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I’ve got to hold my hands up and be honest: my knowledge of American country music doesn’t run particularly deep; obviously I can cite the Tom Waits and Johnny Cash’s of this world as being unique and fantastic artists who influenced and continue to influence not only musicians within their own genre but a great many others as well (why only the other week I saw classical and jazz pianist Joanna McGregor perform a rousing version of Cash’s gospel song Spiritual.) I’ve never really scratched beyond the surface though, which helps Agnostic Mountain Gospel Choir in that their music is being thrown at an open mind and eager ears.
‘Ten Thousand’, the quartet’s third album, is I guess what you’d expect from a country and blues band; rag tag banjos, slide guitars and yelping vocals are all par for the course here with some songs occasionally seeming so ramshackle that at any point it seems the wheels could fall off. The Canadians, whilst lyrically weak, do possess a certain charm about them, all four band members seemingly pitching in with the vocals to create a real sense of gang mentality. Songs like ‘You Got It Wrong’ and ‘Never Be Dead’ rattle on with a real purpose and could certainly ignite a countryside barn dance; in fact there’s rarely a let up in the banjo twanging and frantically picked acoustic guitars throughout the fourteen tracks, most of which weigh in at around the three minute mark. ‘Rainstorms In My Knees’ is perhaps the biggest contrast on the LP, a gospel track that thuds along methodically with the foursome yodelling along to a steady twelve bar blues. The great trouble with country and western music however seems to be that musically its pretty limited; if you can rattle out a deft tune with 7ths and blues scales on a banjo with some loose percussion that seems to be all that’s required; it’s lyrically where the genre seems to come into its own and sadly Agnostic Mountain Gospel Choir possess lyrics and subject matters far too vague to ever really draw the listener in. ‘Nehemiah’s Fortune’ is a pretty straight ahead plea by the narrator to end the misfortune that apparently plagues him, whilst other subjects seem to base themselves around arguments with other people such as in ‘Dumb It Down’ and the aforementioned ‘You Got It Wrong’. This is all well and good except that ‘Ten Thousand’ possesses no single memorable lyric to place it in a separate place from any of its peers or contemporaries; which is a shame because despite the limits of the style they’re pedalling, the Canadian quartet still do it rather well. However, country music without personality isn’t really country music at all and sadly they leave me no more of an urge to dig deeper than I had before listening to this LP.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ /DOWNLOAD/ The Agnostic Mountain Gospel Choir- 'Go Back Home'
Let’s forget about the A side to this for a cotton picking minute because the first thing I saw upon seeing this release was that the B side was none other than a cover of McLusky’s cult classic ‘Lightsabre Cocksucking Blues’. One has to give the Irish four piece some props for covering such an untouchable classic at the very least, especially as a butchering of it would most like be looked upon pretty sternly by a large section of their existing fan base. Yet, mainly thanks to the orgasmic shrieks of lead singer MayKay as she spits out the vocals, Fights Like Apes manage to heroically pull it off, in fact why not use this as the a-side? Falkous and co. could most definitely do with the royalties that’s for sure.
Lend Me Your Face itself is short, catchy and hook laden; keyboard synths jab and poke at each throughout like errr..angry apes, and in a time when no one under the age of eighteen wants to hear a band who haven’t sticky taped on a few synthesised noises here and there it’s quite likely that Fights Like Apes are on a pretty sharp trajectory upwards. Time will tell however whether they have enough in the tank to avoid the downward trajectory that seems too eager to follow most of bands of their ilk these days.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ /WATCH/ Fights Like Apes video for the single 'Lend Me Your Face'
/PURCHASE/ You can buy Fight Like Apes single 'Lend Me Your Face' from iTunes.
Nice as it would be to believe that the current swell of post-rock/instrumental/minimal acts has brought with it an increase in the quality of the stuff that’s out there; sadly, as many musical movements past have taught us, this isn’t always the case. Post-rock (I’m going to run with this name despite the kicking it receives) does not feel the burden of such a saturated market, for in this writer’s opinion it is one of those genres that has its opening height way and above other contemporary music of the moment. Yet on the other hand it is of course a lot easier to make poignant and passionate opuses when you’ve seen dozens of bands do the same before you.
And so Estonian group RasKatarsis find themselves in the unenviable position of dipping their toes into the wider world at just the time everyone’s beginning to tire of endless long haired guitarists staring at the stage and aiming to reach for the emotional stars with the aid of their instruments alone. This doesn’t make the Baltic’s choice of style a foolish one but it does set them at a slight disadvantage; thankfully for RasKatarsis, they come from a country which has thrived on being the underdog since it gained independence at the beginning of the 90s, and this band are no different. Their self titled LP manages to understatedly meander and climb its way into a niche that manages to sit comfortably amongst its constricted peers. Yes, the Explosions In The Sky comparisons can be fairly levelled at the four piece as can the Mogwai, Bark Psychosis likenesses et cetera. It would however be a shocking disservice to this LP to dismiss it as another jump on the bandwagon; why? Simply because unlike a lot of the groups shuffling about at the moment, RasKatarsis have stamped their identity all over these thirteen tracks. It’s the subtle things that make the difference, the jumps in key signature during fourth track ‘Lapsepolve Ja Tagasi’, the slight but affecting use of saxophone throughout that recalls the spaced out ambient jazz music of the likes of Jan Garbarek more than it does any post-rock band. Maybe, like with Sigur Ros, we as Brits could read too much into the titles of their songs; yet the spaghetti alphabet of the Estonian language portrays the music marvellously here: distant and otherworldly. The sparse ‘Ex Kaskaad’ fits this idea perfectly, two guitars striding simultaneously together through an otherwise bleak, vast expanse of space. Percussion on this album is almost an afterthought; brooding noises and rumbles push the music along far more effectively than the drum section here, which admittedly gives the some of the tracks a lack of focus and direction as you sit and wait for something to happen. For the most however the sheer thought evident in most of RasKatarsis sees the band shining through with poise and composure, never allowing themselves to fully put the throttle down and risk losing track of where they started from. Not even in the swirling, epic thirteen minute ‘Nomadia’ do they fully relinquish control; holding each intertwining melody on a leash as they threaten to break free without ever quite doing so; it’s also notable for one of the few times that the percussion does come into its own, putting the groundwork in steadily so as to gradually raise the pulse of the soundscape breathing above it and giving the track much needed depth.
The blissed out tempo of the album as a whole does mean that tracks can bleed seamlessly into each other almost without you realising, the similar themes too can at times show this to be an LP that retreads ground a touch too often and in a contemporary landscape where jumping out and arresting attention is becoming key it’s perhaps something that this slow burner of an album struggles with. Yet, because a slow burner is exactly what it is, RasKatarsis is a collection of music that ultimately does deserve your attention because with a bit of your time and focus the Estonians have provided a debut worthy of addition to any instrumental music fan’s collection.
Wherever Wild Beasts came from, surely it isn’t Kendal. Cumbria always feels a bit detached from the rest of England sure, but not like this. The fact that most of the county’s a National Park means no mobile phone masts, and this alone gives you an indication of its isolated feel. Additional to this are the rolling, guard-like hills that surround and watch your every move, and the lakes that cover miles of the mostly unblemished countryside. Even a decampment to Leeds does little to pour light upon the influences of this extravagant four piece. Kaiser Chiefs? Elland Road (although funnily enough I might not be far off on this one)? Skinny jeans and trilbies? Sure I’m doing ‘the Northern London’ a discredit by pigeonholing it so generally, but the feeling remains; most bands debut LP’s allow the listener to get some semblance of where the music they’re listening to comes from, not so Wild Beasts.
What is it that we’re dealing with here? A pop band? The melodies are certainly there, the tightness and immediacy is all there, but to merely call Wild Beasts a pop band is to greatly neglect the sound that they’re creating. No; ‘Limbo, Panto’ comes across more as a 21st century opera. Catchy enough to keep hold of our increasingly short attention spans with songs about late nights, gaudy sex and growing up, yet possessing an amount of pompousness and grandiosity that’s far too much to absorb from one listen alone. Who can we call their peers? Lyrically the group’s nearest peer would surely have to be the Arctic Monkeys and bands of their ilk; this LP consists of nothing other than songs of 18-30 working class Britain, but unlike Alex Turner, Wild Beasts lead singer Hayden Thorpe lyrically paints a scene far beyond the simple romance that the Arctic’s man aims for. Thorpe instead takes these apparent everyday and unremarkable environments and adds backing dancers, costumes, garishness and drama to the most camp level. And what a falsetto he delivers it in; not since Mr. Mercury will a voice split opinion so neatly. Like the band’s music (and we’ll get to that in a minute), Thorpe’s is a voice of ridiculous pretension, knowing of critical provocation; let’s face it, there’s not many male voices about at the moment confident enough to deliver in such an overblown and indulgent manner; Matthew Bellamy sure, but even on Muse’s debut ‘Showbiz’ his vocals were reined in and censored. Not so here, Hayden Thorpe imprints his mark right from opening track ‘Vigil For A Fuddy Duddy’, swooning across the 70’s sounding disco ballad as he describes a sexual encounter with more smut than Mills & Boons, “flaccid, I asked for this bellow spit rich belly pit moan and blush with hot hormone”. ‘The Club of Fathomless Love’ meanwhile is a lyrical delight, exploring a young man’s preparation for a night out and it’s eventual happening, describing the club poetically, “we bellow baritone to our favourites, like life depends on it!/ I hold my brothers in breathtaking clinches/ this is my heart’s hub, the hot, wild, fug of the club of the fathomless love”, it’s a scene we’ve all seen before many a time and yet Wild Beasts tell it as one might describe a scene from A Clockwork Orange; and why shouldn’t they? If ever there’s a time in your life when everything you do is achingly important then it’s surely at the onset of manhood; dressing up such a night musically is no different than what we do in our minds every time we go out, get drunk and fall down at the beginning of our alcohol led lives.
It’s this lyrical content and subject matter which prevents ‘Limbo, Panto’ from truly taking off for the sun and bursting in a blaze of its own unrepentant egotistical bravado. ‘The Old Dog’ is a lesson in the pitfalls of casual sex, graphically describing the unwanted birth as “a human is hauled from the wombs wired jaw”, whilst ‘Please, Sir’ is a naughty schoolboy’s plea to be allowed back into class following a series of misdemeanours. Fourth track, ‘Woebegone Wanderers’, is another of note; taking leave of the burlesque cabaret sound that the previous two songs contained, and reverting back to the 70’s disco of the opener before sending each verse off into an exotic waltz. Thorpe meanwhile passionately soars above the toe tapping bass and jangling guitars to painstakingly portray something as common as supporting a football team “we’ve been lumbered with the losing life for far too long/ the ground bellows like the belly of a sleeping whale”. The band even operatically recreate the standard chant of ‘Who are yer’ to good effect. Yet this is not an album all about the lead singer and his lyrics, for it’s as a band that Wild Beasts excel and not as individuals. Drummer Chris Talbot ties the whole album together with percussion that ranges from the straight ahead stomp of ‘Brave Bulging Buoyant Clairvoyants’ and ‘The Devil’s Crayon’ to the slower, more subtle hi-hats and symbols seen on ‘The Old Dog’. Ben Little’s guitar contains the tone that takes the Wild Beasts far away from their peers in terms of any musical similarity; seemingly coming as he does from a time when every guitarist was required to have a quiff and a suit, whilst Tom Fleming’s bass weaves its way through ten songs of patterns ranging between swing, funk and a whole lot more in between. Such difference in styles sounds like a recipe for disaster, but miraculously it holds together as well as any pop punk band. Perhaps the epitome of the LP is ‘Brave Bulging Buoyant Clairvoyants’; together with final track ‘Cheerio Chaps, Cheerio Goodbye’, it provides an almost happy final scene, an epilogue if you will, describing the characters who have come before as those who need “to make the most, before we turn to ghost/ swig the bottle, bottle/ slap the face of Aristostle”. Meanwhile an eminently danceable rhythm not unlike Hot Chip juts through the exotic, dreamy funk-filled haze. Whilst maybe not the best track on the album, it is perhaps a song that could be described as the opera’s programme notes, giving an overview of the album. The aforementioned ‘Cheerio Chaps, Cheerio Goodbye’ is the encore for this ten part stage show and, as you’d expect from this album, works as a deliciously indulgent closer for what is as much of a diverse, ambitious and purely ridiculous an album as you’ll hear all year.
Yes, Wild Beasts are going to have their haters; any band who nails their colours to the mast so blatantly as this foursome have done are going to have their critics, be it the marmite voice of vocalist Hayden Thorpe, the 70’s throwbacks of some of the tracks or just the sheer absurdity of the entire album. Are they taking this seriously or are they just taking the piss? Perhaps before answering that you should take a look at your own life. How often as a youth have you viewed a night out as an event of utmost importance, what does it feel like when the team you support loses 3-2 from a penalty after going 2-0 up? How much did you build up the losing of your virginity? How risqué and dark did some of your early sexual encounters seem? Wild Beasts are merely playing out the importance of all these events that have already occupied a similar level of priority in your mind at some point or other. So before you mock or deride this band, take a stop and realise that to do that you are forgetting a part of your life that’s either happened or is currently taking place. You don’t have to be The Enemy or Hard-Fi to empathise with the common man; when listening to ‘Limbo, Panto’ drop the “too cool for school” attitude and you’ll hopefully find yourself engrossed in one of the albums of the year. And they’re from Kendal!?
Wild Beasts video for their current single 'Devil's Crayon' can be seen HERE.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ /PURCHASE/ Wild Beasts debut album 'Limbo, Panto' can be purchased from Domino Records.
The acts on the bill merely had to turn up today, because the overall winner of Bradford’s Hop is the city itself. It’s a simple idea: round up the best of the areas best up and coming bands (plus a few from Leeds), cram them into two of the city centre’s best loved venues (The Love Apple and Delius), and charge an eye-poppingly cheap £5 for the whole day. This reviewer missed the likes of Sons and Daughters, Johnny Foreigner, This Et Al and more, yet is about to write paragraphs waxing lyrical on the quality of the acts that he did see; as good an indication as any as to the quality of this event.
First into the fray at the darkened, intimate surroundings of the Love Apple are Bradford six piece ‘Daybreakers’; their set brings to mind the potential result of Mark Ronson deciding to remix all of Led Zeppelin IV. Put bluntly there’s brass sections and guitar solos fucking everywhere; a shrewd choice by the organisers to open up with an energetic and full blooded act, but as the vocalist and lead guitarist fret-wanks his way through yet another piece of 70’s hair rock it seems he’s a little oblivious to the pretty much universally accepted formula that brass band + Jimmy Page = a little bit jarring. Nevertheless one has to commend his energy as he growls, thrusts and noodle’s his way through half an hour of thirty year old rock n’roll roll champagne. It’s a mere shimmy through the bar to get to room 2 in the Love Apple although at first it appears that a couple of young scallywags have broken into the venue and are about to nick off with the upcoming performer’s instruments; stop thief! Oh wait, sorry its only room two’s opening act ‘Alt Track’. The duo surprise on two counts; firstly, telling them to act their age and not their shoe size would probably see little difference in behaviour; secondly, their on stage confidence and performance is that o two performers way and above their age. Drowning out the inevitable ageist gags with a sweeping, IDM backed, atmospheric opening track, it’s clear that Alt Track are a band with bags of potential; seeing the route lead by the likes of 65 Days Of Static, Errors et al and thinking “yeah we’ll have a slice of that”. One ill-advised rap aside from the younger looking of the two, this is a set high on ambition even if at times they fail to quite reach the heights they’ve set themselves. Even so there’s plenty of time for the duo to grow and develop and exciting times are set to be ahead for them.
A change of scenery’s needed in the form of the gruelling ascent up the road to Delius; in reality its just a couple of minutes stroll up the hill but in this fat reviewer living inside a thin reviewer’s body it’s not long before the sweat comes cascading down my forehead like the Niagara Falls. However, once I get to Delius, essentially a large and friendly (and cheap!) pub, I don’t look too foolish as Tom Nova, the lead singer from ‘Redwire’, is positively doing front crawl in his own perspiration. Let’s not take too much away from him though as he leads his four piece through a frantic and energetic set. On record one suspects that Redwire follow the British rock linearity that threads through the Sex Pistols, Oasis and the Arctic Monkeys, yet live they not only play twice the speed (in fact looking at it, guitarist Joe Parkinson could pass out at any moment), lead singer Nova is absolutely everywhere: bashing synths, in the crowd, on the floor. It’s an inspired performance from the locals and easily draws the best reception of the day. Captivating in an entirely different way is ‘The ABC Club’s’ lead vocalist Zandra Klievens; slenderly put together and holding herself awkwardly in a cardigan and jeans, the singer stares vacuously out at the crowd through two gorgeous large eyes, causing at least 50% of said crowd to fall in love that instant. It helps that in the four other members behind her she has a band who touch on shoegaze whilst retaining a very pop-like charm; Jordan Radcliffe and Sam Marns compliment each other instead of going to war in trying to build up soaring yet familiar sounds. Highlight of the set is the song ‘43’, Klievens mournful vocals sweep across the venue with a power that belies her stature. It’s quite simply a performance of absolute brilliance.
The bar’s been set for ‘Grammatics’ then; a band very much making waves of their own. In Owen Brindley they too possess a lead singer of the gorgeously captivating variety; a man straight out of the Brett Anderson school of front man attitude. Today though slight problems with the percussion (problems it has to be said that seem monitor related) mean the band struggle to truly show their undoubted class. ‘Shadow Committee’ and ‘Polar Swelling’ seem to fill the entire room with their avant-garde (am I allowed to say math rock?) slants, but frustratingly ‘D.I.L.E.M.M.A’, the bands new single and arguably strongest pop song, malfunctions as the off-kilter percussion drifts in and out of time. Cue grim faces all around at the end of the set; nevertheless this too is another band with huge potential, and potential which will most likely be realised. At the very least they’ve made yours truly question his own sexuality, not bad for half an hour surely guys? Back in the Love Apple, ‘Napoleon IIIrd’ has invited all of his mates into room 2 for his performance; that’s how it feels anyway as a warm and familiar crowd sing along and smile to tracks from Napoleon’s album ‘In Debt To’. It’s a relaxed and assured performance from a singer who looks set to become an unlikely hero over the summer. Thunderous noises from next door cause me to abandon an interval pint just to see what all the fuss is about; when I get there it’s to see that four piece ‘Ox.Eagle.Lion.Man’ are whipping up an epic, smouldering concoction of all things dark and beautiful. Despite clearly misjudging the spirit of your average Yorkshire crowd (“We really love Bradford, it’s a wonderful place” is greeted by a large amount of laughter from those in attendance, ) OELM are yet another standout performance in a long line of them today; singer Frederick Blood-Royale’s voice staccatos and booms its way through the venue with songs about fatherhood and Adam & Eve, whilst drummer ‘Edward Quarmby’ thunders on behind in a way that can’t fail to force the guitarist and bassist to fight back in a rampaging cacophony of deep, dark noise.
The final name on the bill I see today couldn’t possibly be more of a contrast. ‘Paul Marshall’ sits contentedly holding his acoustic guitar with only an electric cellist for company. Whilst I stand thinking about how excellent but unlikely it would be to describe myself as such one day, the recently signed Rough Trade artist starts strumming and the room melts away. Adding to the Love Apple’s already established cosy atmosphere is the fact that during the set almost everyone is sat on the floor, staring up engrossed in the singer’s performance. Comparisons with ‘Nick Drake’ are as obvious as they are unavoidable but Marshall, through his performance, allows his songs to reach through to a crowd a touch more than I could ever envisage Drake’s doing. In a journalist, talking-out-of-my-arse roundabout way I guess I’m trying to say that Marshall’s songs have a very mainstream accessibility; but that’s nothing to be sneered at because if you go to the heart of them all they share the same beat as their creator. Don’t be fooled by these songs either, for underneath the gentle strumming and hushed vocals lie lyrics of relationship breakdowns, lost loves and murder.
Indeed, if ever there was any evidence that the white rose of Yorkshire is currently handing out a sound musical drubbing to the red rose across the Pennines then The Hop is surely it. Whilst Manchester rumbles incessantly on, searching for the next flash in the pan success stories and ignoring its genuinely talented artists, the east is currently host to a huge number of acts that may not be hitting the mainstream subconscious quite yet, but who are nevertheless going to be remembered for a long time after the likes of ‘The Courteneers’ and ‘The Ting Tings’ have started picking up their benefit cheques.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ /PURCHASE/ Alt Track's debut EP 'A Nation Is On Fire' can be purchased from the duo's Myspace. 50% of the cost goes to Amensty International Napoleon IIIrd's debut album 'In Debt To' can be purchased from RecordStore.co.uk Ox.Eagle.Lion.Man's latest EP 'The Lay Of The Land: The Turn Of The Tide' can be purchased from HMV. Grammatics new single 'D.I.L.E.M.M.A' is available from Dance To The Radio.
When, like me, you are sitting outside in the glorious sunshine with nothing to do in the foreseeable future other than turning over to make sure that your back gets a good browning (and this is in the North East folks! Who said global warming was a bad thing?), then bands like A Classic Education are pretty the only type of music you ever need listen to at this point in time. The Italian-based three piece (six when performing live), release their first EP only a year after forming, and for such a fledgling effort the five songs in here contain cohesion and poise that can only come across as a pleasant surprise.
Support slots with the likes of Arcade Fire and Modest Mouse have clearly rubbed off on A Classic Education, their sound falling somewhere in between the two and with traces of underrated Swede’s Last Days Of April thrown in for good measure. ‘Stay, Son’ is the rousing, foot tapping opener, with lush strings shaping and moulding four minutes of orchestral tinged pop. Don’t mistake this for some band who’ve merely seen Canada’s finest make it big and decided to hop on the bandwagon though; the lead vocals come across as emotional and heartfelt and the EP as a whole tugs at the heart strings with real passion. ‘Lovers Barricade’ drifts into murkier territory, the percussion and guitars meeting somewhere down in the depths before a crescendo rises out of the mist. ‘Victories At Night’ very much follows the path of the lead off track; settling itself down into the rootsier areas of American alternative indie as hauntingly deep, booming drums settle into the background, allowing the vocals to soar and cut through the atmosphere before another slow build up leads into another emphatic ending. A Classic Education could be criticised here for following a similar pattern a little too often, finding an agreeable sound and sticking to it rather too resolutely, and it’s something that might begin to tire in the context of an entire album. Here though it does just fine and the dreamlike saunter through ‘Badlands & Owls’ really allows the percussion and strings to work in harmony to provide the most straight ahead pop song on the EP. ‘Wartime’ provides an understated end to proceedings, sounding like iLiKETRAiNS if they stopped singing about history for a bit.
For a first full EP this is extremely promising, and with an appearance at Indie Tracks Festival coming up this summer, it could be that A Classic Education prove to be one of the hits of the weekend. ‘First EP’ is a collection of songs that whilst at times suffer a little from over similarity, clearly show a band with their hearts and passions in the right place. And on a delightful summer’s day what more could you want?
This was supposed to be for God Is In The TV but they don't seem to have put it up. Here it is for your perusal anyway.
Jacob Golden
For a man who possesses a singing voice of quite startling power and energy, it comes as a bit of a surprise to find Jacob Golden a quiet and at times shy presence on the other end of a phone line. The Californian solo artist is currently on a brief tour of our green and pleasant land in support of Sarabeth Tucek before a headlining show at the famous Troubador in London, famous for being the first venue in our delightful capital that Bob Dylan ever played at; a fact not lost on Golden, who confesses to being particularly excited about playing at the venue; “it’s certainly got a lot of history. It’s a place that harks back to the 60’s and the cafes of Soho, the whole English folk scene and artists coming from America coming across to play- a real romantic time. I'm honoured to be playing it; there's a certain energy about the place."
Yet his live shows don’t always take place in such salubrious backgrounds. In America, the Sacramento-born artist has become well known for his ‘house concerts’- taking time out during his touring schedule to play in fans living rooms in whichever town he happens to be in; it’s a concept he warmed to instantly and views some of his best performances as those taking place away from the confines of a stage. “There’s no PA, no stage- it’s just about the songs. I think my music works best when there's nothing between the song and the room, that’s probably how I prefer the way of doing it." That’s not to say Jacob doesn’t enjoy playing more conventional venues, and it’s an area he thrives in. On one of the times I’ve been lucky enough to catch him live, he’s successfully managed to turn a chattering, disinterested crowd into one of thunderstruck awe; never possessing anything more on stage than his acoustic guitar, the singer manages to engage a crowd simply with the conviction and dynamic of his voice. Heart wrenching emotional deliveries of lost love ballads such as ‘Love You’ contrast with softer, more up tempo “pop” songs like ‘Shoulders’- both from his excellent second album ‘Revenge Songs’, released last year. Without seeming to be the type to blow his own trumpet, Golden nevertheless recognises the diverse quality of his music and what he can do with it live: “My music does have different shades,” he comments: “Live, I don't change the melodies much, but I like to take the dynamic to different places depending on the venue. Solo-wise it’s always a bit of an experiment and I want to keep things that way; I don’t want to stick to a formula, for me the performance is as much a part of the art as writing the songs,” he muses before, fearful of heaping too much praise on himself, he laughs, “but I suppose when it does becomes formulaic I’ll know it’s time to try something different.”
If maybe a little bashful, there’s no doubting Jacob Golden’s passion and vision for his work. When he speaks about his music, it’s with a very clear direction and feeling; a lot of artists can feel at odds with their muse, but the acoustic troubadour is happy and at ease when discussing his own work. Interestingly for a man who freely admits on his own blog that he’s “certainly not banging down the doors of the mainstream”, he has in fact collaborated with a rather impressive array of talent; notably Chris Martin and Michael Stipe for ambient electronica DJ Faultline, as well as composer Nitin Sawnhey amongst others. For a singer who live seems so confined in his intimate surroundings, his positive words on such collaborations come across as a surprise; “I do like the idea of stepping into different roles, and when I do it with different people they get different aspects of my personality. I have a side project called ‘Little Foxes’ which hasn't made its way out to the world yet, but is much more experimental and electronic than what I do by myself. The cool thing about doing collaborations is that I'm able to bring back little aspects of that and add it to my own music so it works both ways.”
What to expect then in the near future from him? Well for starter’s, copies of a live EP will be available from the London gig and there seems to be an intent for more to come. Recorded at RAK studios in the capital, the artist invited thirty people into recording and played live in front of them, an idea that reminds him, again, of the 60s: “I like that you can listen to Jimi Hendrix records and there's times when you can hear people hanging out in the studio and getting into it; there’s a certain vibe to that. The EP’s like a volume one; the idea is to keep putting out live recordings. I think there's something different that comes out when you’re singing in front of an audience instead of by yourself. But doing it in a studio means it’s the best of both worlds because I do like having the space to experiment in the studio and the solitariness of that.”
Also to coming out on May 26th is new single ‘On A Saturday’; a track that gained attention in America after appearing on the final ever episode of Californian teen drama the OC. To merely attribute that fact to the song is to do an injustice however. The song concerns a time earlier in Golden’s life when he first came over to live in London; and indeed it is a city he still enjoys despite eventually returning to the West Coast. “When I first came everything was brand new, and there was an energy to that which was very exciting. Now I've been a lot, it does lose that brand new quality. But in some ways it’s my second home, I feel a little bit more on the inside: I’ve experienced it and have friends here. I’ll never be the kind of person who becomes so infatuated with a place that they actually want to become part of it, I like to be a bit on the outside; but at the same time it’s different than just being a tourist.” And of the single itself? “On a Saturday's a little bit sweeter, slightly softer than my other stuff. It’s also my catchiest pop song at the moment; it’s not entirely fashionable and goes
back to my love for the Beach Boys and also 70’s folk music, which isn’t necessarily the stuff that’s on the radio at the moment”, and then, in a rare instant that allows him to bring the confidence he possesses within to the surface, he promises “but it will find its way out there.”
A folk-influenced singer sitting on the outside about to break in? I think there was a certain artist in that position when he played The Troubadour in the 60s wasn’t there?
Jacob Golden plays The Troubadour in London on 3rd June.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ /PURCHASE/ Jacob Golden's latest album 'Revenge Songs' is available from Rough Trade
Six years ago, things were a lot different. Nu-metal was on the way out, The Libertines were on the way in; I was but a multi-octave voiced fourteen year old dusting myself down after getting used to the idea that Limp Bizkit weren’t really that great, and that owning the Ministry Of Sound Annual didn’t equate to possessing a ‘diversity in music taste’. On my pubescent voyage through music, I took with me Muse, Placebo and (somewhat ill-fatedly) My Vitriol. There was another band though who didn’t make it all the way through. Upon leaving school two years ago Muse were bigger than ever and Placebo were still grudgingly receiving regular airings on my speakers. For Leeds four piece The Music however, it looked like the end of the road. A self-titled debut album of startling energy and baggy-era joy de vivre had become the soundtrack to an otherwise dull year 10; and when I finally got to see the group live in 2004, they sent the creaking Northumbria University venue into delirium for almost two hours. With ‘Welcome To The North’ showing a step forward for the group, it seemed in my then naïve sixteen year old eyes that The Music were going to be huge. But then, just as quickly as they rose, they fell away and went silent. I grew up, left school, hit my indie elitist phase and went to University where I started listening to bands who never sang, and for whom a song less than seven minutes long would be deemed a potential single.
It’s with the air of an old flame then that The Music return in 2008. A band who could quite rightfully claim that they were “nu-rave” a long time before such piss poor genre names were dreamt up are back to find the likes of the Klaxons earning praise for marrying dance and rock in a far flimsier manner than the Kippax group managed to do so over half a decade earlier. What marked The Music’s debut out as such a crossover success was that they managed to bottle the atmosphere they created live and contain it in the studio: no cheap casio keyboards, no needless squiggles and bleeps and no fucking glo-sticks- just rhythms and riffs. Fast forward a bit and fans of the band will be pleased to know that it appears Rob Harvey has come out of hiding with an intent to revisit those days, as the title track opens the album with a sharp, glitchy snare that punctuates Adam Nutter’s jagged guitar. It’s a great return for the band and can’t fail to put a smile on the face. Better yet is ‘The Spike’, which simmers and bubbles before bursting forth into the kind of chorus that can surely be classified by now as ‘The Music stomp’. Harvey’s lyrics throughout the album focus very much on trying to leave the past behind, moving forward and finding unity; a simple message and one which admittedly sometimes comes across a little elementary (“how can I fly if you won’t give me wings”). The conviction of his delivery rings through however- after all, this is a man who has faced more than his fair share of demons in the intervening years between albums: drugs, deaths and depression have all left their mark on the lead singer who, at still only 25 years old, comes across as a far more composed and measured person. In tandem with this outlook, the band aren’t scared to attempt new things either- ‘Idle’ lurks in the depths; all hushed vocals and deep bass, to portray a very ambient vibe of techno.
However, the best bits on ‘Strength In Numbers’ remain those that recall The Music at their early, thrilling best. The aforementioned title track and ‘The Spike’ aside, there’s plenty of other standout moments that’ll please fans old and new. ‘Fire’ doesn’t hang about: a three minute dance floor filler that surges through your brain and out again before you even have time to take breath; perhaps even topping the heady heights of ‘Take The Long Road’ and co. ‘Get Through It’ jitters and shudders its way through the verse to once again launch an all-or-nothing epic of a chorus upon our ear drums, allowing Harvey’s voice to leap and soar through the tight riffs and driving percussion. ‘No Weapon Sharper Than A Will’ meanwhile really does turn time back to those house parties and late summer nights of youth- a simple snare and hi-hat keeps things steady before erupting into an all encompassing call-to-arms that pisses all over The Whip in the art of providing rock ready rave music. Sadly, like the return of all lost loves, things don’t always feel quite so right; because for every great moment on this album, there’s another song just round the corner that tries to ape it just a little too much- as though The Music, having nailed down a sound of their own, are desperate to ring every last drop out of it. No one was expecting them to return with another ‘Too High’ or ‘Human’, but with such a relentless pursuit of an energetic and accelerated sound, the band at times retread familiar paths a tad too much. Hence why ‘Drugs’ goes on a minute or two too long, and why many of the songs- ‘The Vision’ and ‘The Last One’ to name but two, share the same tempo and rhythms as others on the album. The idea is clear: the percussion holds the album together, but the execution is such that it can come across as repetitive. Added to this is the unsatisfactory ‘Inconceivable Odds’ closing the album out; whilst an acoustic ballad is a welcome change of direction, its place at the finale of the album is deeply misplaced. Breaking up the endless snare/hi-hat disco rhythms of the album’s mid section would have been ideal; tacked on as an afterthought is not.
As with all reunions then, I am filled with a confusing mix of emotions. Yes, this is The Music who I fell in love with way back when; when to me great music previously consisted of little more than heavy metal and guys with red caps on backwards rapping and fitting as many ‘fucks’ in a song as their record label would allow. At their best on this album they are at their absolute best yet. ‘Fire’ is a three minute electric shock to the senses; ‘The Spike’ drives in and forces your heartstrings to dance just as much as it does your feet. Yet at times this is an album a little short on ideas; having a great sound is one thing, developing it and evolving it is another matter. The heart wants to praise this to high heaven, but the head says ‘not quite there yet’. Let’s make one thing clear though: given time The Music could and should finally realise the potential that’s been fermenting inside them for years. This may be just a stepping stone, but as first ones go, it’s a mightily pleasing one.
It takes a bold and often foolish band to try and upstage iLiKETRAiNS, yet Kyte are five young men from Leicester who seem hell bent on doing just this. Taking the piss somewhat by arriving to set up some fifteen minutes late, and then going on to play almost ten minutes overtime; the support act aren’t so much as trying to pull the rug from under the headliners feet, more rolling up the rug, hi-tailing it to a local bazaar (although to be fair, urban Manchester features few of these) and selling it off for twice the price it’s worth. Their audacious attempt to steal the show almost comes off as well; soft but searing synths wash over the audience like a gentle breeze whilst the lead vocalist half whispers his vocals so as to lose them in the now increasing gale of sound that is building up around him. Opener ‘Planet’ is sublime, and things get better as the fresh-faced musicians sweep and glide their way through four more songs of powerfully moving beauty. No wonder then that as Kyte proceed to immerse us and themselves in ‘Stars On TV’, one of iLiKETRAiNS frantically comes out of the changing room wielding a polite notice asking the band to stop stealing their audience and come down off the cloud that we’re all currently sitting upon. Or words to that effect; the gauntlet has been set.
Turns out we needn’t have worried. iLiKETRAiNS walk on sombrely; dressed, as ever, in matching white shirts and skinny black ties - when The Hives wear such items it comes across as frivolous and comic, but iLiKETRAiNS have never looked more serious about anything in their lives and as the opening, deep timbre thud of the bass drum announces ‘Twenty Five Sins’ one can almost feel the lick of flames around our feet and the screams of terror coming from distraught and terrified women and children, as the Great Fire of London begins to emit itself through iLT lead vocalist Dave Martin. The Leeds-group grab the listener’s heart and wring it tight like a spunge, then sit back and watch the blood spill forth without ever having to reveal so much as a syllable about themselves; living through history’s more tragic figures offers up a wall between them and their music, which on record can sometimes hinder, but live adds an additional cold, calculated and unnerving intensity to their performance. ‘The Deception’, the tale of sailor Donald Crowhurst who went mad out on the Atlantic, roars and rumbles stoically and resolutely, making the tiny Roadhouse venue feel like the MEN Arena down the road, so vast and expansive is its sound. By the time ‘We All Fall Down’, the fourth or fifth track tonight, rears its apocalyptic head, I realise that I’ve not stopped shaking since the set began; completely absorbed and drawn in as I am to the history lesson taking place on show in front of me. I have to extract myself for a breather as emotions soar and swell up inside me with no respite. Resistance is futile though and I return for more heart wrench and despair; feeling Nigel Tetley’s anguish at being hoodwinked by the aforementioned Crowhurst, and the sense of failure that consequently stems from that, in the stirring ‘Victress’; and feeling utterly helpless as the incessant witch hunt of Salem drives on with a bloody mindlessness in the monolithic ‘We Go Hunting’. The best is saved till last, however, as TRAiNS take the 200 or so people in attendance tonight up to the Arctic, 1912, to pray witness to Captain Scott’s terrifying realisation that he has led a crew of explorers to an impending death that neither he nor they can do anything about. I’m talking of course about the soaring, nerve shattering post rock of ‘Terra Nova’. As if overseeing the torturous death of Captain Scott isn’t enough, the band decide to really turn the thumbscrew with nine minute opus ‘Spencer Perceval’, Martin playing the role of the former British Prime Minister’s assassin John Bellingham in a sneering, mocking tumult of words directed at his fallen victim. The dual guitars gradually build up a sense of foreboding and menace before Martin reaches the eye of the storm with the cold, heartless decree to Perceval that “your position can’t save you now” and, just when the audience can’t take it anymore, the song slowly releases in a whirl of noise and energy.
So… quite good then. Whilst it’s hard to imagine iLiKETRAiNS will ever venture far from their chosen path, so deeply ingrained as it is, to see them live remains, and will continue to remain, a wholly exhilarating experience. Truly, few other bands can play with the crowd’s emotions and senses with as much ease and potency as the Leeds five piece. Coming out of the venue I feel tired and exhausted and I’m not the only one; but by God, I loved every minute.
A single review for The Kabeedies, who I gave a higher mark to than Grammatics. However on further listens I really should have knocked Grammatics up a few marks. In podcast news I'm still having bother with the software hence the lack of action on that front, just hold tight I'm afraid, it's looking like I won't be back podcasting till the summer what with exams. Reviews and downloads will continue to be forthcoming however.
Straight out of the Norwichcore scene, apparently, come The Kabeedies; a group of young rapscallions whose ages range between sixteen and eighteen years old and who appear to have quite a pleasing penchant for producing the kind of inoffensive summery two minute pop songs that are very much enjoyed around this time of year.
Lead track Lovers Ought To is easily the standout track here, moving jauntily along whilst male and female vocals swap back and forth with the vibe of a more chilled out Los Campesinos!, before coming together in a sharp, punchy harmonious chorus. It certainly doesn’t set the world alight but it does do exactly what’s required of it; provide immediacy, energy and a damn good foot stomp within a short period of time. Second track Mythical Beast opens with a rather cheesy bluesy rock n’roll piano slide before jangling its way through a repetitive ‘we are all beasts, we know everything’ chorus which admittedly leaves you going ‘huh?’ but is undeniably catchy if somewhat unimaginative. The ridiculously short 90 second piece of filler that finishes off the group’s debut single pretty much sounds like most other high school bands of their ilk. This is a shame because from the opening two tracks it’s clear that the four piece have a knack for writing catchy hook laden pop songs that belie they’re years. If you’re after anything innovative here you’ll be disappointed, but if, like me, you’ve finished University/work early and enjoyed a gloriously sunny evening outside then this band are the soundtrack to it. A surprising success.
Grammatics are a band who sure know how to make themselves contentious; featuring the kind of Foals influenced sharp, angular percussion that’s starting to be the focal point of rather a few too many bands at the moment, and coupled with vocals delivered so sincerely that they’re almost certainly going to be revered or ridiculed, D.I.L.E.M.M.A is nothing short of a bold statement by the Leeds-based quartet.
Which side of the fence am I going to fall on then? Well let’s get some hasty plus points put down here shall we; don’t worry about the Foals thing for although possibly taking influence from the Oxfordshire group, Grammatics display enough know-how to realise when they might apeing Britain’s latest big things a tad too much. In this case it means a roaring, beast of an outro takes the song into an altogether different territory that (whisper it) Panic! At The Disco could probably appreciate. Unique too is lead singer Owen Brinley’s voice; swooning and bleeding across the tapestry of the music behind him, and showcasing an impressive falsetto delivery which again takes the song as a whole into somewhere a bit more bombastic than most of their “math rock” (if such a genre exists) peers. Let’s not get too carried away though, for whilst for the most part the fairly tight, compressed production works on this song, it somewhat lessen the effect of Brinley’s vocals, and when the band choose to whip up a cacophony of noise behind him towards the end it feels like that they could have perhaps stepped it up a couple of notches further in order to provide a bit more contrast between the wistful, resigned verse and the blustering, playful finish. Polar Swelling is again a different animal from the lead track on this double A-side, all crisp hi-hat and chorded synths slowly building behind Owen Brinley’s vocals and even some rather darkness inducing violin. At over six minutes long it is a bit on the long side but its refreshing to see a band willing to show two sides of themselves on the same single.
Grammatics are certainly a band with plenty to give, possessing as they do a certain amount of diversity and willingness provide a challenging yet accessible sound. Now all they need to do is explore some of the less discovered aspects of their sound and we could be onto something very interesting indeed.
There was once a time, when I was younger, when listening to you seemed to be the definitive of being ‘cool’. Your willingness to move drum n’ bass out of the dark, urine-soaked rooms that it had previously inhabited was commendable and as well as making jungle beats that were damn good fun to dance to, you also managed to create some genuinely good music, adding musical genres from outside the typical underground sphere and marrying alternative metal and driving beats the likes that hadn’t been done so successfully since The Prodigy came out firing in the mid-90’s. It is to my disgust then that what I am listening to now, in the form of your new single, is nothing but an over-produced, over-ambitious attempt at a jungle ‘pop’ song. As if heralding the start with a trumpet section nicked from Ronson’s studio isn’t bad enough, you’ve also brought in one of the most generic and uninspiring vocalists these ears have ever had the misfortune to hear. All could be forgiven however if you’d at least provided us with a damn good energy rush when bringing the bass in. However, such is your sleek and shiny production; its addition into the song barely registers, leaving the whole thing pulsating aimlessly through five minutes of absolute mediocrity.
Whilst I am sure you believe that in trying to be different from your peers you are creating new and exciting sounds for us all “rave” to, but please Pendulum could you decide whether you wish to be a band or a drum n’ bass act, because at the moment all you’re providing us with is a horribly half-baked and shoddy form of neither. Yours sincerely.
Over a year on from their first release and mentions of Jarcew and Mclusky in the same breath as Future Of The Left are becoming increasingly far and few between. Whilst Andy Falkous in particular will probably never be able to completely escape the shadows of his imperious former group, he is at least proving that he is a man for the challenge. Tonight, ably assisted by his increasingly prominent sidekick Kelson Mathis and the man mountain Jack Egglestone on drums, the front man rips through a blistering hour long set that is deserving of a crowd far greater than the seventy or eighty souls dotted around the Roadhouse tonight.
Opener ‘The Lord Hates A Coward’ blisters through the venue and, for all we know, out into Manchester, rounding on those who thought of turning up tonight, only to stay in and do their hair instead. Follow up ‘Plague Of Onces’ builds and builds, hoisting the audience up onto a hook and watching them squirm and wriggle to get free as it pummels relentlessly. It is frankly terrifying that just three men are creating this noise. However, It’s the likes of ‘Small Bones Small Bodies’ and ‘Manchasm’ that really show how Falkous has progressed with his song writing; managing to streamline and filter his rage and energy into three minutes of what could possibly, maybe, if you imagined a bit, be described as pop songs. Certainly they sound more commercial, and in the rousing “Colin is a pussy!” coda of ‘Manchasm’ there contains a line that can be sung over and over again by crowds nationwide. Stopping for some typically non-PC banter in blaming the Kooks for the poor attendance (“I hope they die of AIDS…the nice AIDS though”) is about the only respite we get from this absolute blizzard of sound and to be honest, with this band, that’s exactly how you’d want it. The snarling sarcastic delivery of lines like “real men hunt in packs, that’s what’s expected of us” and “hats are essential for travel in climates of conflict and temperate conditions” married with pulsating percussion and sharp biting guitar makes for a great set list full of energy.
The promoters at the venue should have been roundly flogged for calling a 9:30pm curfew in order for a club night to take place afterwards (“I predict Beastie Boys followed by Rage Against The Machine” Falkous quips) and certainly the crowd let their displeasure show. Whilst bands like Future Of The Left are deprived of widespread acclaim by default of the music they make, those few that do give them an inch will find that they’ll take a mile; rewarding you with energy, passion and plain fun in abundance. As Kelson ended up playing his bass in the crowd and Jack relocated his snare to the top of the PA amps in front of the stage it was hard to imagine that any of the handful of people in attendance tonight haven’t gone away so much as been blown away.
Who remembers ‘Monkey Dust’? Created by Shaun Pye and the late Harry Thompson, the animated series satirised many aspects of modern day Britain and featured twisted comedy that cuts open the dark and seedy nature of this country. Some of the more controversial sketches included the training of terrorists in the West Midlands, paedophile witch hunts and our nations increasing obsession with fame and celebrity. Wrapped around this warped, nocturnal world was a soundtrack of quite remarkable potency; the minimal electronica of ‘Boards Of Canada’, the down tempo ‘Nithin Sawnhey’ and the murky, ethereal world of early ‘Goldfrapp’ regularly punctuated scenes and dragged each episode further down into a black hole of humour. The reason I mention Monkey Dust is because, upon listening to ‘Rosebud’, the listener is reminded instantly of that same dark, otherworldly music.
‘Winona’ are a rather complicated mixture of film composers, lyricists, musical programmers, actresses and vocalists. Winona herself acts as the lyricist, whilst programmer Scott Fraser and score writer Craig Armstrong provide the music. French actress Laurence Ashley contributes spoken word lyrics that melt into the velvet voice of singer Lucy Pullin. Confused? Don’t worry; whilst on paper this concoction sounds like the proverbial too many cooks, in practise the whole thing comes across bearing a lot more fruit than could be expected. Starting off with the atmosphere building ‘The White Room’- a song that brings to mind ‘Felt Mountain’-era Goldfrapp, Winona are clearly a group who wear their influences on their sleeve; this isn’t to their detriment too much however as throughout this album they pluck inspiration from a range of the finest electronic musicians spreading over the annals of time. ‘Without You,’ featuring the sensual vocals of Pullin, brings to mind late 90’s Massive Attack; the simmering, burbling bass and rhythm provides a sinister but subtle drive under the echoing vocals and vacuous synths. Second track ‘Celebrity’ meanwhile evokes a very 80s electro feel, as Pullin’s vocals are modulated and pulled out of recognition to fall in line with the sirens and squiggles; it’s on these vocal lead tracks where Winona excel. However, when they decide to go further down the minimal route there’s still riches to be had. ‘De Nada’ is a haunting, maimed creature of a song: using falsetto vocal and string samples with (yes another name drop,) Kraftwerk styled low synths to create a soundscape that’s bleak, and isolated almost entirely from the rest of the album. Songs with a bit more urgency to them include the rather Jarre-esque ‘You Can Dance I Can’t’ and the bold, brash ‘If Only’. The album finishes with the epic, slow build up of ‘Winona Falls’- a piece that gradually builds from a sparse background inch by inch before slowly exhaling and thus bringing the album to an awkward but brilliantly uncertain conclusion. It’s this kind of sinister magic that can make ‘Rosebud’ a compelling listen.
But, there are criticisms to be had. With such obvious debts to their inspirations, it seems at times that Winona can veer into the unimaginative and plain dull; it could be argued for instance that ‘Indigenous’ is a Nitin Sawnhey song in all but name, whilst elsewhere the ghosts of electronic past constantly resurrect themselves to the point where it can get a bit, well, obvious. There’s also a fair bit of filler here, as there is can be with a lot of this type of music; holding suspense and atmosphere for an entire album is a very tricky thing to do and for the most part Winona do it well. However, at times on some of more synth driven songs there can be a bit of a one-paced feel, and on the likes of ‘De Nada’ there’s an argument to be made that it could be shortened. However, these flaws aside, there’s no denying that this is a solid, at times beautiful escape into a dream-filled, wistful world that shows a dark underbelly- combining both the familiarity and peacefulness of nightfall but also the insecure, isolation in the darkness that comes with it. Now if only they had a TV series to put it to…
Suitably hyperboled review of Youthmovies new single. But my gosh they are just a little bit exciting. If you enjoy ridiculous superlative with minimal musical critique then read on! Nah I'm jesting, it's not a bad review but not great, I need to pick up my game concerning reviewing singles, I seem to be struggling a bit on them.
Well, here we are now; entertain us. Youthmovies have become yet another name to be hyped, enlarged, spun sideways and rammed down our throats in 2008- the year of overblown predictions. It’s just as well for them that they can follow most of their peers and deliver on their promise, and what a delivery it is. The Oxford quintet featuring Andrew Mears, yes from THAT band Foals, manage to combine more creative ideas in under five minutes than many of the latest crop of NME Award winners could come up with in an album.
Beginning with a series of squiggles and beeps is hardly the most audacious of starts to a song, but here it works well as a calm before the storm, with little hint of what is to come. The slow gradual build up continues into the verse with Mears almost laidback delivery suddenly giving way to tumultuous guitars delivered with rushed passion, before the whole thing releases with a big breath and turns into something else. What does it turn into? A damn catchy pop song with foot tapping quality that catches the listener completely by surprise that’s what; it’s not the fact that Youthmovies have welded together two very different styles in the space of the opening three minutes, it’s the ease and fluency that they manage to do so, changing gears smoothly, and repeating the trick a minute later as a wonderfully unhinged instrumental comes in replete with a romping brass section, providing amusing imagery of the band rocking out at a nearby park bandstand. The range in styles undoubtedly shows a debt to their influences, and yet by throwing them all into the cauldron, Youthmovies have actually come out with something better- 65 Days Of Static but with vocals and a keener knack for melody, Foals (sorry) but with a harder hitting edge that will doubtless leave indie club revellers the nation over confused as to whether they should mosh or dance- hell just do both.
As Andrew Mears almost whispered refrain ‘it’s becoming clearer that it’s not the end of the world’ fades out it’s quite apparent that something special has taken place within these four and three quarter minutes. Never mind taking us from A to B, this is a single that picks us up at A and bypasses most of the known alphabet before dropping us somewhere very rarefied and very new. What makes this even more exciting is that ‘The Naughtiest Girl Is A Monitor’ isn’t even the best song on the album, and if that doesn’t leave you salivating for more then I don’t know what will.
It’s a glorious coincidence that in this, the thirtieth year since Jean-Michel Jarre released his electronic masterpiece ‘Oxygene,’ electro seems to be more prominent than ever as act after act give their own interpretations on a musical genre that many forget has a long and diverse history all of its own. However, when Super Furry Animals front man Gruff Rhys decides to have a stab at it then you know it’s time to sit up and pay attention. Rhys is a man with few inhibitions creatively- a random trawl back through the ‘Furries back catalogue should tell you that, not to mention his recently acclaimed solo venture. Here he teams up with Los Angeles producer Boom Bip, and numerous other collaborators; implores us to don our RELAX t-shirts, dye our hair a weird shade of acid green and gyrate about like it’s the 80s all over again. At this point readers you can be forgiven for thinking this sounds less promising than when Dexy’s Midnight Runners man Kevin Rowland made his return to Reading festival in 1999 wearing a dress and wheeling out slushy love ballads. However, this is Gruff Rhys we’re talking about- a creative well that as yet shows no sign of abating, and in Neon Neon we have something a lot better than just a side project.
‘Stainless Style’ possesses both the style and sheen that befits an album documenting the life of successful car engineer John DeLorean, (oh did I forget to mention it’s a concept album too?) and wastes no time luring the listener in with the rather Jarre-esque ‘Neon Theme’; featuring enough rhythmic percussion and sliding synths and bleeps, this would take us all back twenty years if it didn’t sound so fresh and modern at the same time. The heavily thudding ‘Dream Cars’ follows next with Rhys’ unmistakeable vocal narrating on how DeLorean got to the top of the car industry. Those thinking that all there is here is some re-hashed electro and tired synths though, don’t be fooled; spiky, jagged guitars cut through the electric drum beat and writhing noises here to give a pre-conceptually dreamy song a real bite and edge. This is a trick that’s repeated to good effect throughout the album and allows the songs to explore a depth and diversity that one might not expect, and Neon Neon really do span those genres here, from the euphoric, pulsating energy of ‘I Told Her On Alderaan’ to ‘Trick For Treat’- a real ear opener that marries the album’s overriding 80’s shimmer to (and you’ll probably slay me for this,) the pop R’n’B sensibilities of Justin Timberlake, thanks to an impressive vocal collaboration by US rapper Spank Rock. At the other end of the spectrum comes ‘Steel Your Girl,’ which comes as close to bog standard indie rock as your likely to get on this LP, and is definitely one of the albums more forgettable tracks. All is forgiven however with forthcoming single ‘I Lust U,’ featuring the deliciously seductive vocals of Welsh singer Cate Le Bon in a purely retro slice of electro pop that, had it been released a couple of months later, would surely soundtrack this year’s summer. Le Bon and Rhys duet in a wonderfully laidback manner; gently nudging each other on, whilst Bip provides electronic hooks that bore their way into your head just as successfully as any pop song. With such a raised bar it’s inevitable that the rest of the album doesn’t quite match up, not to say that it doesn’t try. ‘Sweat Shop’ comes out grimey, bass heavy and reminiscent of expert DJ David Holmes own Free Association. ‘Belfast’ tells of DeLorean’s DeLorean Motor Company setting up in the exotic climbs of Northern Ireland, whilst ‘Michael Douglas’ appears to be strangely unhinged ode to the ageing actor’s sunglasses; finally comes the hip-hop influenced ‘Luxury Pool,’ an eulogy do DeLorean’s controversial life which saw success and millions before entrapment and court cases lead to his eventual downfall.
Neon Neon prove that writing intelligent pop never has to come at the expense of catchy hooks and danceable rhythms. Moreover, the duo managed to convey a depth and musical diversity here that elevates the album above that of ‘just another electro-pop record’. The accolades thus far in this review have gone to Gruff Rhys, but the influence of Boom Bip cannot be underestimated as he shapes and moulds his squiggles and squeaks into a coherent, atmospheric and, most important of all, memorable stylistic model- much like a certain Monsieur Jarre did some thirty years ago.
I reckon I've written about 1500 words on Los Campesinos! this week and probably listened to them about as many times. Good as they are I think I might be directing my ears elsewhere next week. Anyway, was kindly asked to write the review for their album (out on Monday), and as I enjoy them, I did. 4/5 possibly a bit generous, so between you and me if it was out of 10 I'd give it 7.
Now that all the New Year hype and bluster is out of the way, 2008 is finally starting to unfold and reveal which of those acts lauded at the beginning of the year are truly going to live up to their potential. Among those first out of the blocks was female talent Adele; with the likes of These New Puritans and Sons & Daughters following suit. With Duffy’s album also out imminently and Foals anticipated offering due out in March, the race to best the rest is truly on; and so arriving in another storm of media plaudits and fresh radio airplay come plucky underdogs, Cardiff seven-piece Los Campesinos!
Starting out initially as a three piece back in 2006, Los Campesinos! have expanded both in personnel and in sound since their first gig back in May of that year. Many of the songs compiled on this album have been drifting around since those early days, both on their demo- also named Hold On Now, Youngster, and on last year’s promising EP Sticking Fingers Into Sockets. The band rely largely on the vocal chemistry that lies between Gareth and Aleksandra Campesinos, whilst the rest of the band rattle on in the background mixing the ramshackle energy of the likes of the Arcade Fire with some shorter, punkier pop sensibilities. It’s hard to explain how one can feel exhausted whilst listening to an album but if ever a description fitted the opening five tracks of Hold On Now, Youngster.. then it can only be described as thus. Recent single Death To Los Campesinos! opens up with a lonely guitar that’s quickly submerged with more, driving guitars and bass, whilst a singular glockenspiel patters away over the top, echoing the contrast between Gareth’s passionate strangled cries and Aleksandra’s laidback, poised vocal delivery. As pop songs go it’s catchy as hell and likely to attract the ears of early pubescents just as much as it will people many years they’re elders. There’s no respite as a shouted ‘1,2,3,4’ intro leads us straight into the frantic 'Broken Hearts Sound Like Breakbeats', as Gareth laments of being ‘the beacon of hate that you’d always expected’. It’s as though Aleksandra is trying to calm the excitable male singer down in this and throughout the album; indeed we don’t get a respite until sixth track 'Knee Deep At ATP', where the band finally decide to take a rest and allow the bass and a delightful meandering violin take control and allow the listener to get their breath back, before a slow build up leads to an anthemic chorus. It could be argued that this is the end of part one.
“Part two” begins with live favourite ‘This Is How You Spell “Hahaha, We Destroyed The Hopes and Dreams Of A Generation Of Faux-Romantics” which brings with it a slightly more measured tone before throttling head first once again into a irresistibly catchy chorus. One argument that can be levelled against the septet is that the overload of energy can at times make Hold On, Youngster.. rude towards the listener. The production doesn’t always help either, with all the guitars seemingly turned up to full volume so as to lose some of the more subtle elements of the band in its onrushing presence. Likewise, on songs where Gareth dominates the vocals one loses Aleksandra’s more docile, easy on the ear lyrics. There can be no criticism that Los Campesinos! don’t possess boundless energy, it’s just that at times it needs to be reigned in a little to stop the album becoming one big blur as can easily be the case upon first listen. When they manage to get it just right, the results are wonderful; ‘Sweet Dreams, Sweet Cheeks’ manages to provide both a wonderfully controlled yet infectious mid section, where the bass and violin once again take prominence, before erupting into an outro ever so slightly reminiscent of ‘Wake Up’ by Arcade Fire. Final track ‘2007, The Year Broke (My Heart)’ repeats the trick with a composed offering that is quite at odds with most of what has gone on before.
So; a certifiable success? The answer would have to be yes as Los Campesinos! possess both the straight ahead pop punk appeal to entice a younger generation and an underlying subtlety that conveys influences far wider than at first meets the eye- names like Architecture Of Helsinki, Pavement and Broken Social Scene are often thrown around upon describing this band and the album does little to dissuade those comparisons. The main criticism of this album has to be that relentless layers of noise coupled with an occasionally muddy production can at times make for an uncomfortable listen, whilst also at times the group disable a good pop song by trying to throw too many ingredients into the cauldron. However, a handy knack for an infectious hook can’t help but leave you to persevering with what can only be described as a very good debut offering; translating the energy contained on this album into the live arena should see Los Campesinos! become justifiably huge over the coming months, and with the competition surrounding them that there is this is no mean feat. The ball’s in their court.
Hurrah! God Is In The TV took time out from bombarding me with press releases to write up to stick up my review of London punk band Gallow's new single. Have a gander below or, even better, go on the site yourself and join in the zine fun! And it is fun, ho yes!
Gallows - Just Because You Sleep Next To Me Doesn’t Mean Your Safe (Black Envelope Records) Simon Jay Catling
With Gallows front man Frank Carter ending 2007 as NME’s Coolest Person on the Planet (make of that what you will,) its fair to say the thrash punk rockers have hit a meteoric rise that has surpassed even their own expectations. The band stormed the European festival circuit last summer and their debut album, Orchestra Of Wolves, was a startling success. Clearly eager to keep the gravy train running, the release of Just Because.. is the third single release off an album that was originally released some eighteen months ago. Necessary? I would argue that this, coupled with the forthcoming release of a live DVD could be deemed a most un-punk thing to do; but then even Johnny Rotten seems to milk the cash cow these days, leading a reformed and re-hashed Sex Pistols around the country in order to line his pockets. This just goes to show that for all its bravado and angry anti-establishmentarianism, Punk was in fact no more immune to the pull of capitalism than any other musical genre, and that Gallows are further proof of this. Or maybe, I’m just reading a bit too much into it all.
Either way this release feels a bit unnecessary- more so because it’s not even one of the stronger tracks from their hugely lauded Orchestra Of Wolves album. Previous single In The Belly Of A Shark (recently expertly remixed by ex Cooper Temple Clause man Tom Bellamy by the way,) cut the perfect line between hardcore punk and chart bothering appeal. This in comparison seems plain dull; it acts as filler within the album so how can it possibly do justice as a single? Coming in with a shotgun guitar entrance Carter as usual expends his rage in tired cliché, howling “put all my memories/In an envelope/Then set it on fire/Then send it straight to you” as he plots a plan of torture and pain on a previously loved figure. There’s a nice little call and response bit halfway through and Laurant Bernard and Steph Carter’s guitars battle furiously with each other throughout, but really, if you know Gallows then you know this is pretty much standard fare and it’s missing the clarion call to arms of Orchestra Of Wolves or the instant stomach-winding impact of Abandon Ship. There’s no doubting Gallows are a potentially quality act and, with a succession of large scale UK Tour dates coming up, their star looks like it’s going to burn ever more brightly. But please, after this let’s move on shall we?
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I’ve got to hold my hands up and be honest: my knowledge of American country music doesn’t run particularly deep; obviously I can cite the Tom Waits and Johnny Cash’s of this world as being unique and fantastic artists who influenced and continue to influence not only musicians within their own genre but a great many others as well (why only the other week I saw classical and jazz pianist Joanna McGregor perform a rousing version of Cash’s gospel song Spiritual.) I’ve never really scratched beyond the surface though, which helps Agnostic Mountain Gospel Choir in that their music is being thrown at an open mind and eager ears.
