were they too busy Raging Against The Machine to add some sleigh bells to the chorus, or shoot a video of them pulling crackers and roasting chestnuts on an open fire?
The beginning of the end for X-Factor? Possibly. Either way, it's a big poke in the eye. Merry Christmas Cowell.
Quote of the day
"It is every woman's right to drive a Freelander and fly to New York for business shopping. We can only achieve true equality when we can stand shoulder-to-shoulder with men, look at the cataclysmic destruction of the world's ecosystem and proudly proclaim that at least half of it was our fault."
From an article entitled "Feminism causes global warming, say experts". Hmm, might have to start reading The Daily Mash more often...
(Thanks to Adam for the link.)
"It is every woman's right to drive a Freelander and fly to New York for business shopping. We can only achieve true equality when we can stand shoulder-to-shoulder with men, look at the cataclysmic destruction of the world's ecosystem and proudly proclaim that at least half of it was our fault."
From an article entitled "Feminism causes global warming, say experts". Hmm, might have to start reading The Daily Mash more often...
(Thanks to Adam for the link.)
Thursday, December 17, 2009
Sine of the times
WAVVES / FROM LIGHT TO SOUND, 18TH NOVEMBER 2009, OXFORD JERICHO TAVERN
Having failed in my quest to see From Light To Sound once before, back at the tail end of August, tonight proves to be second time lucky - I've actually read the bill correctly...
I could legitimately describe From Light To Sound as a "supergroup" if you'd actually heard of all (or even any) of the various members' other projects. So, just a plain group, then. It's also potentially misleading to describe them as a mellowed Mogwai who've cribbed notes on Holy Fuck's more blissed-out moments (you know - 'Lovely Allen') because, although that's certainly what tracks like opener 'Heart And Electricity' hint hopefully at, there are a few missteps along the way, the songs often tend to sag slightly (sometimes seeming almost to lose interest in themselves) and I get the impression that too many guitarists are spoiling the broth.
But their set is a far from disagreeable first half of the evening's entertainment, and it's hard to dislike a band who declare that one of their instrumentals is about "an imaginary civil war between Swansea and Cardiff". To use a characteristically South Walian expression in its more widely understood sense, tidy.
It's also second time lucky with the headliners. Due to play this very venue in June, Wavves pulled the plug on their entire tour following the very public plug-pulling that took place at the Primavera Festival in Barcelona in May and Nathan Williams' subsequent grovelling apology for being drugged out of his mind, so it's a relief just to see him take to the Jericho Tavern stage.
Not that they haven't continued to be plagued by disaster and misfortune - Zach Hill of Hella and countless other projects was due to be behind the kit (something of which promoters You! Me Dancing! had understandably made much on the bill posters), only for him to break his wrist just days before the tour kicked off. Williams, in his characteristically bratty/"whatevs" way, rubs his eyes theatrically in a boo-hoo gesture. The show must go on - and it does, for all of about 25 minutes.
I think I've mentioned on here before (and if I haven't, I certainly should have) my conviction of there being a musical lineage spanning decades and generations that began in earnest with the Beach Boys in the 60s and then passed through the Ramones in the 70s and the Jesus & Mary Chain in the 80s - a lineage which has seen sweet pop harmonies gradually submerged deeper and deeper beneath fuzz. And Wavves - essentially No Age if they'd listened to less My Bloody Valentine and more Nirvana and 50s/60s girl groups - are arguably the tradition's current torch-holders (though "deep" isn't an appropriate adjective). All of which is to say that, unlike From Light To Sound, they're very definitely not tidy. On the contrary, they're as loose as hell, and either instantly likeable or instantly detestable depending on your preferences.
Wavves were born as Williams' bedroom project - something to pass the five-minute intervals between spliffs, is my guess - and that's exactly where slacker surf-punk anthems like 'So Bored' and 'No Hope Kids' transport you: an oddly odoured enclave where you might have to step gingerly around crusty socks on the floor, but also a place of joyous youthful abandon, a refuge from adulthood.
As they kick off their single-song encore - it's the only one the current bassist and drummer know that they haven't already played - and the youngsters in front of me gleefully grab one last opportunity to throw themselves around, I wonder briefly whether this is a guilty pleasure, and how undignified it might seem for a 32-year-old like me to still get high on the smell of teen spirit. But then I realise I really don't care.
WAVVES / FROM LIGHT TO SOUND, 18TH NOVEMBER 2009, OXFORD JERICHO TAVERN
Having failed in my quest to see From Light To Sound once before, back at the tail end of August, tonight proves to be second time lucky - I've actually read the bill correctly...
I could legitimately describe From Light To Sound as a "supergroup" if you'd actually heard of all (or even any) of the various members' other projects. So, just a plain group, then. It's also potentially misleading to describe them as a mellowed Mogwai who've cribbed notes on Holy Fuck's more blissed-out moments (you know - 'Lovely Allen') because, although that's certainly what tracks like opener 'Heart And Electricity' hint hopefully at, there are a few missteps along the way, the songs often tend to sag slightly (sometimes seeming almost to lose interest in themselves) and I get the impression that too many guitarists are spoiling the broth.
But their set is a far from disagreeable first half of the evening's entertainment, and it's hard to dislike a band who declare that one of their instrumentals is about "an imaginary civil war between Swansea and Cardiff". To use a characteristically South Walian expression in its more widely understood sense, tidy.
It's also second time lucky with the headliners. Due to play this very venue in June, Wavves pulled the plug on their entire tour following the very public plug-pulling that took place at the Primavera Festival in Barcelona in May and Nathan Williams' subsequent grovelling apology for being drugged out of his mind, so it's a relief just to see him take to the Jericho Tavern stage.
Not that they haven't continued to be plagued by disaster and misfortune - Zach Hill of Hella and countless other projects was due to be behind the kit (something of which promoters You! Me Dancing! had understandably made much on the bill posters), only for him to break his wrist just days before the tour kicked off. Williams, in his characteristically bratty/"whatevs" way, rubs his eyes theatrically in a boo-hoo gesture. The show must go on - and it does, for all of about 25 minutes.
I think I've mentioned on here before (and if I haven't, I certainly should have) my conviction of there being a musical lineage spanning decades and generations that began in earnest with the Beach Boys in the 60s and then passed through the Ramones in the 70s and the Jesus & Mary Chain in the 80s - a lineage which has seen sweet pop harmonies gradually submerged deeper and deeper beneath fuzz. And Wavves - essentially No Age if they'd listened to less My Bloody Valentine and more Nirvana and 50s/60s girl groups - are arguably the tradition's current torch-holders (though "deep" isn't an appropriate adjective). All of which is to say that, unlike From Light To Sound, they're very definitely not tidy. On the contrary, they're as loose as hell, and either instantly likeable or instantly detestable depending on your preferences.
Wavves were born as Williams' bedroom project - something to pass the five-minute intervals between spliffs, is my guess - and that's exactly where slacker surf-punk anthems like 'So Bored' and 'No Hope Kids' transport you: an oddly odoured enclave where you might have to step gingerly around crusty socks on the floor, but also a place of joyous youthful abandon, a refuge from adulthood.
As they kick off their single-song encore - it's the only one the current bassist and drummer know that they haven't already played - and the youngsters in front of me gleefully grab one last opportunity to throw themselves around, I wonder briefly whether this is a guilty pleasure, and how undignified it might seem for a 32-year-old like me to still get high on the smell of teen spirit. But then I realise I really don't care.
Wednesday, December 16, 2009
Many happy returns
So it was back to Butlins on Friday for the second installment of high-grade, high-volume, high-thrills excitement - this time with party hats on, to celebrate ten years of All Tomorrow's Parties. And if anything, it was even better than the previous one.
A sneak preview of what'll be in the review, when it eventually materialises: the sublime (Fuck Buttons), the ridiculous (Sunn O)))), Steve Albini having the gall to make a noise complaint, mad Japanese ladies, Warren Ellis' near-death experience, watching mice being taught table manners, what not to say to Dave Pajo, Melvins' four drummers, a picture of a prawn with Susan Boyle's face and Cedric Bixler-Zavala's personal grape-warmer.
Another special edition Feel Good Hits? Why not...
1. 'Surf Solar' - Fuck Buttons
2. 'The Only Moment We Were Alone' - Explosions In The Sky
3. 'Maps' - Yeah Yeah Yeahs
4. 'Jezebel' - The Drones
5. 'What Else Is New' - J Mascis & The Fog
6. 'Baltimore' - Stephen Malkmus & The Jicks
7. 'New Age' - Sleepy Sun
8. 'Suck Me Dry' - Mudhoney
9. 'The End Of Radio' - Shellac
10. 'Sea Above, Sky Below' - Dirty Three
Happy 10th birthday ATP.
So it was back to Butlins on Friday for the second installment of high-grade, high-volume, high-thrills excitement - this time with party hats on, to celebrate ten years of All Tomorrow's Parties. And if anything, it was even better than the previous one.
A sneak preview of what'll be in the review, when it eventually materialises: the sublime (Fuck Buttons), the ridiculous (Sunn O)))), Steve Albini having the gall to make a noise complaint, mad Japanese ladies, Warren Ellis' near-death experience, watching mice being taught table manners, what not to say to Dave Pajo, Melvins' four drummers, a picture of a prawn with Susan Boyle's face and Cedric Bixler-Zavala's personal grape-warmer.
Another special edition Feel Good Hits? Why not...
1. 'Surf Solar' - Fuck Buttons
2. 'The Only Moment We Were Alone' - Explosions In The Sky
3. 'Maps' - Yeah Yeah Yeahs
4. 'Jezebel' - The Drones
5. 'What Else Is New' - J Mascis & The Fog
6. 'Baltimore' - Stephen Malkmus & The Jicks
7. 'New Age' - Sleepy Sun
8. 'Suck Me Dry' - Mudhoney
9. 'The End Of Radio' - Shellac
10. 'Sea Above, Sky Below' - Dirty Three
Happy 10th birthday ATP.
Friday, December 11, 2009
Three feet high and rising
WE WERE PROMISED JETPACKS / THE GULLIVERS / CAT MATADOR, 12TH NOVEMBER 2009, OXFORD JERICHO TAVERN
Being one of seemingly very few people in this godforsaken country who thinks Clinic are so criminally underrated that the record-buying public should be banged up for life (a kind of circular argument, that), I was always going to find my interest piqued by repeated comparisons between them and Cat Matador. In truth, though, with their de rigeur violin, the local hopefuls have more in common with those riding the recent wave of vaguely folk-influenced, fiery-eyed and epic indie from Scotland: My Latest Novel, Broken Records and The Twilight Sad.
A technical glitch which leaves them stumped for more than five minutes hardly helps their cause, while the rhythm section is too obtrusive at times, they're often somewhat disjointed and I'm not keen on Liam Martin's vocals. But that's certainly not to imply that they're not worth bothering with - on the contrary, there's enough going on to merit a confident tick in the column marked "Promising".
For The Gullivers, it's tempting just to put "See above". Certainly in terms of the flaws, the bass and drums again often force their way too far into the foreground, and while Mark Byrne may have the perfect frontman's stare (intense and permanently directed two foot above everyone's heads), sadly he doesn't possess the voice to match.
But, unlike Cat Matador, The Gullivers do at least have someone who CAN sing amongst their ranks, as keyboardist Sophie McGrath proves on 'Letters', her Bat For Lashes T-shirt giving some hint as to where their influences lie. What's impressive in a band so young is exactly what has struck critics and listeners alike as so remarkable about The XX - namely the careful and judicious restraint on volume and the beyond-their-years maturity and confidence to allow the different elements of the songs space to breathe.
Headliners We Were Promised Jetpacks, by contrast, are all about much broader, more aggressive brush-strokes within fairly familiar parameters - so their signing to FatCat (thanks largely to their association with two acts already on the roster, Frightened Rabbit and The Twilight Sad) struck me as being a bit of a curious one.
The leftfield Brighton label has at various times been home to the likes of Vashti Bunyan, Black Dice, Mum, No Age, Animal Collective, Sigur Ros and post-rock supergroup Set Fire To Flames. Perhaps, then, the hope is that the Edinburgh quartet might turn out to be their Franz Ferdinand or Arctic Monkeys - both critically and commercially successful and thereby vital in underpinning some of the label's more esoteric releases.
Fierce dynamics and punchy post-hardcore guitars prevail (even when they reveal they've been bitten by the glockenspiel bug that's doing the rounds - it really doesn't suit them) but the secret weapon in their armoury, the thing that will really set the Jetpacks apart from the pack (if you will), is undoubtedly Adam Thompson. He's a vocalist of the vein-popping variety but never resorts to screaming, instead singing his lyrics with an almighty bellow, often delivering them stood well back from the mic.
Debut single 'Quiet Little Voices' - the oldest song still in their repertoire, the one with which most of us are familiar, and one that's patently not about Thompson - is fired off second, no longer the cornerstone of the set as I imagine it was in the early days. And that's because it's been displaced by the likes of 'Conductor' and 'It's Thunder And It's Lightning', the latter a recent single and the potent opening track on the LP, These Four Walls.
It's an apt album title - there's definitely a sense of the songs seething and raging within a confined space, like controlled explosions. Often a little too controlled for my liking, to be honest - I'd value less formula and a few more frayed edges - but, like set closer 'Short Bursts', undeniably explosive nonetheless. The modest foursome may be keeping their feet on the ground but, you sense, know that given the right conditions they might well take off.
WE WERE PROMISED JETPACKS / THE GULLIVERS / CAT MATADOR, 12TH NOVEMBER 2009, OXFORD JERICHO TAVERN
Being one of seemingly very few people in this godforsaken country who thinks Clinic are so criminally underrated that the record-buying public should be banged up for life (a kind of circular argument, that), I was always going to find my interest piqued by repeated comparisons between them and Cat Matador. In truth, though, with their de rigeur violin, the local hopefuls have more in common with those riding the recent wave of vaguely folk-influenced, fiery-eyed and epic indie from Scotland: My Latest Novel, Broken Records and The Twilight Sad.
A technical glitch which leaves them stumped for more than five minutes hardly helps their cause, while the rhythm section is too obtrusive at times, they're often somewhat disjointed and I'm not keen on Liam Martin's vocals. But that's certainly not to imply that they're not worth bothering with - on the contrary, there's enough going on to merit a confident tick in the column marked "Promising".
For The Gullivers, it's tempting just to put "See above". Certainly in terms of the flaws, the bass and drums again often force their way too far into the foreground, and while Mark Byrne may have the perfect frontman's stare (intense and permanently directed two foot above everyone's heads), sadly he doesn't possess the voice to match.
But, unlike Cat Matador, The Gullivers do at least have someone who CAN sing amongst their ranks, as keyboardist Sophie McGrath proves on 'Letters', her Bat For Lashes T-shirt giving some hint as to where their influences lie. What's impressive in a band so young is exactly what has struck critics and listeners alike as so remarkable about The XX - namely the careful and judicious restraint on volume and the beyond-their-years maturity and confidence to allow the different elements of the songs space to breathe.
Headliners We Were Promised Jetpacks, by contrast, are all about much broader, more aggressive brush-strokes within fairly familiar parameters - so their signing to FatCat (thanks largely to their association with two acts already on the roster, Frightened Rabbit and The Twilight Sad) struck me as being a bit of a curious one.
The leftfield Brighton label has at various times been home to the likes of Vashti Bunyan, Black Dice, Mum, No Age, Animal Collective, Sigur Ros and post-rock supergroup Set Fire To Flames. Perhaps, then, the hope is that the Edinburgh quartet might turn out to be their Franz Ferdinand or Arctic Monkeys - both critically and commercially successful and thereby vital in underpinning some of the label's more esoteric releases.
Fierce dynamics and punchy post-hardcore guitars prevail (even when they reveal they've been bitten by the glockenspiel bug that's doing the rounds - it really doesn't suit them) but the secret weapon in their armoury, the thing that will really set the Jetpacks apart from the pack (if you will), is undoubtedly Adam Thompson. He's a vocalist of the vein-popping variety but never resorts to screaming, instead singing his lyrics with an almighty bellow, often delivering them stood well back from the mic.
Debut single 'Quiet Little Voices' - the oldest song still in their repertoire, the one with which most of us are familiar, and one that's patently not about Thompson - is fired off second, no longer the cornerstone of the set as I imagine it was in the early days. And that's because it's been displaced by the likes of 'Conductor' and 'It's Thunder And It's Lightning', the latter a recent single and the potent opening track on the LP, These Four Walls.
It's an apt album title - there's definitely a sense of the songs seething and raging within a confined space, like controlled explosions. Often a little too controlled for my liking, to be honest - I'd value less formula and a few more frayed edges - but, like set closer 'Short Bursts', undeniably explosive nonetheless. The modest foursome may be keeping their feet on the ground but, you sense, know that given the right conditions they might well take off.
Thursday, December 10, 2009
Tuning in to the future
2009 is still a fair few days from packing its bags and taking a hike (and the SWSL end-of-year lists are a lot further away than that, let me add), but the BBC have already posted their ones to watch for 2010. Good to see Stornoway getting a mention, but on first impressions the band/act that grabbed me the most were definitely The Drums. As suggested, featured song 'Let's Go Surfing' does indeed manage to sound both breezily surf-pop and effortlessly 70s Noo Yoik. Wavves for people who are precious about their ears, basically.
They've also assessed the impact of 2009's crop - unsurprisingly, most met with significant success, not least because they were already being pushed vigorously and steered calculatedly. Lady Gaga, Florence And The Machine, La Roux and Little Boots - I'm looking at you. But there were flops, including a lukewarm response for Passion Pit - it seems I was roughly in tune with the general public when it came to my thoughts on them back in February.
2009 is still a fair few days from packing its bags and taking a hike (and the SWSL end-of-year lists are a lot further away than that, let me add), but the BBC have already posted their ones to watch for 2010. Good to see Stornoway getting a mention, but on first impressions the band/act that grabbed me the most were definitely The Drums. As suggested, featured song 'Let's Go Surfing' does indeed manage to sound both breezily surf-pop and effortlessly 70s Noo Yoik. Wavves for people who are precious about their ears, basically.
They've also assessed the impact of 2009's crop - unsurprisingly, most met with significant success, not least because they were already being pushed vigorously and steered calculatedly. Lady Gaga, Florence And The Machine, La Roux and Little Boots - I'm looking at you. But there were flops, including a lukewarm response for Passion Pit - it seems I was roughly in tune with the general public when it came to my thoughts on them back in February.
Quote of the day
"This is about Kelly and Joe, they decided to go on a camping trip, but Kelly notice something was really wrong, but Joe did not think anything was wrong! The night came and the zombies surrounded the cabin, and they were trap. Joe said don't worry we will be save!!!! Kelly said I Will called for Help on my cell phone, but no signal. Now Kelly was really worry, becasue Zombies were everywhere!!!! Then Kelly notice a car, ands we are traps, what are we going to do? Walking on Walks of Fame and seeing the Zombies coming toward them and grabbing there legs. I WANT YOUR BRAIN!"
The Amazon product description for breathless and brilliantly titled horror-slash-thriller Thin Ice: Zombies In LA: Nowhere To Run Or Hide by Jean Marie Rusin. OK, Dan Brown, come back - all is forgiven.
Rusin, as it happens, isn't bound by the strictures of genre (or, more surprisingly, of a straitjacket), and has turned her hand to everything from young adult fiction and chick-lit to historical fiction and even (*shudder*) erotica. A fine advertisement for the vanity press she uses, Authorhouse...
But at least her few Amazon reviewers have been kind. "No matter how many times I die and am reborn, I will always be four hours closer to death because of this book...". Oh. Ah.
(Thanks to Jane for the link.)
"This is about Kelly and Joe, they decided to go on a camping trip, but Kelly notice something was really wrong, but Joe did not think anything was wrong! The night came and the zombies surrounded the cabin, and they were trap. Joe said don't worry we will be save!!!! Kelly said I Will called for Help on my cell phone, but no signal. Now Kelly was really worry, becasue Zombies were everywhere!!!! Then Kelly notice a car, ands we are traps, what are we going to do? Walking on Walks of Fame and seeing the Zombies coming toward them and grabbing there legs. I WANT YOUR BRAIN!"
The Amazon product description for breathless and brilliantly titled horror-slash-thriller Thin Ice: Zombies In LA: Nowhere To Run Or Hide by Jean Marie Rusin. OK, Dan Brown, come back - all is forgiven.
Rusin, as it happens, isn't bound by the strictures of genre (or, more surprisingly, of a straitjacket), and has turned her hand to everything from young adult fiction and chick-lit to historical fiction and even (*shudder*) erotica. A fine advertisement for the vanity press she uses, Authorhouse...
But at least her few Amazon reviewers have been kind. "No matter how many times I die and am reborn, I will always be four hours closer to death because of this book...". Oh. Ah.
(Thanks to Jane for the link.)
Tuesday, December 08, 2009
Pump up the volume
The My Bloody Valentine-curated ATP Nightmare Before Christmas in a word? Loud.
In two words? Effing loud.
In three words? Really effing loud.
And seriously, seriously good.
I've got a bit of a backlog of gig reviews to post first, but the festival write-up will appear at some point - and, when it does, expect all of the following: "brown noise", songs about the Manson murders, space jazz, being stalked by Mercury Rev's Jonathan Donohue, the smell of pea soup, hilarious drunk Scandanavians who look like characters from Heavy Metal Parking Lot, Christmas jumpers, what Bob Mould likes to get romantic to, and Dirty Three's Warren Ellis' tale of trying to buy a packet of crisps when under the influence of Glastonbury 1975-grade LSD.
But how's about a quick Feel Good Hits Nightmare Before Christmas special in the meantime? OK then...
1. 'Death Valley '69' - Sonic Youth
2. 'What Else Is New' - J Mascis & The Fog
3. 'Soon' - My Bloody Valentine
4. 'Eraser' - No Age
5. 'And The Glitter Is Gone' - Yo La Tengo
6. 'The Zither Player' - Dirty Three
7. 'Ever Fallen In Love' - The Buzzcocks
8. 'Hoover Dam' - Bob Mould
9. 'Police' - Fucked Up
10. 'Something I Learned Today' - Bob Mould & No Age
The My Bloody Valentine-curated ATP Nightmare Before Christmas in a word? Loud.
In two words? Effing loud.
In three words? Really effing loud.
And seriously, seriously good.
I've got a bit of a backlog of gig reviews to post first, but the festival write-up will appear at some point - and, when it does, expect all of the following: "brown noise", songs about the Manson murders, space jazz, being stalked by Mercury Rev's Jonathan Donohue, the smell of pea soup, hilarious drunk Scandanavians who look like characters from Heavy Metal Parking Lot, Christmas jumpers, what Bob Mould likes to get romantic to, and Dirty Three's Warren Ellis' tale of trying to buy a packet of crisps when under the influence of Glastonbury 1975-grade LSD.
But how's about a quick Feel Good Hits Nightmare Before Christmas special in the meantime? OK then...
1. 'Death Valley '69' - Sonic Youth
2. 'What Else Is New' - J Mascis & The Fog
3. 'Soon' - My Bloody Valentine
4. 'Eraser' - No Age
5. 'And The Glitter Is Gone' - Yo La Tengo
6. 'The Zither Player' - Dirty Three
7. 'Ever Fallen In Love' - The Buzzcocks
8. 'Hoover Dam' - Bob Mould
9. 'Police' - Fucked Up
10. 'Something I Learned Today' - Bob Mould & No Age
Monday, December 07, 2009
Is it just me...
... or is the most noteable thing about this story the fact that Prince Charles has an official harpist?!
... or is the most noteable thing about this story the fact that Prince Charles has an official harpist?!
Quote of the day
As overheard by my friend Sian yesterday evening:
"If you YouTube that I'll ground you. And don't even think about bluetoothing it to Danielle so she can post it on Facebook. I can't ground her."
As overheard by my friend Sian yesterday evening:
"If you YouTube that I'll ground you. And don't even think about bluetoothing it to Danielle so she can post it on Facebook. I can't ground her."
Thursday, December 03, 2009
Dress down to impress
Tomorrow, as has been decreed by indie-gnome Steve Lamacq, is the second annual Wear Your Old Band T-Shirt To Work Day. A shame I'm not in work, then - though I'll almost certainly be wearing a band T-shirt of some description en route for ATP...
I wouldn't say I have any that I'm "a bit embarrassed of", really - but I can do old. There's an OK Computer-era Radiohead one somewhere, and My Dinosaur Jr cow print must have at least 13 years on the clock but is still going strong, if a little more faded than it once was.
(Thanks to Niall for the link.)
Tomorrow, as has been decreed by indie-gnome Steve Lamacq, is the second annual Wear Your Old Band T-Shirt To Work Day. A shame I'm not in work, then - though I'll almost certainly be wearing a band T-shirt of some description en route for ATP...
I wouldn't say I have any that I'm "a bit embarrassed of", really - but I can do old. There's an OK Computer-era Radiohead one somewhere, and My Dinosaur Jr cow print must have at least 13 years on the clock but is still going strong, if a little more faded than it once was.
(Thanks to Niall for the link.)
Wednesday, December 02, 2009
Know Your Enemy
"Like most creative musicians, Matt Friedberger is not a fan of Radiohead and most of their chart busters ... Matt has not heard the Radiohead song about Harry Patch, but if he did, he is sure he wouldn't like it. No doubt Radiohead and their fans can ignore his opinion of this matter and continue with their triumphant artistic interventions. Matt would have much preferred to insult Beck but he is too afraid of Scientologists".
Matthew Friedberger of the Fiery Furnaces publicly reiterates his dislike for Oxford's finest, while talking about himself in the third person.
Although I haven't yet got into I'm Going Away, I'm a big fan of theirs, and so this all seems a bit silly and unsavoury.
(Thanks to Gareth for the link.)
"Like most creative musicians, Matt Friedberger is not a fan of Radiohead and most of their chart busters ... Matt has not heard the Radiohead song about Harry Patch, but if he did, he is sure he wouldn't like it. No doubt Radiohead and their fans can ignore his opinion of this matter and continue with their triumphant artistic interventions. Matt would have much preferred to insult Beck but he is too afraid of Scientologists".
Matthew Friedberger of the Fiery Furnaces publicly reiterates his dislike for Oxford's finest, while talking about himself in the third person.
Although I haven't yet got into I'm Going Away, I'm a big fan of theirs, and so this all seems a bit silly and unsavoury.
(Thanks to Gareth for the link.)
Tuesday, December 01, 2009
Second time lucky?
It's very much swings and roundabouts for my friend Ali - on the one hand his novel The Girl With Glass Feet narrowly failed to make the shortlist for the Guardian's First Book Award, but on the other congratulations are due for its appearance among the four nominees for the Costa First Novel Award. And there I was wondering why he'd suddenly declared himself a fan of the coffee outlet last week...
The winner will be announced on 5th January, with the overall winner of the 2009 Book Of The Year Award being named three weeks later. Fingers are crossed.
It's very much swings and roundabouts for my friend Ali - on the one hand his novel The Girl With Glass Feet narrowly failed to make the shortlist for the Guardian's First Book Award, but on the other congratulations are due for its appearance among the four nominees for the Costa First Novel Award. And there I was wondering why he'd suddenly declared himself a fan of the coffee outlet last week...
The winner will be announced on 5th January, with the overall winner of the 2009 Book Of The Year Award being named three weeks later. Fingers are crossed.
Kart beat
Aching hands, aching arms, aching legs - I'd forgotten that karting could be quite so gruelling on the body.
The occasion was my brother's 30th, and despite initial trepidation and a crippling hangover I surprised myself in the heat, finishing a creditable fourth out of ten over 40 laps of an indoor circuit featuring several hairpin bends and one flyover section. But in the subsequent winners' race I span twice, got nudged into the tyres on several occasions and generally drove like a drunk granny, finishing dead last by more than two laps. A red shell and a few mushrooms really would have come in handy...
Still, no shame in being beaten by the eventual winner, who in his day was once ranked tenth in the country.
Aching hands, aching arms, aching legs - I'd forgotten that karting could be quite so gruelling on the body.
The occasion was my brother's 30th, and despite initial trepidation and a crippling hangover I surprised myself in the heat, finishing a creditable fourth out of ten over 40 laps of an indoor circuit featuring several hairpin bends and one flyover section. But in the subsequent winners' race I span twice, got nudged into the tyres on several occasions and generally drove like a drunk granny, finishing dead last by more than two laps. A red shell and a few mushrooms really would have come in handy...
Still, no shame in being beaten by the eventual winner, who in his day was once ranked tenth in the country.
(Field) music to my ears
Good news for all right-thinking fans of erudite British guitar pop: Field Music's hiatus is over - and how, with the release of a double album, Field Music (Measure), scheduled for 15th February.
Also spotted on recent perusals of Drowned In Sound: there's a new LCD Soundsystem album on the horizon ("spartan and muscular, the way LCD stuff often is", according to James Murphy), the obviously restless Animal Collective have followed up the end-of-year-list-conquering Merriweather Post Pavilion with a new EP, Fall Be Kind and Tom Campesinos talks about forthcoming third album Romance Is Boring (some samples of which were aired at their recent Oxford gig).
Good news for all right-thinking fans of erudite British guitar pop: Field Music's hiatus is over - and how, with the release of a double album, Field Music (Measure), scheduled for 15th February.
Also spotted on recent perusals of Drowned In Sound: there's a new LCD Soundsystem album on the horizon ("spartan and muscular, the way LCD stuff often is", according to James Murphy), the obviously restless Animal Collective have followed up the end-of-year-list-conquering Merriweather Post Pavilion with a new EP, Fall Be Kind and Tom Campesinos talks about forthcoming third album Romance Is Boring (some samples of which were aired at their recent Oxford gig).
Saturday, November 28, 2009
The rise of the machines
JAPANDROIDS / 4 OR 5 MAGICIANS / WILLIAM, LONDON MADAME JOJO'S, 27TH OCTOBER 2009
Tell someone you're off to Madame Jojo's in Soho for the night and they'd be forgiven for thinking you'll be spending the evening naked and face down on a plastic-sheeted bed while a 50-something-year-old wench who looks like EastEnders' Mo Slater dressed up like Catwoman, with dinner lady arms and a fag hanging out of the corner of her mouth, slaps listlessly at your arse with a tawse for £20 an hour.
They'd be wrong, of course.
Madame Jojo's, on Brewer Street, may be surrounded by so many sex shops that its facade is bathed in a reflective neon glow, but it's actually a club, a gaudy underground lair much like the Rock Garden in Covent Garden which is far more kitsch and glitzy than seedy. Tonight, like every Tuesday, is a White Heat night. And tonight, unlike every Tuesday, all the bar staff (and some of the punters - not I nor Del, though, I should add) are in fancy dress and doused in fake blood. Something to do with Halloween, I presume.
William may sound like a bouffanted posho who's just stumbled in the wrong door and down the wrong stairs in search of somewhere to watch the rugger, but actually they're a ragged indie-rock combo beloved of XFM's John Kennedy who are among those Johnny Foreigner call "family", who have a split 7" with Calories lined up for release in the new year and whose debut album Self In Fiction features a track called 'Whoreditch' (woah - the knives are out!).
Think the Wedding Present, think the Strokes, think the Pixies - and then let your mind go blank, because William aren't as good as any of them. Their songs are largely unexceptional and often rather shapeless, 'South Of The Border' probably being as good as it gets.
Hey hey they're the Arctic Monkees, they like monkeeing around! Well, maybe not - Dan Ormsby of Brighton tykes 4 Or 5 Magicians may sing-talk his lines in a way that is pure Alex Turner, but tonight at least the lyrics aren't clear enough to judge whether he's as adept a wordsmith as the Steel City's Poet Laureate.
Simon of top-notch music blog Sweeping The Nation is so fond of them that he's decided endorsements on his site aren't enough and is actually putting them on in Leicester, while debut album Empty Derivative Pop Songs, out on Smalltown America, has garnered an impressive array of critical plaudits. A joke it may be, but it's certainly a very brave title - a little foolhardy, perhaps, as for me personally it has a ring of truth to it.
'Nice Little Earner' has hooks and melody but nothing much you couldn't find elsewhere, and there's none of the serrated edge you might expect from a band with their particular self-professed catalogue of US alternative rock idols. Not much magic either, disappointingly. What's more (and this is probably a sign of age), both Del and I instantly bristle at one track's insinuation that listening to Radio 4 is a crime. For that, sirs, I hereby sentence you to an eternity of being subjected to The Archers...
What Japandroids aren't: Japanese (they're Canadian) or droids (they're humans). What they are: an absolute fucking blast.
As a set-opener, 'The Boys Are Leaving Town' is perfect. The boys have indeed left town (you could say that two of Vancouver's 'droids are missing) and are a long way from home - this is the duo's first ever gig outside North America, and the beginning of a four-night residency in London which includes appearances at Rough Trade and in Hoxton. And what an introduction it is.
Guitarist/vocalist Brian King and drummer/vocalist David Prowse (no, not Darth Vader - though perhaps he could wear the outfit on stage?) list their influences as the Sonics, Mclusky and "your sister". If No Age reinvigorated punk rock in 2008 by cross-breeding it with My Bloody Valentine's Loveless, then this year Japandroids have stripped it down, roughed it up and smacked it out. The name of their album, Post-Nothing, says it all - this music brooks no journo's micro-classification, it spits in the face of those who would label and analyse, it renders any attempt to intellectualise it utterly futile. It just is. And it just rocks. (Their previous EP, incidentally, was christened Lullaby Death Jams.)
If you could take the one lyric that most succinctly sums up their raison d'etre, it would probably be from 'Young Hearts Spark Fire', the high point of both the album and tonight's gig: "I don't wanna worry about dying / I just wanna worry about the sunshine girls". Hedonism as a credo. Living in the moment. Fucking the future.
King leaps on his guitar case. He puts his foot up on the bass drum. He says dorky things between songs like "Can I get more English girls in my monitor?" and "I wanna go see Abbey Road - would anyone take us?". And he grins - as does Prowse. And as do we, from ear to ringing ear.
JAPANDROIDS / 4 OR 5 MAGICIANS / WILLIAM, LONDON MADAME JOJO'S, 27TH OCTOBER 2009
Tell someone you're off to Madame Jojo's in Soho for the night and they'd be forgiven for thinking you'll be spending the evening naked and face down on a plastic-sheeted bed while a 50-something-year-old wench who looks like EastEnders' Mo Slater dressed up like Catwoman, with dinner lady arms and a fag hanging out of the corner of her mouth, slaps listlessly at your arse with a tawse for £20 an hour.
They'd be wrong, of course.
Madame Jojo's, on Brewer Street, may be surrounded by so many sex shops that its facade is bathed in a reflective neon glow, but it's actually a club, a gaudy underground lair much like the Rock Garden in Covent Garden which is far more kitsch and glitzy than seedy. Tonight, like every Tuesday, is a White Heat night. And tonight, unlike every Tuesday, all the bar staff (and some of the punters - not I nor Del, though, I should add) are in fancy dress and doused in fake blood. Something to do with Halloween, I presume.
William may sound like a bouffanted posho who's just stumbled in the wrong door and down the wrong stairs in search of somewhere to watch the rugger, but actually they're a ragged indie-rock combo beloved of XFM's John Kennedy who are among those Johnny Foreigner call "family", who have a split 7" with Calories lined up for release in the new year and whose debut album Self In Fiction features a track called 'Whoreditch' (woah - the knives are out!).
Think the Wedding Present, think the Strokes, think the Pixies - and then let your mind go blank, because William aren't as good as any of them. Their songs are largely unexceptional and often rather shapeless, 'South Of The Border' probably being as good as it gets.
Hey hey they're the Arctic Monkees, they like monkeeing around! Well, maybe not - Dan Ormsby of Brighton tykes 4 Or 5 Magicians may sing-talk his lines in a way that is pure Alex Turner, but tonight at least the lyrics aren't clear enough to judge whether he's as adept a wordsmith as the Steel City's Poet Laureate.
Simon of top-notch music blog Sweeping The Nation is so fond of them that he's decided endorsements on his site aren't enough and is actually putting them on in Leicester, while debut album Empty Derivative Pop Songs, out on Smalltown America, has garnered an impressive array of critical plaudits. A joke it may be, but it's certainly a very brave title - a little foolhardy, perhaps, as for me personally it has a ring of truth to it.
'Nice Little Earner' has hooks and melody but nothing much you couldn't find elsewhere, and there's none of the serrated edge you might expect from a band with their particular self-professed catalogue of US alternative rock idols. Not much magic either, disappointingly. What's more (and this is probably a sign of age), both Del and I instantly bristle at one track's insinuation that listening to Radio 4 is a crime. For that, sirs, I hereby sentence you to an eternity of being subjected to The Archers...
What Japandroids aren't: Japanese (they're Canadian) or droids (they're humans). What they are: an absolute fucking blast.
As a set-opener, 'The Boys Are Leaving Town' is perfect. The boys have indeed left town (you could say that two of Vancouver's 'droids are missing) and are a long way from home - this is the duo's first ever gig outside North America, and the beginning of a four-night residency in London which includes appearances at Rough Trade and in Hoxton. And what an introduction it is.
Guitarist/vocalist Brian King and drummer/vocalist David Prowse (no, not Darth Vader - though perhaps he could wear the outfit on stage?) list their influences as the Sonics, Mclusky and "your sister". If No Age reinvigorated punk rock in 2008 by cross-breeding it with My Bloody Valentine's Loveless, then this year Japandroids have stripped it down, roughed it up and smacked it out. The name of their album, Post-Nothing, says it all - this music brooks no journo's micro-classification, it spits in the face of those who would label and analyse, it renders any attempt to intellectualise it utterly futile. It just is. And it just rocks. (Their previous EP, incidentally, was christened Lullaby Death Jams.)
If you could take the one lyric that most succinctly sums up their raison d'etre, it would probably be from 'Young Hearts Spark Fire', the high point of both the album and tonight's gig: "I don't wanna worry about dying / I just wanna worry about the sunshine girls". Hedonism as a credo. Living in the moment. Fucking the future.
King leaps on his guitar case. He puts his foot up on the bass drum. He says dorky things between songs like "Can I get more English girls in my monitor?" and "I wanna go see Abbey Road - would anyone take us?". And he grins - as does Prowse. And as do we, from ear to ringing ear.
Thursday, November 26, 2009
Cool for cats
COUGAR / ELAPSE-O / BALLS DEEP, OXFORD JERICHO TAVERN, 21ST OCTOBER 2009
By way of a prologue, a general observation: the Jericho Tavern - or at least promoters You! Me Dancing! - have a serious love affair with the Japandroids album. Not that I'm complaining, of course - it's entirely understandable, gawd bless 'em.
"Like Bob Marley forcing out a 4am shitwank after a night on the smash with Lightning Bolt at Blackout Crew's pad"? Self-penned descriptions on MySpace sites don't come much better than that. So kudos to Balls Deep, the genetically malformed offspring of the late Prefontaine and Twat Trot Tra La. Ed Bates, last seen drumming for the former in an Oxford Utd goalkeeping top, is on bass duties but still looks like a lost archaeologist. Their kit set up on the floor in front of the stage Lightning-Bolt-style (though more out of practicality than choice, I suspect), they subject us to the best part of half an hour's worth of songs like 'No Arms, No Qualms' - obtuse, freaky, brutalist fist-funk. Not pretty - no, definitely not pretty - but pretty effective.
Another pair of local noiseniks follow in the form of Elapse-O. It might just be my ears, but the duo appear to have undergone something of an evolution since last we met, well over a year ago. Largely gone is the Suicide-in-a-dungeon clang, clank and drone of yore - and with it, sadly, my favourite track, the single 'Sonny Liston' - and in its place, for the likes of 'Tinseltown', has come a greater sense of urgency. Singularity of purpose was always key, but now the narrowness of focus seems to give their music a weightier anchor where before it threatened to spiral off into the leftfield stratosphere.
If The Big Pink tended more towards abstraction than pop, they might sound like this. Elapse-O still aren't totally convincing live - cranking up the electronic drums so they can compete with the guitars would be a start - but if you like Fuck Buttons, then these two might push yours.
After the locals' padded-cell funk and shoegaze apocalypse, Cougar can't help but seem, ahem, tame. Not that the Wisconsin outfit are pussycats, though, you understand - far from it, as they prove on more than one occasion, suddenly and breathtakingly abandoning the intricate interplay and letting rip. But that's the point - if songs like 'Your Excellency' and 'Stay Famous' didn't slink seductively or prowl with quiet understated menace for long periods, then the moment at which they pounce wouldn't have such devastating effect.
Touring in support of their second album Patriot, released on Ninja Tune, the preppy-looking bunch could I suppose be best compared to Fridge, at the cleverer (though never too clever) rather than the more abrasive end of the post-rock spectrum. There's a dash of jazz thrown in too, largely thanks to drummer, conductor and nominal frontman David Henzie-Skogen. Also a member of the Youngblood Brass Band, the band's affable mouthpiece is a virtuoso who treats the rim of his drums as as much a part of the instrument as the skins and who has found a novel use for sweaty tour T-shirts, stretching one out over his snare drum to muffle the sound before whipping it off mid-song as those around him shift smoothly through the gears.
At first there's a slight tension in the room, one which is heightened when a patently off-her-face-on-something-that-probably-isn't-booze girl barges her way to the front, moshes vigorously even to the slower passages and heckles between songs. The rude interruption is thankfully only brief, though, and after she's forcibly ejected the tension completely dissipates. Henzie-Skogen recalls a promoter in Hamburg telling them he'd enjoyed them but that they'd never amount to anything as the kids can't dance to their songs. "I want to send him a video of that girl", he chuckles - though he and his band have already made a persuasive case for being better known.
COUGAR / ELAPSE-O / BALLS DEEP, OXFORD JERICHO TAVERN, 21ST OCTOBER 2009
By way of a prologue, a general observation: the Jericho Tavern - or at least promoters You! Me Dancing! - have a serious love affair with the Japandroids album. Not that I'm complaining, of course - it's entirely understandable, gawd bless 'em.
"Like Bob Marley forcing out a 4am shitwank after a night on the smash with Lightning Bolt at Blackout Crew's pad"? Self-penned descriptions on MySpace sites don't come much better than that. So kudos to Balls Deep, the genetically malformed offspring of the late Prefontaine and Twat Trot Tra La. Ed Bates, last seen drumming for the former in an Oxford Utd goalkeeping top, is on bass duties but still looks like a lost archaeologist. Their kit set up on the floor in front of the stage Lightning-Bolt-style (though more out of practicality than choice, I suspect), they subject us to the best part of half an hour's worth of songs like 'No Arms, No Qualms' - obtuse, freaky, brutalist fist-funk. Not pretty - no, definitely not pretty - but pretty effective.
Another pair of local noiseniks follow in the form of Elapse-O. It might just be my ears, but the duo appear to have undergone something of an evolution since last we met, well over a year ago. Largely gone is the Suicide-in-a-dungeon clang, clank and drone of yore - and with it, sadly, my favourite track, the single 'Sonny Liston' - and in its place, for the likes of 'Tinseltown', has come a greater sense of urgency. Singularity of purpose was always key, but now the narrowness of focus seems to give their music a weightier anchor where before it threatened to spiral off into the leftfield stratosphere.
If The Big Pink tended more towards abstraction than pop, they might sound like this. Elapse-O still aren't totally convincing live - cranking up the electronic drums so they can compete with the guitars would be a start - but if you like Fuck Buttons, then these two might push yours.
After the locals' padded-cell funk and shoegaze apocalypse, Cougar can't help but seem, ahem, tame. Not that the Wisconsin outfit are pussycats, though, you understand - far from it, as they prove on more than one occasion, suddenly and breathtakingly abandoning the intricate interplay and letting rip. But that's the point - if songs like 'Your Excellency' and 'Stay Famous' didn't slink seductively or prowl with quiet understated menace for long periods, then the moment at which they pounce wouldn't have such devastating effect.
Touring in support of their second album Patriot, released on Ninja Tune, the preppy-looking bunch could I suppose be best compared to Fridge, at the cleverer (though never too clever) rather than the more abrasive end of the post-rock spectrum. There's a dash of jazz thrown in too, largely thanks to drummer, conductor and nominal frontman David Henzie-Skogen. Also a member of the Youngblood Brass Band, the band's affable mouthpiece is a virtuoso who treats the rim of his drums as as much a part of the instrument as the skins and who has found a novel use for sweaty tour T-shirts, stretching one out over his snare drum to muffle the sound before whipping it off mid-song as those around him shift smoothly through the gears.
At first there's a slight tension in the room, one which is heightened when a patently off-her-face-on-something-that-probably-isn't-booze girl barges her way to the front, moshes vigorously even to the slower passages and heckles between songs. The rude interruption is thankfully only brief, though, and after she's forcibly ejected the tension completely dissipates. Henzie-Skogen recalls a promoter in Hamburg telling them he'd enjoyed them but that they'd never amount to anything as the kids can't dance to their songs. "I want to send him a video of that girl", he chuckles - though he and his band have already made a persuasive case for being better known.
Feel good hits of the 25th November
1. 'Bang' - The Raveonettes
2. 'The Train From Kansas City' - The Shangri-Las
3. 'So Bored' - Wavves
4. 'Yeah' (crass version) - LCD Soundsystem
5. 'It's Thunder And It's Lightning' - We Were Promised Jetpacks
6. 'Sonny Liston' - Elapse-O
7. 'Rehearsal' - It Hugs Back
8. 'Stay Famous' - Cougar
9. 'Lovely Rita' - The Beatles
10. 'Dreamer' - Lightning Dust
Reviews of recent Wavves and We Were Promised Jetpacks gigs to appear shortly - and, in case you hadn't noticed, there's one of the Cougar / Elapse-O show at the Jericho Tavern immediately above this post.
1. 'Bang' - The Raveonettes
2. 'The Train From Kansas City' - The Shangri-Las
3. 'So Bored' - Wavves
4. 'Yeah' (crass version) - LCD Soundsystem
5. 'It's Thunder And It's Lightning' - We Were Promised Jetpacks
6. 'Sonny Liston' - Elapse-O
7. 'Rehearsal' - It Hugs Back
8. 'Stay Famous' - Cougar
9. 'Lovely Rita' - The Beatles
10. 'Dreamer' - Lightning Dust
Reviews of recent Wavves and We Were Promised Jetpacks gigs to appear shortly - and, in case you hadn't noticed, there's one of the Cougar / Elapse-O show at the Jericho Tavern immediately above this post.
Wednesday, November 25, 2009
Know Your Enemy
"In 2004, Bevis Hillier, the venerable biographer of John Betjeman, was horrified to discover his arch rival, A. N. Wilson, was also planning a biography of the poet. Spotting an opportunity to pay Wilson back for a series of insults and slights over the years, he decided to forge a love letter from Betjeman to a (real) woman by the name of Honor Tracy.
This sexy missive, which included the immortal line 'Tinkerty-tonk, my darling', was in fact a cunning acrostic, the first letter of each sentence spelling out a hidden message to his enemy. To Hillier's 'jig-dancing, air-punching' glee, the letter duly appeared in Wilson's biography. And the message encoded within it? A. N. WILSON IS A SHIT."
Olivia Lang, reviewing Melissa Katsoulis' Telling Tales: A History Of Literary Hoaxes in the Observer. It's rather reassuring to know that even esteemed men of letters occasionally feel the need to stoop to such wickedly puerile levels of behaviour, isn't it?
"In 2004, Bevis Hillier, the venerable biographer of John Betjeman, was horrified to discover his arch rival, A. N. Wilson, was also planning a biography of the poet. Spotting an opportunity to pay Wilson back for a series of insults and slights over the years, he decided to forge a love letter from Betjeman to a (real) woman by the name of Honor Tracy.
This sexy missive, which included the immortal line 'Tinkerty-tonk, my darling', was in fact a cunning acrostic, the first letter of each sentence spelling out a hidden message to his enemy. To Hillier's 'jig-dancing, air-punching' glee, the letter duly appeared in Wilson's biography. And the message encoded within it? A. N. WILSON IS A SHIT."
Olivia Lang, reviewing Melissa Katsoulis' Telling Tales: A History Of Literary Hoaxes in the Observer. It's rather reassuring to know that even esteemed men of letters occasionally feel the need to stoop to such wickedly puerile levels of behaviour, isn't it?
Quote of the day
"What we need is more contemporary rock music that addresses or mirrors the chaos, the gray areas and the uneasiness. Just go listen to The Stooges or Bikini Kill for a second to remember what that sounds like. I enjoy sweet songs as much as the next person, but I'm tired of passive music that allows us to merely sit back. I want music that makes me sit up. Personally, I think it's time to shave the beard and risk getting a cut or two."
Ex Sleater-Kinney member Carrie Brownstein laments the fact that rock has gone "the way of the beard" - with props for Deerhunter, Black Mountain, The White Stripes and Andrew WK and disses for The Killers, The Darkness, Feist and Sufjan Stevens along the way.
(Thanks to Simon for the link.)
"What we need is more contemporary rock music that addresses or mirrors the chaos, the gray areas and the uneasiness. Just go listen to The Stooges or Bikini Kill for a second to remember what that sounds like. I enjoy sweet songs as much as the next person, but I'm tired of passive music that allows us to merely sit back. I want music that makes me sit up. Personally, I think it's time to shave the beard and risk getting a cut or two."
Ex Sleater-Kinney member Carrie Brownstein laments the fact that rock has gone "the way of the beard" - with props for Deerhunter, Black Mountain, The White Stripes and Andrew WK and disses for The Killers, The Darkness, Feist and Sufjan Stevens along the way.
(Thanks to Simon for the link.)
Public service announcement
Swiss Toni - whom you may remember from such regular features as Earworm Of The Week and the mightily spiffing Shuffleathon - has moved house and is now resident here. "Same old guff, new premises", he promises. Sounds good to me.
Swiss Toni - whom you may remember from such regular features as Earworm Of The Week and the mightily spiffing Shuffleathon - has moved house and is now resident here. "Same old guff, new premises", he promises. Sounds good to me.
Tuesday, November 24, 2009
Know Your Enemy
"For the parents driving their children home from school, it wasn't exactly what they wanted to hear through the car radio.
A BBC presenter used his drivetime show to broadcast a clip of a woman in the throes of an orgasm.
DJ Steve Harris played the ten-second recording of 'oohs', 'ahhs' and 'yes! yes! yes!' when talking about the new drug flibanserin, described as a female equivalent of Viagra.
But his decision to use the clip of actress Meg Ryan in a famous scene from the film When Harry Met Sally left a few parents with some difficult explaining to do to their puzzled children."
Congratulations to my old friend Steve, no doubt as pleased and as proud as punch to be the object of the Mail's high-horse-straddling moralistic tut-tutting.
"For the parents driving their children home from school, it wasn't exactly what they wanted to hear through the car radio.
A BBC presenter used his drivetime show to broadcast a clip of a woman in the throes of an orgasm.
DJ Steve Harris played the ten-second recording of 'oohs', 'ahhs' and 'yes! yes! yes!' when talking about the new drug flibanserin, described as a female equivalent of Viagra.
But his decision to use the clip of actress Meg Ryan in a famous scene from the film When Harry Met Sally left a few parents with some difficult explaining to do to their puzzled children."
Congratulations to my old friend Steve, no doubt as pleased and as proud as punch to be the object of the Mail's high-horse-straddling moralistic tut-tutting.
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