This review first appeared on Soundblab
The Middle East have got something brewing. Their only release to date has been The Recordings of The Middle East, a five track EP. Yet in tonight's hour-long set the Australians from Townsville play only two songs from it, preferring to spend their sold out New York headline show testing a series of tracks that will undoubtedly grace their first full-length release.
It's a shame, because the best moments come from the two released tracks, particularly set opener The Darkest Side. Taking to the stage, the band fiddle around for what seems forever. The crowd get restless, talking and turning away from the stage. But then Jordan Ireland starts plucking out the opening chords and begins his alto timbre, stopping only to request more light from his stage crew. "We asked for low light," he jokes. "But I can't see a thing." The interruption only heightens the mood, and Bree Tranter soon adds her delicate mumblings. A hush sweeps over the crowd. These two can sing.
After that, though, it gets a bit chaotic. The seven bodies pit mandolins, microphones and macbook pros against banjos, basses and beats. Trumpets and flutes jump in and out of action and a glockenspiel and accordion get some time in the limelight. It's eventful, certainly, but in this little venue it all seems a bit much. The music loses its momentum, and save for the instances when all five microphones are put to good use, the sound is unfortunately loose.
A large part of this is surely due to the extensive touring the band has undertaken in the past couple of months. This latest leg is in support of shows with Mumford & Sons, and although the Englishmen show their support from the crowd, you get the feeling the stage is not the place for these talented Australian folkies right now. There's just too much they're itching to lay down in the studio, and a bit of recording time never hurt anyone.
Wednesday 9 June 2010
Thursday 3 June 2010
Lovely new tune from the Mynabirds 'Numbers Don't Lie'
I heard this sweet tune on the radio. I thought something along the lines of 'oh yes, lovely old soul tune... quite Motowny'. But, now, poisoned by the truth of knowledge as I am now, I know it's a new un, from a band I never heard of before, The Mynabirds. It's very good. I hope you like.
Update: now, a couple of not particularly generous reviews on the the internet, more specifically the guardian and Pitchfork, have just told me that Mynabirds is 'just a vehicle for white-soul girl Laura Burhenn (formerly of Washington, DC indie obscurities Georgie James) to achieve her ambition to "make a record that sounds like Neil Young doing Motown"', while the latter (who graded her album 8.0 out of ten), declare that while 'the notion of the co-lead singer of Georgie James teaming up with a guy that described his last album as "Prince sitting in on John Lennon's Plastic Ono sessions" might not be the sort of crossover that sounds all that appealing', they acknowledge that 'one listen to "Numbers Don't Lie", and even the most devout skeptic could find themselves singing a different tune.' Nice of them, ne?
Anyways, like, here's the vid.
Saturday 24 April 2010
Friday 23 April 2010
Bear in Heaven @ The Lexington - 20 April 2010
I fear for my beloved instrument. In the hey days of punk, grunge, or any rock n roll, the bass was the lynchpin of the band. You couldn’t put a price on someone who could pump out a deep groove for the rest to build themselves around. I get the faint sniff that nowadays it’s becoming a peripheral instrument. More and more, I’ll go and watch a band and see the bass passed around guitarists and keyboardists like an unwanted child of a divorced family at Christmas. The result is more often than not a show that lacks any real grunt.
It was no more evident than tonight at the Lexington. Bear in Heaven, who hail from Brooklyn but spent the last 50 hours trying to negotiate a flight ban into the UK, are an act for the noughties – plenty of synths, plenty of fast beats, plenty of high-pitched vocals. Don’t get me wrong, they show incredible potential. I don’t profess to be hugely au fait with them, but I was taken with a number of their tunes tonight. They create great energy, and know the right moments to break down the beats.
But one thing in particular bugged me: neither guitarist nor vocalist seemed to really know how to get the most out of the bass. The lines they played were fine – even impressive – but being guitarists at heart they didn’t move away from the close frets at the higher end. They were reticent to walk their fingers down the neck to find the real impact of the instrument. At times, it was even discarded altogether.
The result was a show that lacked a pulse. It seemed there was nothing gluing the three of them together, no grunt to really drive the building crescendos home. My ears hurt from the abundance of treble that even the drums seemed to contribute to.
It’s a problem easily fixed. The beauty of a great bassist is that they don’t garner the attention of the crowd in the way a front man does. You can sit them in the corner and they know their job is to look after the basics. Bear in Heaven would benefit hugely from the services of a four-stringed specialist.
It was no more evident than tonight at the Lexington. Bear in Heaven, who hail from Brooklyn but spent the last 50 hours trying to negotiate a flight ban into the UK, are an act for the noughties – plenty of synths, plenty of fast beats, plenty of high-pitched vocals. Don’t get me wrong, they show incredible potential. I don’t profess to be hugely au fait with them, but I was taken with a number of their tunes tonight. They create great energy, and know the right moments to break down the beats.
But one thing in particular bugged me: neither guitarist nor vocalist seemed to really know how to get the most out of the bass. The lines they played were fine – even impressive – but being guitarists at heart they didn’t move away from the close frets at the higher end. They were reticent to walk their fingers down the neck to find the real impact of the instrument. At times, it was even discarded altogether.
The result was a show that lacked a pulse. It seemed there was nothing gluing the three of them together, no grunt to really drive the building crescendos home. My ears hurt from the abundance of treble that even the drums seemed to contribute to.
It’s a problem easily fixed. The beauty of a great bassist is that they don’t garner the attention of the crowd in the way a front man does. You can sit them in the corner and they know their job is to look after the basics. Bear in Heaven would benefit hugely from the services of a four-stringed specialist.
Thursday 22 April 2010
Tuesday 20 April 2010
Thursday 8 April 2010
Why make sharing music a crime?
When I like an album, the first thing I do is check when they’re touring and get tickets. I then put it on the stereo at work, sharing it with colleagues and encouraging them to come to the show with me. If I think it’s really something, it’ll find its way onto this blog and get read by a pretty hefty number.
The fact is that my acquiring an album for free results in significantly more income for the artist – providing they’re good enough. Everyone knows that word-of-mouth is the most effective form of advertising. Essentially, that’s all file sharing is. With the introduction of the Digital Britain Bill, all that is over. We're being transported back to a time when record companies and radio stations controlled the amount of new music that you could hear through selective playlists and discriminative pricing. Couple this with the planned closure of one of the few remaining bastions of new music, Radio 6, and we're left with a fairly bleak musical future.
An age-old practice
We’ve been sharing music for decades, through mix-tapes, copied cds and now file sharing. It’s natural to want to tell others about things you love. It’s a catalyst for life-long friendships and blossoming relationships. If we lose the ability to share music, we lose the ability to enjoy with others one of life’s most sacred pleasures.
The ongoing war between artists, record companies, and fans over file sharing misses a key fact: that the music industry is still trying to make money in the same way it did 60 years ago, ignoring the dawn of a new technological era.
By targeting file sharers, the industry is criminalising people who are simply looking to share their love of music.
A 14-year-old boy courting the affections of a special girl through special songs is not a criminal.
A university student in a dictatorial country looking for a voice from the free world is not a criminal.
A twenty-something blogger promoting the music he loves is not a criminal.
Who's fault is it anyway?
The scale of civil disobedience that goes on through file sharing does not reflect a problem with society, but rather a problem with the music industry. It’s a sector that continues to pursue an archaic form of product distribution that hasn’t evolved as its customers developed and embraced technology. It’s utterly reprehensible that we are targeted for the failing of an industry to move with the times. Don’t blame the innovators, blame those with no impulse to change.
The music industry’s business model no longer works. That much is clear. Yet some of the most creative and entrepreneurial minds in the world are at the head of organisations that give us the soundtracks to our lives. Are you telling me they can't develop a new business model that is as innovative as fans were in developing new ways to capture new music?
No-one wants the industry to die, yet its demise is what fans are accused of causing. Other industries have survived customer revolts by being dynamic and adaptable. It’s time the music industry was the same.
The fact is that my acquiring an album for free results in significantly more income for the artist – providing they’re good enough. Everyone knows that word-of-mouth is the most effective form of advertising. Essentially, that’s all file sharing is. With the introduction of the Digital Britain Bill, all that is over. We're being transported back to a time when record companies and radio stations controlled the amount of new music that you could hear through selective playlists and discriminative pricing. Couple this with the planned closure of one of the few remaining bastions of new music, Radio 6, and we're left with a fairly bleak musical future.
An age-old practice
We’ve been sharing music for decades, through mix-tapes, copied cds and now file sharing. It’s natural to want to tell others about things you love. It’s a catalyst for life-long friendships and blossoming relationships. If we lose the ability to share music, we lose the ability to enjoy with others one of life’s most sacred pleasures.
The ongoing war between artists, record companies, and fans over file sharing misses a key fact: that the music industry is still trying to make money in the same way it did 60 years ago, ignoring the dawn of a new technological era.
By targeting file sharers, the industry is criminalising people who are simply looking to share their love of music.
A 14-year-old boy courting the affections of a special girl through special songs is not a criminal.
A university student in a dictatorial country looking for a voice from the free world is not a criminal.
A twenty-something blogger promoting the music he loves is not a criminal.
Who's fault is it anyway?
The scale of civil disobedience that goes on through file sharing does not reflect a problem with society, but rather a problem with the music industry. It’s a sector that continues to pursue an archaic form of product distribution that hasn’t evolved as its customers developed and embraced technology. It’s utterly reprehensible that we are targeted for the failing of an industry to move with the times. Don’t blame the innovators, blame those with no impulse to change.
The music industry’s business model no longer works. That much is clear. Yet some of the most creative and entrepreneurial minds in the world are at the head of organisations that give us the soundtracks to our lives. Are you telling me they can't develop a new business model that is as innovative as fans were in developing new ways to capture new music?
No-one wants the industry to die, yet its demise is what fans are accused of causing. Other industries have survived customer revolts by being dynamic and adaptable. It’s time the music industry was the same.
Friday 26 March 2010
Tindersticks @ Shepherd's Bush Empire - 24 March 2010
The thing about a Tindersticks gig is that you’re surrounded by dedicated followers. Throughout tonight’s show at Shepherd’s Bush Empire, a hushed silence is only broken when the band’s disciples shower the stage in approbation. The cue is a low, mumbled “thank you” from enigmatic frontman Stuart Staples. He’s experienced at controlling this. He’s coy, holding on until the last chord rings out of every tune before he lets us know it’s ok to display our affection.
Tonight feels like a show of two halves. Predictably, the band kicks off with Falling Down a Mountain, the title and opening track from their latest album. It’s a comfortably disjointed opener that puts the seven-piece band to work. But then they seem to slow down, playing slow, moving ballads, one after another. It’s hardly surprising, given Tindersticks’ back catalogue, but for a long time these gentle paeans don’t take off.
All that changes when a resounding version of The Other Side of the World announces itself. Although one of the band’s more recent tracks, this song seems to encompass everything Tindersticks is about. It’s perfect for Staples’ brooding baritone, and it lifts the band into action as they find their momentum.
It stays that way for the rest of the night, as Tindersticks thread seamlessly between new and old. Can We Start Again, the opening track from 1999’s Simple Pleasures, the first of the band’s foray into soul, is a crowd favourite, but given the way people are behaving tonight, a reading from the Old Testament by Staples alone would be enough to send this group of devotees home happy. In their eyes, Tindersticks could do nothing wrong.
Tonight feels like a show of two halves. Predictably, the band kicks off with Falling Down a Mountain, the title and opening track from their latest album. It’s a comfortably disjointed opener that puts the seven-piece band to work. But then they seem to slow down, playing slow, moving ballads, one after another. It’s hardly surprising, given Tindersticks’ back catalogue, but for a long time these gentle paeans don’t take off.
All that changes when a resounding version of The Other Side of the World announces itself. Although one of the band’s more recent tracks, this song seems to encompass everything Tindersticks is about. It’s perfect for Staples’ brooding baritone, and it lifts the band into action as they find their momentum.
It stays that way for the rest of the night, as Tindersticks thread seamlessly between new and old. Can We Start Again, the opening track from 1999’s Simple Pleasures, the first of the band’s foray into soul, is a crowd favourite, but given the way people are behaving tonight, a reading from the Old Testament by Staples alone would be enough to send this group of devotees home happy. In their eyes, Tindersticks could do nothing wrong.
Monday 15 March 2010
Broken marriage chimes so sweet
The super group and its belittled brother the side project are by no means a new phenomenon, having enjoyed their heyday back in the super-groupy 1970s. But collaborations are coming back to the fore - look at Jack White’s Raconteurs and The Dead Weather, Them Crooked Vultures , Velvet Revolver, Monsters of Folk and The Last Shadow Puppets, to name a few.
With live music thriving, bands are touring together more, meeting at festivals and building attraction. Yeah, Dave and little Eric and Ron are sweet, talented, good-looking guys, good musicians, but it’s just the same faces and always it’s the same songs, with the same chords, the same recipes every night. Out on tour you meet someone new, someone who’s had many partners; they have exciting ideas that touch you in places you forgot existed, you feel alive again, excited, you want to have an album with this man. Start a new life together even.
That social mixing may be one of the factors behind the increased musical ménages and maybe that’s the story behind new super duo Broken Bells.
So it presumably happened for James Mercer of The Shins (though he is clearly a serial monogamist, with the Shins being a side project itself), who, after ditching his former dependents, has hooked up with the very talented Mr Brian Burton, aka Danger Mouse, half of Gnarls Barkley and ‘super producer’ of a number of well-regarded albums of the last few years. Together they have formed Broken Bells and released their eponymous début.
This seems quite a departure for Mercer from his previous territory but his voice and lyrics suit the new style well. The album has a downbeat and haunted atmosphere, laced with drama and the intricately clever beats that Danger Mouse’s fans love him for. But there is a great deal of variety, even eccentricity - the cheerily-haunting Hammond warble on Vaporize, the hand-clappy reminder that The Ghost Inside gives of Danger Mouse’s production of the previous Gorillaz album, or the breakdown in Mongrel Heart, which could very well provide the backing for the heartbreaking dénouement of a Mexican gangster flick. I'm a big fan of all this.
It may be because it’s the track I’ve heard most but my favourite is the album’s opener, The High Road. The beeps, bleeps and stretched and twisted honks conjure up images of a robot switched on for the first time, making its first steps out of the packaging as we hear its rudimentary ability to bust a groove quickly maturing into a breezy electro-beatbox. A passing Mercer takes the opportunity to sing over it with a slightly melancholy but generally encouraging ditty.
With a similar vocal delivery on this album at least to a late-era Brain Wilson, Mercer’s laidback mumble gave me some exciting miss-hearings, as ‘To Nietzsche’s arm’ and ‘come on and get the meat to mom’ sadly turned out to be ‘To each his own’ and ‘Come on and get the minimum’.
It is in a number of the lyrics in the early album tracks - in The High Road particularly - where its seems more than just over-eager interpretation from me to find the pair are talking about moving into a new liaison, away from former musical kin, possibly for good:
The high road is hard to find
A detour to your new life
Tell all of your friends goodbye
It’s too late to change your mind.
With live music thriving, bands are touring together more, meeting at festivals and building attraction. Yeah, Dave and little Eric and Ron are sweet, talented, good-looking guys, good musicians, but it’s just the same faces and always it’s the same songs, with the same chords, the same recipes every night. Out on tour you meet someone new, someone who’s had many partners; they have exciting ideas that touch you in places you forgot existed, you feel alive again, excited, you want to have an album with this man. Start a new life together even.
That social mixing may be one of the factors behind the increased musical ménages and maybe that’s the story behind new super duo Broken Bells.
So it presumably happened for James Mercer of The Shins (though he is clearly a serial monogamist, with the Shins being a side project itself), who, after ditching his former dependents, has hooked up with the very talented Mr Brian Burton, aka Danger Mouse, half of Gnarls Barkley and ‘super producer’ of a number of well-regarded albums of the last few years. Together they have formed Broken Bells and released their eponymous début.
This seems quite a departure for Mercer from his previous territory but his voice and lyrics suit the new style well. The album has a downbeat and haunted atmosphere, laced with drama and the intricately clever beats that Danger Mouse’s fans love him for. But there is a great deal of variety, even eccentricity - the cheerily-haunting Hammond warble on Vaporize, the hand-clappy reminder that The Ghost Inside gives of Danger Mouse’s production of the previous Gorillaz album, or the breakdown in Mongrel Heart, which could very well provide the backing for the heartbreaking dénouement of a Mexican gangster flick. I'm a big fan of all this.
It may be because it’s the track I’ve heard most but my favourite is the album’s opener, The High Road. The beeps, bleeps and stretched and twisted honks conjure up images of a robot switched on for the first time, making its first steps out of the packaging as we hear its rudimentary ability to bust a groove quickly maturing into a breezy electro-beatbox. A passing Mercer takes the opportunity to sing over it with a slightly melancholy but generally encouraging ditty.
With a similar vocal delivery on this album at least to a late-era Brain Wilson, Mercer’s laidback mumble gave me some exciting miss-hearings, as ‘To Nietzsche’s arm’ and ‘come on and get the meat to mom’ sadly turned out to be ‘To each his own’ and ‘Come on and get the minimum’.
It is in a number of the lyrics in the early album tracks - in The High Road particularly - where its seems more than just over-eager interpretation from me to find the pair are talking about moving into a new liaison, away from former musical kin, possibly for good:
The high road is hard to find
A detour to your new life
Tell all of your friends goodbye
It’s too late to change your mind.
Tuesday 9 March 2010
Wild Beasts @ Koko - 4 March 2010
If there’s one word that sums up tonight, it’s disorganised. And it’s not just the technical faults and meaningful glances off stage that plague Wild Beasts on what should be their crowning moment: it’s the constant lulls between songs to tune instruments; the missing of impactful intros while members toy with sounds; the uncertainty of which of the group’s two front men is leading proceedings.
The latter doesn't necessarily have to be a bad thing. I don’t have a problem with sharing the limelight. In fact, the best moments of tonight’s show are when Hayden Thorpe and Tom Fleming jostle for position, pitting falsetto against baritone in a battle of mis-matched machismo (the crescendo of His Grinning Skull, with both vocalists wailing their respective grave-raiding directions, would certainly register as many an audience member’s highlight).
What hurts is to have to see either of these brutes step back to allow the other his moment. Here are two huge personalities, singing songs of ardent masculinity, and to see one defeated is to see a gladiator befallen. Tonight, the duelling that comes across so effectively on Two Dancers is lost.
And so it happens that the tracks from the superior studio album are overshadowed by those of its predecessor. Transferred out of the studio and onto the stage, Two Dancers lacks the lustre of Limbo, Panto. Although The Fun Powder Plot makes a superb opener, with an intricate bass line building alongside equally compelling drums, and All The King’s Men is a huge show of bravado, Two Dancers struggles to conjure up the flair of His Grinning Skull and Brave Bulging Buoyant Clairvoyant.
Fleming looks humbled as he introduces the latter track - their first single - reporting that this is the band's biggest show to date. If they didn't know that, I feel it might also have been their best, because unfortunately the occassion and their bid to make it perfect seems to have overwhelmed Wild Beasts.
The latter doesn't necessarily have to be a bad thing. I don’t have a problem with sharing the limelight. In fact, the best moments of tonight’s show are when Hayden Thorpe and Tom Fleming jostle for position, pitting falsetto against baritone in a battle of mis-matched machismo (the crescendo of His Grinning Skull, with both vocalists wailing their respective grave-raiding directions, would certainly register as many an audience member’s highlight).
What hurts is to have to see either of these brutes step back to allow the other his moment. Here are two huge personalities, singing songs of ardent masculinity, and to see one defeated is to see a gladiator befallen. Tonight, the duelling that comes across so effectively on Two Dancers is lost.
And so it happens that the tracks from the superior studio album are overshadowed by those of its predecessor. Transferred out of the studio and onto the stage, Two Dancers lacks the lustre of Limbo, Panto. Although The Fun Powder Plot makes a superb opener, with an intricate bass line building alongside equally compelling drums, and All The King’s Men is a huge show of bravado, Two Dancers struggles to conjure up the flair of His Grinning Skull and Brave Bulging Buoyant Clairvoyant.
Fleming looks humbled as he introduces the latter track - their first single - reporting that this is the band's biggest show to date. If they didn't know that, I feel it might also have been their best, because unfortunately the occassion and their bid to make it perfect seems to have overwhelmed Wild Beasts.
Friday 5 March 2010
The xx @ Shepherd's Bush Empire - 3 March 2010
I must confess, I was unsure coming into tonight. I feared there wasn’t enough depth to The xx to support their live shows. I couldn’t picture how they would translate the simplicity of their album into an engaging performance. The departure of fourth member Baria Qureshi last year also made me edgy: how could this possibly work as a three-piece? But they showed me how – thoroughly.
This was a lesson on focus, on exploiting your assets, even on knowing when to say enough is enough. They’ve showed a maturity beyond their age, using the reduction in band members to refocus on what makes them great.
For The xx, it’s the vocals, and tonight they were perfect. Exposed almost to a point of absurdity, these voices needed to be pinpoint accurate. They were. Romy and Oliver were stark in their aloneness; comfortable in their togetherness. An a cappella show might almost have been warranted.
But then there was the bass. Oh the bass. I can’t remember a moment tonight when my body wasn’t ransacked by the droning, driving depth of the bass, not more so than during Fantasy, which left you almost levitating.
Shit.
It’s addictive.
I haven’t felt that since Radiohead played The Gloaming at Glastonbury in 2003. So utterly engulfed; at the mercy of a vibration.
Right from the start
From the beginning, it was clear The xx has worked on improving the experience of their live performances. They found the right formula for an opening, with a white screen draped across the stage projecting their simple but powerful X graphic as Intro kicked in. That was quickly replaced by flashing silhouettes of the three, working away at their stations until the screen dropped away to reveal them as they segued into Crystallised.
As this track climaxed, it almost sent the crowd into an early disco, but then they did what the album does so well – show restraint. They didn’t let themselves get carried away with themselves. It’s what The xx are about. It’s what makes them so lovable. They’re too clever to lose that in the moment of a live show.
They’ve also learned showmanship, moving together as a three piece to create a tighter unit, and lashing out at just the right moments, such as Oliver’s mallet-ridden finale of Basic Space.
I read something once that said watching The xx live was like watching a corpse on stage. Perhaps they saw the same comment, because surely their performances now can’t be accused of being anything but blinding.
Photography by Chris Parkinson
This was a lesson on focus, on exploiting your assets, even on knowing when to say enough is enough. They’ve showed a maturity beyond their age, using the reduction in band members to refocus on what makes them great.
For The xx, it’s the vocals, and tonight they were perfect. Exposed almost to a point of absurdity, these voices needed to be pinpoint accurate. They were. Romy and Oliver were stark in their aloneness; comfortable in their togetherness. An a cappella show might almost have been warranted.
But then there was the bass. Oh the bass. I can’t remember a moment tonight when my body wasn’t ransacked by the droning, driving depth of the bass, not more so than during Fantasy, which left you almost levitating.
Shit.
It’s addictive.
I haven’t felt that since Radiohead played The Gloaming at Glastonbury in 2003. So utterly engulfed; at the mercy of a vibration.
Right from the start
From the beginning, it was clear The xx has worked on improving the experience of their live performances. They found the right formula for an opening, with a white screen draped across the stage projecting their simple but powerful X graphic as Intro kicked in. That was quickly replaced by flashing silhouettes of the three, working away at their stations until the screen dropped away to reveal them as they segued into Crystallised.
As this track climaxed, it almost sent the crowd into an early disco, but then they did what the album does so well – show restraint. They didn’t let themselves get carried away with themselves. It’s what The xx are about. It’s what makes them so lovable. They’re too clever to lose that in the moment of a live show.
They’ve also learned showmanship, moving together as a three piece to create a tighter unit, and lashing out at just the right moments, such as Oliver’s mallet-ridden finale of Basic Space.
I read something once that said watching The xx live was like watching a corpse on stage. Perhaps they saw the same comment, because surely their performances now can’t be accused of being anything but blinding.
Photography by Chris Parkinson
Tuesday 2 March 2010
Local Natives @ Heaven - 2 March 2010
There’s an unfortunate drone that fills Heaven tonight. I think it’s the sound of people who don’t want to be there, people who’ve acquired a ticket because of their contacts. Local Natives don’t deserve it, and to their credit, they don’t let it get to them. This is probably the biggest UK show they’ve played so far, and they’re not about to let it fall on deaf ears. The chatter can persist, but this Californian five piece will fight it ten times harder.
We’re lucky in the UK to have caught this stream four months early. Local Natives’ debut Gorilla Manor was released here in November last year, but has only just hit their home country’s shelves two weeks ago. It’s little wonder they want to treat us. And treat us they do.
They’re one of those bands that simply come alive on stage. All of a sudden, the four-prong vocal harmonies are smack bang in your face, the ad hoc percussion is jumping from all four walls, and the lead-heavy guitars pound you from right in front. These Californians leave no stone unturned; they destroy their one-album back catalogue, making the most of their multi-instrumentalism through gems such as Airplanes, Wide Eyes and Cubism Dream.
They’ve learned early how to suspend an audience too. As if Sun Hands wasn’t an emphatic enough finish, their return to stage with “our friend Paul” on trumpet gave us an even more resounding Stranger Things.
The mumblers might have been audible tonight, but fortunately they were drowned out by a band on the road to bigger and better things. If you missed out, look for them on 15th June at Shepherds Bush Empire.
We’re lucky in the UK to have caught this stream four months early. Local Natives’ debut Gorilla Manor was released here in November last year, but has only just hit their home country’s shelves two weeks ago. It’s little wonder they want to treat us. And treat us they do.
They’re one of those bands that simply come alive on stage. All of a sudden, the four-prong vocal harmonies are smack bang in your face, the ad hoc percussion is jumping from all four walls, and the lead-heavy guitars pound you from right in front. These Californians leave no stone unturned; they destroy their one-album back catalogue, making the most of their multi-instrumentalism through gems such as Airplanes, Wide Eyes and Cubism Dream.
They’ve learned early how to suspend an audience too. As if Sun Hands wasn’t an emphatic enough finish, their return to stage with “our friend Paul” on trumpet gave us an even more resounding Stranger Things.
The mumblers might have been audible tonight, but fortunately they were drowned out by a band on the road to bigger and better things. If you missed out, look for them on 15th June at Shepherds Bush Empire.
Monday 1 March 2010
An extravagant return
I’m sitting here wondering how many multi-disc albums have really ever warranted their multiplicity. Smashing Pumpkins’ Mellon Collie and the Infinite Sadness immediately stands to attention. That was the perfect execution of a vision: two discs with distinct moods and sounds complementing each other to form a united front under a common theme. There are of course others, but I’m not here to dwell on the past.
Music, the way we listen to it and the way we relate to it, is ever-changing. The thing about listening to it on MP3 players these days is that there’s no natural break in the running of an album. When you hit play, the music keeps going until you hit stop; there’s no need to get up and swap sides or exchange discs. Maybe I’m missing the point; maybe I’m guilty of being part of a generation that doesn’t appreciate how music should be listened to. Nonetheless, I feel it’s harder than ever to pull off a multi-disc album.
Left waiting
We haven’t heard anything significant from Joanna Newsom in four years. She left us inescapably smitten after the gorgeous 2006 release Ys, then all but disappeared, taking from us her gentle and delicate, but equally eccentric, song writing. Those of us anxious to be engulfed again were left floundering. I thought her resurfacing would be nothing short of spectacular, but now she’s back, I don’t quite know where to turn.
Have One On Me is a three-disc epic that simply bombards you with her four years of absence. As a result we have to work our way through 18 tracks before we can fall head over heels again. Unfortunately, it’s simply too much work. The restraint an artist shows in paring down their work to the best tracks they can muster is half the art of making a great album. Sometimes, though, they fall foul of their own egos and refuse to believe that we can do without any of their work. I can’t help but feel this is one of those occasions.
There are elements of delight within these three discs. Tracks such as Kingfisher, Autumn and Go Long retain the simplicity and charm that Joanna Newsom and her harp execute so effortlessly, while In California shows her to still be capable of inspiration and intensity. But to expect us to patiently navigate through so much after four years of waiting? I’m afraid that’s just a little too egotistical.
Fortunately, on stage artists need to show more restraint and hand pick the songs that best suit the mood, venue and audience of a live show. I’m in no doubt that the Royal Festival Hall on 11-12 May will be treated to an evening of exceptional poise and measured prestige. Let’s hope so, because something needs to justify this extravagant album.
Music, the way we listen to it and the way we relate to it, is ever-changing. The thing about listening to it on MP3 players these days is that there’s no natural break in the running of an album. When you hit play, the music keeps going until you hit stop; there’s no need to get up and swap sides or exchange discs. Maybe I’m missing the point; maybe I’m guilty of being part of a generation that doesn’t appreciate how music should be listened to. Nonetheless, I feel it’s harder than ever to pull off a multi-disc album.
Left waiting
We haven’t heard anything significant from Joanna Newsom in four years. She left us inescapably smitten after the gorgeous 2006 release Ys, then all but disappeared, taking from us her gentle and delicate, but equally eccentric, song writing. Those of us anxious to be engulfed again were left floundering. I thought her resurfacing would be nothing short of spectacular, but now she’s back, I don’t quite know where to turn.
Have One On Me is a three-disc epic that simply bombards you with her four years of absence. As a result we have to work our way through 18 tracks before we can fall head over heels again. Unfortunately, it’s simply too much work. The restraint an artist shows in paring down their work to the best tracks they can muster is half the art of making a great album. Sometimes, though, they fall foul of their own egos and refuse to believe that we can do without any of their work. I can’t help but feel this is one of those occasions.
There are elements of delight within these three discs. Tracks such as Kingfisher, Autumn and Go Long retain the simplicity and charm that Joanna Newsom and her harp execute so effortlessly, while In California shows her to still be capable of inspiration and intensity. But to expect us to patiently navigate through so much after four years of waiting? I’m afraid that’s just a little too egotistical.
Fortunately, on stage artists need to show more restraint and hand pick the songs that best suit the mood, venue and audience of a live show. I’m in no doubt that the Royal Festival Hall on 11-12 May will be treated to an evening of exceptional poise and measured prestige. Let’s hope so, because something needs to justify this extravagant album.
Thursday 11 February 2010
Start as you mean to go on
It’s nice to see the new year get off to a good start, to be able to fill your ears with new releases unburdened by the expectation of Christmas sales. If January is anything to go by, this year London will be awash with intelligent, crafty new sounds and old favourites finding new form.
Here’s what I’m listening to and why:
• Japandroids’ new album Post-Nothing revels in intense, lo-fi guitars, distorted to just the right level; rough enough to keep them unpretentious and fresh, slick enough to reveal an undercurrent of classic guitar riffing. The key to this album is that strong melodies and catchy choruses keep it accessible. They’re supporting the album with a show at the ICA on February 23rd. It won’t disappoint.
• Husky Recue come back with their third album, Ship of Light. These tracks challenge and test you with fresh beats and innovative sounds, while comforting and consoling you with the familiar vocals of Reeta-Leena Korhola. How this band has managed to stay predominantly under the radar to date is unfathomable, but equally beneficial for those in the know. Islington Academy hosts them on March 5th. Do it before the rest realise what they’re missing out on.
• Tindersticks fly the flag for the stalwarts with Falling Down a Mountain. It’s a business-as-usual release from the Nottingham legends, lacking the showpieces that graced their previous album, The Hungry Saw, and with a couple of questionable inclusions. Nonetheless, there’s something reassuring about knowing there are bands out there that can just keep on producing. They’re one of those bands that will always have an aura to them live – March 24th at Shepherds Bush Empire will no doubt be the same.
• Fanfarlo’s Reservoir is a resounding debut, rich with horns and explosive percussion. It takes from all that’s currently popular, capitalising on the overwhelming penchant to have three or four vocalists harmonising through a barrage of instrumentation. Despite the activity, they make it work. To see it live would, no doubt, be a pleasure. If you were lucky enough to catch them with Jesca Hoop in Bristol on Tuesday, more power to you. If not, get to the ULU tonight (12th February) for what will surely be a blinder.
On another note, RIP Alexander McQueen. If our musicians can be as out there and boundary pushing as he was, we’re in for a great future.
Here’s what I’m listening to and why:
• Japandroids’ new album Post-Nothing revels in intense, lo-fi guitars, distorted to just the right level; rough enough to keep them unpretentious and fresh, slick enough to reveal an undercurrent of classic guitar riffing. The key to this album is that strong melodies and catchy choruses keep it accessible. They’re supporting the album with a show at the ICA on February 23rd. It won’t disappoint.
• Husky Recue come back with their third album, Ship of Light. These tracks challenge and test you with fresh beats and innovative sounds, while comforting and consoling you with the familiar vocals of Reeta-Leena Korhola. How this band has managed to stay predominantly under the radar to date is unfathomable, but equally beneficial for those in the know. Islington Academy hosts them on March 5th. Do it before the rest realise what they’re missing out on.
• Tindersticks fly the flag for the stalwarts with Falling Down a Mountain. It’s a business-as-usual release from the Nottingham legends, lacking the showpieces that graced their previous album, The Hungry Saw, and with a couple of questionable inclusions. Nonetheless, there’s something reassuring about knowing there are bands out there that can just keep on producing. They’re one of those bands that will always have an aura to them live – March 24th at Shepherds Bush Empire will no doubt be the same.
• Fanfarlo’s Reservoir is a resounding debut, rich with horns and explosive percussion. It takes from all that’s currently popular, capitalising on the overwhelming penchant to have three or four vocalists harmonising through a barrage of instrumentation. Despite the activity, they make it work. To see it live would, no doubt, be a pleasure. If you were lucky enough to catch them with Jesca Hoop in Bristol on Tuesday, more power to you. If not, get to the ULU tonight (12th February) for what will surely be a blinder.
On another note, RIP Alexander McQueen. If our musicians can be as out there and boundary pushing as he was, we’re in for a great future.
Thursday 7 January 2010
Top ten 2009 - The Rest!
I missed the cut-off point! So here are the final four in my top ten of 2009 in a snapshot:
- Beirut, March of the Zapotec
- The Low Anthem, Oh My God, Charlie Darwin
- A Mountain of One, Institute of Joy
- Florence and the Machine, Lungs
So there it is - 2009 in a nutshell. Apologies for the anticlimactic finish. I hope it elicited some reaction. Some albums are in there because they defined the sound of the year, some are in there because they stretched the boundaries of imagination, some are in there because they simply continue to excel at creating great music. All of them are in there because the music is evocative and beautiful in its own way. Let's hope 2010 is just as fruitful.
- Beirut, March of the Zapotec
- The Low Anthem, Oh My God, Charlie Darwin
- A Mountain of One, Institute of Joy
- Florence and the Machine, Lungs
So there it is - 2009 in a nutshell. Apologies for the anticlimactic finish. I hope it elicited some reaction. Some albums are in there because they defined the sound of the year, some are in there because they stretched the boundaries of imagination, some are in there because they simply continue to excel at creating great music. All of them are in there because the music is evocative and beautiful in its own way. Let's hope 2010 is just as fruitful.
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