Rockers vs the planet

I’m not one for mixing business and pleasure, but in my world they’ve crossed paths. A few weeks ago environmentalists launched an assault on U2. They lambasted the band’s latest world tour as extravagant and hypocritical – rather an accurate argument given the cloak of Developing World Ambassador that Bono has donned.

But why’s it taken the green-fingered brigade so long to point at our rock gods? For two decades we’ve been on the back of the world’s multinationals, laying into them at the first sniff of excess – and how they deserved it. But the whole time bands have travelled round the world in private jets and gas-guzzling limos, with entourages to rival Obama, and it's all slipped under the radar. We’ve always forgiven our rock stars because they give us something irreplaceable; something that gives our lives meaning and inspiration. Scolding them would be as unbearable as spanking our children for smiling. Unfortunately, the urgency of climate change has taken over. Our rock stars are no longer forgivable.

U2 say they’ll offset the carbon emissions generated by their tour (ie they’ll give money to others who reduce emissions elsewhere by investing in things like renewable energy). But they don’t tell us how they figure it all out. Are we to simply trust they’ll get it right?

Take, take, take
It’s typical Bono. As the voice of poverty relief, the only philosophy he espoused was giving something back to the countries and the people from whom it had been taken. He never considered that it shouldn’t have been taken from them in the first place. Here he is again, milking the planet and thinking that throwing some money at it will fix everything. It’s not good enough.

Fortunately, there are more astute people to look up to. Radiohead were the first band to acknowledge this issue. Make no mistake, they had to. Thom Yorke threw himself into environmental campaigning and became the voice of Friends of the Earth and if they had have taken off on yet another world tour without contemplating the impact, Bono’s status of music’s biggest villain would have become untenable. So in 2007 Radiohead got some professionals to scrutinise how they tour, and suggest tips on doing it better.

The results may have been simple – hold gigs in central locations so fans can get there on public transport, ship rather than fly equipment around the world, have a stage and lighting rig in each continent, use energy-efficient lighting, among others – but it was the first time anyone had owned up to the responsibility. These changes are now part and parcel of their tours, and everyone is better off because of it.

Unfortunately, a collective movement from the world’s rockers has been about as forthcoming as a Stone Roses reunion. But with the greens now raging at the likes of U2, surely it’s only a matter of time.

Where have I been?

There’s only so much you can do. You can read all the music periodicals. You can download free MP3s suggested at LastFM. You can join album clubs. Sometimes bands just slip through the net. I’ve come late to more great musicians than I’d care to admit, but I’ve always made up for lost time.

I heard my first Tindersticks album in 2006 – 14 years after their debut. The Hungry Saw blew me away. I immediately set out to piece together the back catalogue of a band that was more in tune with my emotions than my own inner monologue. It was a lot, and 14 years of my life seem irretrievably gone.

Nick Cave is another. I always knew he was there, but I never knew why. And then Abattoir Blues was put in front of me and it all came together. I fiercely examined the history books and tracked down my lost heritage, immersing myself in some of music’s most audacious lyrics and seemingly impossible melodies.

A musical saviour
And now there’s Soulsavers. It’s funny how some bands capture their sound and mood in their name so effortlessly, when others get it so hopelessly wrong. Listening to Broken, Soulsavers’ latest offering, I genuinely feel like my spirit has been retrieved from an abyss.

This is a superb album. Mark Lanegan’s gruff vocals create a mood dark and foreboding. An extravagant use of minor chords raises inexplicable emotions. The lyrics leave you contemplative and brooding. Yet somehow you walk away from it feeling uplifted. It might have something to do with the pervasive, gospel-esque backing vocals throughout.

This time I’m not as out of the loop as I have been: they’ve only been going since 2003 and their back catalogue comprises two other albums. Nonetheless, that’s six years of my life that could have been a whole lot more special. The Relentless Garage next week will bring it to life. In the meantime, I’ve got some catching up to do. And I can’t wait.

What friends are for

I played bass in a band when I was 17. I thought we rocked. Our drummer was a natural, his smooth beats having been crafted through 14 years of love for the skins. Our guitarist was classically trained and had moved to the electric only when he was comfortable the former had been mastered. It showed. Our front man was so suited to the role his lyrics dripped a mournfulness matched only by the fragility of his emotions at such a tender age.

Meanwhile, I was desperately trying to instil myself as manager so that when they all realised my single-note bass lines weren’t up to scratch, I’d still have a role to cling onto.

Our pals were encouraging, but you could always tell when compliments had to fight their way past clenched teeth and more often than not they came coupled with a set of wandering eyes. As a result, you’ll rarely hear me give an opinion free of constructive criticism. Even if I don’t necessarily believe it, I find it’s a more honest response than to let your friends continue trotting merrily down their Yellow Brick Road.

Sometimes, though, you can’t help but gush. And what a pleasure when that happens.

The first was our guitarist all those years ago. Recording with Memoria, he virtually created a genre, producing an acoustic metal album so accomplished it’s hard to explain why the band aren’t already lauded alongside the metal greats.

And now we’re blessed with Neon Highwire. Their tunes come at you at breakneck speed and leave you wondering if their self-description of “nihilistic deeply distorted bass driven house” is sufficiently intense. They’re playing Friday night and next Monday at 93 Feet East. Do yourselves a favour.

There’s only one thing better than loving good music, and that’s associating with the visionaries that produce it.

http://www.memoria.com.au/
www.myspace.com/neonhighwire

Why don't venues matter anymore?

I grew up in a city desperately short of good music venues. When a musician of any worth came to town, they would pack as many people as they could into the local entertainment centre, put on a show - two if their name had any stature - and catch the next plane out. Watching videos of Faith No More at the Brixton Academy and Radiohead at the Astoria in my youth helped me escape, as I dreamt of the day I'd finally be able to watch bands I loved in an atmosphere that complemented their music.

When I came here ten years ago, that was the first thing I did. Granted, my introduction to Brixton was during an early Coldplay gig, but forgive me, I was young. Nonetheless, the ornate interior, the sloping floor and the decent acoustics had me hooked. I've spent countless nights indulging myself at the Academy since, not least a few months ago when Faith No More returned to their spiritual UK home.

And there are other great places to see music in London. Until it was taken from us the Astoria was grimy enough to make you think you were are hardened rocker. Shepherds Bush Empire can put on a show, the surrounds of Somerset House make it a treat for a week every summer and the acoustics of the Royal Festival Hall are enough to bring joy to the most tonedeaf eardrums. I'm sure there are others out there that I can't wait to experience.

So why is it that so many decent acts show such disregard for where they bring their fans? To me, the venue is second only to the setlist. Yet the number of times a great show has been beaten lifeless by an appalling venue astounds me.

The past year is not short of examples: Sigur Ros have a majestic sound that they chose to lose to the hollow, cavernous roof of Alexandra Palace; Antony Heggarty's voice requires an intimacy and delicateness rarely found outside concert halls, yet he and his Johnsons sat us in the sterile concrete walls of Hammersmith Apollo; the moody soundscapes of Stuart Staples and Tindersticks would be best embraced by a lavish theatre, but we were forced to feel like second-rate festival-goers as their headline show made use of a vacant slot in a lifeless tent in Hyde Park. I won't even begin to talk about arenas.

We're so lucky to live in a city with the wealth of fantastic live music venues that London has. I for one would appreciate it if the bands we love would pay a little more attention to it.