Two momentous events happened this week, and neither had anything to do with the impending general election (more of that in an imminent post). First, a new Bruce Springsteen album was released. For me at least, this was inevitably a major event, made all the more exciting by the advance whispers that Devils and Dust would see a return to the stark acoustic narratives of Nebraska and The Ghost of Tom Joad. Sony had kept the album tightly under wraps, pompously refusing to send out advance promos to the media and instead inviting everyone to one of those highly irritating listening parties that seem to be the current means of preventing pre-release internet leaks. Surprisingly enough, I was not important enough to attend. Despite the contractual restrictions apparently placed on the media, some mixed reports did seep out over the weekend, including a snobby, patronising and uncharacteristically off the mark review from Andy Gill in the Independent, baffled indifference from Alexis Petridis in the Guardian and an enthusiastic thumbs up from the consistently hopeless Observer Music Monthly. So far, the signs were not especially promising. Still, an exceptional article in the Observer review from Sean O' Hagan managed to put the album in its wider context, and was bold enough to finally suggest that Tom Joad may be the quintessential Springsteen album (it is).
The first thing to note about D&D is that the notion that it is the conclusion of a trilogy begun with Nebraska is only half the story. It does indeed contain some of Springsteen's most evocative storytelling, including the songs composed during the Tom Joad acoustic tour in 1996. Yet, it also contains a small cluster of roots rockers, a couple of which venture into something approaching new territory. If anything, it is closer in sound to 'Tunnel Of Love', the solo project in which Springsteen steadfastly refused to provide a chest-beating follow up to 'Born In The USA', although it's by no means as nakedly personal as that album - it largely retains the character-based storytelling approach of the acoustic albums. This is no bad thing, as Sprinsteen remains the best storyteller in popular music.
Secondly, much like The Rising before it, it's a bit of a mixed bag. It contains some great songs, but it also contains a couple of major turkeys. It doesn't share its predecessor's bloated length (it's surprisingly concise), but it does suffer from similar errors of judgement over tracklisting. The rockier tracks are mostly clustered in the first half, rendering the second half a bit of a chore, despite the quality of the songs. Comparisons with the best Springsteen albums may render it a minor work, but such a judgement may prove to be harsh - because it is still an incisive, mature and frequently moving piece of work.
Sadly, the only thing most writers seem to have noticed is the track 'Reno', which, gasp! shock! horror!, makes explicit reference to oral and anal sex! With a prostitute! It's in character of course, and is actually a great deal more subtle than your average chart pop hit (and significantly less offensive). That it's actually a powerful and affecting song contrasting the isolation and desperation of purchased sex with a deeper love existing only in distant memory seems to have escaped the critics' attention. Still, at least they were bothering to read the lyric sheet whilst they supped champagne at the listening party.
Some other tracks follow familiar Tom Joad territory - 'Matamoras Banks' is another song about immigrants at borders, and basically repeats the formula of 'The Line'. It's empathetic and sensitive, but not as devastating as the earlier song. 'Black Cowboys' is a classic Springsteen family narrative, which sees the slow ebb of 'the ties that bind', with its young protagonist fleeing on a train. It's wistful, delicate and composed with considered clarity. 'The Hitter' tells a boxer's story with Springsteen's characteristic blend of the elegance of poetry and the descriptive detail of prose. He sounds appropriately ragged and worn on this exquisite mini-epic. 'Jesus Was An Only Son' is a faith song where Springsteen has previously been more allusive (dismissed as 'questionable Christian piffle' by Andy Gill in The Independent, although I found it personal and introspective rather than preachy and confrontational). 'Silver Palomino' is wonderful, a song about a horse that acts as a metaphor for two young boys trying to come to terms with their mother's death.
Then there are the peculiar departures - 'Maria's Bed' is rootsy and uplifting, bolstered considerably by Soozy Tyrell's violin and Patti Scialfa's gospel-inspired chanting. This is one of a few tracks where Springsteen affects a different vocal approach, moving into an unusually high register and sounding something akin to Ryan Adams doing an impression of Neil Young. It's striking and irresistible. Equally superb is 'Long Time Comin', which takes the dogged rock blueprint of 'Lonesome Day' and 'Counting On A Miracle' and adds a welcome country lilt through some marvellous slide guitar work. It is also blessed with one of Springsteen's best lyrics in ages - as direct as it is sublime, the final verse particularly beautiful ('Out 'neath the arms of Cassiopeia/Where the sword of Orion swoops/It's me and you Rosie, cracklin' like crossed wires/And you breathin' in your sleep'). Less successful is 'All The Way Home', a generic rocker marred further by the plodding thud of a drum machine, a device that seems to be more frequent in Springsteen songs with Brendan O'Brien on production duties. It is the most thoroughly unremarkable Springsteen song since the days of 'Human Touch' and 'Lucky Town' - it could have sat comfortably on those albums, and in fact, a cursory glance at the sleevenotes does indeed date the song back to 1991. Why Springsteen decided to revisit such a lightweight piece of work now is anybody's guess.
Then there is a batch of songs caught somewhat uncomfortably between the two camps. 'All That I'm Thinkin' About' is yet another car song (but it's not as entertaining as 'Pink Cadillac'). It feels like it should have a Chuck Berry-esque chug to it but it's actually quite restrained, and the falsetto vocal sound more uncomfortable here than on 'Maria's Bed'. The title track opens the album in a worthy and dignified fashion - a lyric inspired by soldiers in Iraq being something we might expect from Bruce Springsteen in 2005. I was impressed by this track on first listen, as it builds from a subtle, introspective opening into a much bigger sound. On further listening, its impact is dulled, however. The chord sequence and melody are slightly predictable, the lyrics more benign platitudes than anything really incisive, and Brendan O'Brien's production is also at its most intrusive here. 'Leah' is a straightforward acoustic love song, but with a bigger arrangement and imposing chorus. It makes for a welcome, more poppy diversion from some of the weightier material here.
At its best, 'Devils and Dust' is substantial and involving - at its worst, it is somewhat inconsequential. This makes for a slightly uncomfortable mix, but there are certainly many more highs than lows, and Springsteen's desire to find new ways of presenting familiar ideas is admirable. His place in the pantheon of classic songwriters already assured, Springsteen is perhaps becoming more adventurous in his maturity.
The second major event was a secret Sleater-Kinney gig (billed as Slutty Kitty) at the tiny Barfly venue in Camden Town. This proved to be an absolute treat. I can't really offer too informed a review - much of the set was new material (new album 'The Woods', recorded with Dave Fridmann, is released at the end of the month) that I was hearing for the first time. I'm also only familiar with part of the Sleater-Kinney back catalogue, being something of a Johnny-come-lately to this most remarkable of bands. Like most music obsessives, and all weblog writers, my passion can occasionally drift into self-righteousness, so it's important to check myself every so often by admitting my past mistakes. I used to hate Sleater-Kinney - Corin Tucker's harsh vibrato used to make me wince, and I struggled to find much in the way of nuance or melody in the few songs I'd heard. Frankly, I was very, very wrong. Tonight, as they were at the Mean Fiddler last time I saw them, Sleater-Kinney were kinetic, thrilling and adventurous. The sound they achieve with two guitars and drums is colossal, much of it based around the visceral brilliance of Janet Weiss' drumming. The interplay of vocal lines and guitars is increasingly dextrous, without being overly ponderous or pretentious.
What struck me most at the Barfly is the way in which Sleater-Kinney effortlessly combine the angularity and confrontation of the post-punk movement with more historical influences. 'One Beat' betrayed an increasing engagement with blues, improv and heavy rock, and 'The Woods' promises to further these preoccupations, with what sounded here like more dynamic and sustained results. The Beefheart-esque improv explosion towards the end may have been a bit too much, but it didn't sound too unhinged - the band always sounded locked together and in control. They reward the small but energised crowd (who warmly received the new material) with a brilliant three song encore.
They are also brilliant performers - Corin contorting her face as she bellows frequently unintelligible lyrics, Carrie bounding around the stage with relentless energy, Janet's hair flailing all over the place as she pounds out her intricate backbeats. They perform with such gusto that they seem like a fresh, new proposition - it's astounding that they have been performing for over ten years now. They have lost none of their primacy or urgency. It's a powerful combination - and this is a band that should not be missed - catch them when they return to Europe in the summer for festivals, and hopefully a few more UK gigs.
Oh, and Nick Cave and The Bad Seeds are playing Alexandra Palace in August, a mere stone's throw from my home, and a great use for some of that recently acquired Birthday money! There are some advantages to getting older!
Thursday, April 28, 2005
Tuesday, April 19, 2005
Murphy's Law
Pure Reason Revolution, Fans Of Kate- The Barfly, Chalk Farm 18/4/05
Bloody typical. The one time I actually arrive early for a pre-arranged meeting, there is all manner of chaos at Chalk Farm, involving what purported to be a defective train, but what may well actually have been a passenger on the track (especially likely given the strong police and emergency service presence outside the station). I got a justified taste of my own medicine in having to wait half an hour for John Kell to arrive (through no fault of his own). Ho Hum - given the irony, I guess it was appropriate that we ended up drinking Murphy's rather than Guinness inside the venue.
This proved to be a rather more nostalgic evening than I had expected. John Kell had played me a Pure Reason Revolution track whilst I was sitting in on the alumni edition of John Kell Vs. Satan, and from him I knew they had a track on the latest compilation in the Abuse Your Friends series (my old band Hyperfuzz were featured on number one). I also subsequently found out that my friend Seb (lead guitarist in aforementioned teen punk combo) had been asked to join the band on guitar. Had he actually told me that the band featured two former members of fellow teen pop-punkers Gel (who we supported on a number of occasions) and one member of girl punk group the Period Pains, the event would have seemed less like a series of odd coincidences, and more like an intricately connected, somewhat incestuous web. At last it all made sense! What's more bizarre is that I completely failed to recognise either Jon or Andrew from Gel, as they both looked radically different (bulkier and more hairy to put it politely). With two members of Gel, one member of Period Pains, all of Hyperfuzz, and apparently also the once omnipresent Emmy-Kate Montrose of Kenickie, it felt like a big old Friday Dynamite reunion. Anyway, more of PRR later....
First, the support acts. The opening act were called something like Make Your Good Escape, and they played highly proficient rock music that would not have been out of place in the pages of Kerrang! magazine. Not really my cup of tea, but they had a lot of energy, and they seemed more distinctive than the average heavy rock band largely due to some vigorous and technically impressive drumming.
Next up were the much touted Fans Of Kate, who have already received a couple of plays on the new Steve Lamacq afternoon show on BBC 6Music. It would be churlish not to admit that I quite enjoyed their set, bristling as it was with self-effacing charm, zest and a clutch of memorable tunes. Nevertheless, the somewhat conventional and chugging arrangements began to irritate by about half way through the set, and by the end I felt rather like I'd been pushed repeatedly against a brick wall. This was not in itself an entirely un-entertaining experience, but they were perhaps in danger of pummeling some very good pop songs into submitting to a somewhat predictable and generic format. Certainly, the set was perilously close to being samey.
Pure Reason Revolution took the longest setting up, and not without reason. With their banks of synths and keyboards, laptops, electronic drums and guitars they were certainly making use of that new advance from Sony (who are apparently hoping they will break America). How the two brothers from Gel went from 'Picture Frame' and 'Rosie and Jim' to this I'm not entirely sure. They played a near-continuous set of hypnotic, proggy grooves which were punctuated by harmonies straight out of the Crosby, Stills and Nash songbook, and fervent passages of cock-rock action. This made for an unconventional and striking combination. Some people I spoke to remained unconvinved by this staunchly unfashionable sound. I admit that the first reference point that sprang to my mind was Mansun (a band now at least partially unfairly ridiculed) but I wonder if PRR might have more commercial potential than they realise. OK, so 12 minute single 'Bright Ambassadors Of Morning' is hardly likely to be the most played track on your local GWR station - but they seem to have already amassed considerable interest, as well as something approaching a cult following. They are certainly techincally proficient and fearlessly indulgent, but the gift for a good pop melody that Jon displayed with the perpetually effervescent Gel clearly has not deserted him. They also had a remarkably polished sound, that made me temporarily forget I was in the claustrophobic confines of the Barfly (I could easily have been in an enormodome, watching this band open for the likes of Rammstein or Metallica!). The voices meshed together with consummate ease, and the band proved considerably more interesting when utilising the unusual juxtaposition of harmonies and heavy rock than when relying on meandering instrumental passages. I was slightly frustrated by the relentlessness of it all, particularly the insistence on playing a virtually continuous set with scant acknowledgement of the presence of an audience. This could only have added to the slightly unfair preconceptions of this band as pretentious, elitist, arty or other such stereotypes.
At the end, I left Seb vascilating over whether to accept the offer to join the band (it might well entail enduring a gruelling touring schedule as the band focus their efforts on the States). I must admit that I long for the opportunity for one of my musical outfits to be heard by a wider audience. But hey, like the Murphy's, I'm not bitter....
Bloody typical. The one time I actually arrive early for a pre-arranged meeting, there is all manner of chaos at Chalk Farm, involving what purported to be a defective train, but what may well actually have been a passenger on the track (especially likely given the strong police and emergency service presence outside the station). I got a justified taste of my own medicine in having to wait half an hour for John Kell to arrive (through no fault of his own). Ho Hum - given the irony, I guess it was appropriate that we ended up drinking Murphy's rather than Guinness inside the venue.
This proved to be a rather more nostalgic evening than I had expected. John Kell had played me a Pure Reason Revolution track whilst I was sitting in on the alumni edition of John Kell Vs. Satan, and from him I knew they had a track on the latest compilation in the Abuse Your Friends series (my old band Hyperfuzz were featured on number one). I also subsequently found out that my friend Seb (lead guitarist in aforementioned teen punk combo) had been asked to join the band on guitar. Had he actually told me that the band featured two former members of fellow teen pop-punkers Gel (who we supported on a number of occasions) and one member of girl punk group the Period Pains, the event would have seemed less like a series of odd coincidences, and more like an intricately connected, somewhat incestuous web. At last it all made sense! What's more bizarre is that I completely failed to recognise either Jon or Andrew from Gel, as they both looked radically different (bulkier and more hairy to put it politely). With two members of Gel, one member of Period Pains, all of Hyperfuzz, and apparently also the once omnipresent Emmy-Kate Montrose of Kenickie, it felt like a big old Friday Dynamite reunion. Anyway, more of PRR later....
First, the support acts. The opening act were called something like Make Your Good Escape, and they played highly proficient rock music that would not have been out of place in the pages of Kerrang! magazine. Not really my cup of tea, but they had a lot of energy, and they seemed more distinctive than the average heavy rock band largely due to some vigorous and technically impressive drumming.
Next up were the much touted Fans Of Kate, who have already received a couple of plays on the new Steve Lamacq afternoon show on BBC 6Music. It would be churlish not to admit that I quite enjoyed their set, bristling as it was with self-effacing charm, zest and a clutch of memorable tunes. Nevertheless, the somewhat conventional and chugging arrangements began to irritate by about half way through the set, and by the end I felt rather like I'd been pushed repeatedly against a brick wall. This was not in itself an entirely un-entertaining experience, but they were perhaps in danger of pummeling some very good pop songs into submitting to a somewhat predictable and generic format. Certainly, the set was perilously close to being samey.
Pure Reason Revolution took the longest setting up, and not without reason. With their banks of synths and keyboards, laptops, electronic drums and guitars they were certainly making use of that new advance from Sony (who are apparently hoping they will break America). How the two brothers from Gel went from 'Picture Frame' and 'Rosie and Jim' to this I'm not entirely sure. They played a near-continuous set of hypnotic, proggy grooves which were punctuated by harmonies straight out of the Crosby, Stills and Nash songbook, and fervent passages of cock-rock action. This made for an unconventional and striking combination. Some people I spoke to remained unconvinved by this staunchly unfashionable sound. I admit that the first reference point that sprang to my mind was Mansun (a band now at least partially unfairly ridiculed) but I wonder if PRR might have more commercial potential than they realise. OK, so 12 minute single 'Bright Ambassadors Of Morning' is hardly likely to be the most played track on your local GWR station - but they seem to have already amassed considerable interest, as well as something approaching a cult following. They are certainly techincally proficient and fearlessly indulgent, but the gift for a good pop melody that Jon displayed with the perpetually effervescent Gel clearly has not deserted him. They also had a remarkably polished sound, that made me temporarily forget I was in the claustrophobic confines of the Barfly (I could easily have been in an enormodome, watching this band open for the likes of Rammstein or Metallica!). The voices meshed together with consummate ease, and the band proved considerably more interesting when utilising the unusual juxtaposition of harmonies and heavy rock than when relying on meandering instrumental passages. I was slightly frustrated by the relentlessness of it all, particularly the insistence on playing a virtually continuous set with scant acknowledgement of the presence of an audience. This could only have added to the slightly unfair preconceptions of this band as pretentious, elitist, arty or other such stereotypes.
At the end, I left Seb vascilating over whether to accept the offer to join the band (it might well entail enduring a gruelling touring schedule as the band focus their efforts on the States). I must admit that I long for the opportunity for one of my musical outfits to be heard by a wider audience. But hey, like the Murphy's, I'm not bitter....
Monday, April 18, 2005
Wind Power!
Another account rather than a proper review, and another thrilling evening I'm pleased to report. My new band Correspondent played their second ever gig (albeit a gig that felt like the first in a really dedicated music venue) at The Windmill, Brixton last night. The Windmill remains one of my favourite London pub venues - it's a place where the promoters and DJs seem to actually have knowledge of music, good taste, and common sense. It's one of the rare places where they manage to put together a diverse line-up of acts that doesn't feel uncomfortable or inappropriate.
Starting off tonight were Ironpaw, two young guys from Kansas who sadly promised a little more than they delivered. With ukelelees, and guitar-case percussion, they looked endearingly ramshackle. They had some pleasant, country-tinged chord sequences (although I did indeed realise, in the middle of Correpondent's performance as I predicted I would, that the song they blatantly plagiarised was the not entirely credible 'Julia' by Chris Rea, so not an indie or country track at all!). These sat somewhat uncomfortably with shouty, chanty vocals that seemed designed more for the football terrace than an intimate pub venue. Still, impressive that they travelled all this way to play a clutch of shows in London - and there may be enough quirkiness in their sound for them to build on.
I was up next with Correspondent, and this seemed an altogether more confident and professional performance than our debut. It also felt enjoyable and entertaining - whereas I felt the first airing of the same set of songs a few weeks ago might have come across as a little po-faced. Various people remarked that the difference between this band and Unit can be summed up in that lyrically, Jeremy Warmsley likes to write about girls, whereas Brendan from Unit likes to write about doing nothing (a little unfair, perhaps - he does occasionally engage with the outside world!) and musically, Unit are a bit all-over-the-shop, whereas Correspondent are more straight ahead indie. I certainly accept the latter point (especially as I don't think it was intended as a criticism). I had been concerned that Correspondent might have been a lot less original a prospect than we had hoped, but I now feel comfortable that we are performing good quality songs with energy and conviction, which is more than enough. Much like Unit, however, we need to improve our engagement with the audience - some proper song titles might be a good starting point! We should be doing some recording soon, so watch this space...
Up next were another American act, this time all the way from Salt Lake City came Will Sartain. I'm not sure if this was a solo singer-songwriter and band, or if that was the name of the band (remember the 1980s confusion over the band called Danny Wilson?) but I can be sure that they were really rather good. The first few songs had jaunty rhythms and quirky vocals that reminded me a little of Ben Folds Five, and they performed with remarkable gusto. Each song seemed to be a mini-epic, with intricate twisting structures and several compelling melodies. Towards the end, it all started to get a little samey - but with their slight hints of psychedelia, classic pop and American indie, these guys had melded together a disparate set of influences with real success.
The headline act were some really nice guys from Switzerland, with the most refreshingly un-arsey drummer I've ever met (he let me use his rather substantial collection of cymbals, including a colossal China which I very much enjoyed crashing during Correspondent's set). Sadly, it was all running a bit late and I needed to get home by this stage - they seemed a bit dark and proggy, with intriguing instrumentation, including electronics, but I can't really pass a useful judgement from the soundcheck and the first song.
Starting off tonight were Ironpaw, two young guys from Kansas who sadly promised a little more than they delivered. With ukelelees, and guitar-case percussion, they looked endearingly ramshackle. They had some pleasant, country-tinged chord sequences (although I did indeed realise, in the middle of Correpondent's performance as I predicted I would, that the song they blatantly plagiarised was the not entirely credible 'Julia' by Chris Rea, so not an indie or country track at all!). These sat somewhat uncomfortably with shouty, chanty vocals that seemed designed more for the football terrace than an intimate pub venue. Still, impressive that they travelled all this way to play a clutch of shows in London - and there may be enough quirkiness in their sound for them to build on.
I was up next with Correspondent, and this seemed an altogether more confident and professional performance than our debut. It also felt enjoyable and entertaining - whereas I felt the first airing of the same set of songs a few weeks ago might have come across as a little po-faced. Various people remarked that the difference between this band and Unit can be summed up in that lyrically, Jeremy Warmsley likes to write about girls, whereas Brendan from Unit likes to write about doing nothing (a little unfair, perhaps - he does occasionally engage with the outside world!) and musically, Unit are a bit all-over-the-shop, whereas Correspondent are more straight ahead indie. I certainly accept the latter point (especially as I don't think it was intended as a criticism). I had been concerned that Correspondent might have been a lot less original a prospect than we had hoped, but I now feel comfortable that we are performing good quality songs with energy and conviction, which is more than enough. Much like Unit, however, we need to improve our engagement with the audience - some proper song titles might be a good starting point! We should be doing some recording soon, so watch this space...
Up next were another American act, this time all the way from Salt Lake City came Will Sartain. I'm not sure if this was a solo singer-songwriter and band, or if that was the name of the band (remember the 1980s confusion over the band called Danny Wilson?) but I can be sure that they were really rather good. The first few songs had jaunty rhythms and quirky vocals that reminded me a little of Ben Folds Five, and they performed with remarkable gusto. Each song seemed to be a mini-epic, with intricate twisting structures and several compelling melodies. Towards the end, it all started to get a little samey - but with their slight hints of psychedelia, classic pop and American indie, these guys had melded together a disparate set of influences with real success.
The headline act were some really nice guys from Switzerland, with the most refreshingly un-arsey drummer I've ever met (he let me use his rather substantial collection of cymbals, including a colossal China which I very much enjoyed crashing during Correspondent's set). Sadly, it was all running a bit late and I needed to get home by this stage - they seemed a bit dark and proggy, with intriguing instrumentation, including electronics, but I can't really pass a useful judgement from the soundcheck and the first song.
Thursday, April 14, 2005
VALIDATED!
Colonel Bastard, MJ Hibbett and The Validators, Unit - The Man On The Moon, Cambridge
Obviously I can't really review my own gig - so this is going to be more of an account of what proved to be a quite brilliant night in Cambridge. Thanks must go to Cambridge local heroes Colonel Bastard for arranging this gig - it really was a great pleasure and privilege to play with some bands I actually like rather than a couple of random pub rock seventies throwbacks as usually happens. Self-promotion is the way forward - I intend to begin by honouring my promise of an exchange with Colonel Bastard - I hope we can repeat this line-up in London at some point soon.
Things got off to a terrible start, largely because of my EXTREME LATENESS. Some people (specifically John Kell) will tell you this was not exactly out of character - although having driven for three hours (across London North to South to pick up a bass amp - back again to avoid the apparently clogged M25 and then out to Cambridge) it was not entirely my fault this time. My reckless haste up an almost entirely empty M11 at least meant that the equipment arrived only just over an hour late, and frankly it could have been much worse. Sadly, that still left no time for adequate soundchecks - and I felt it was more than a little unfair that it was us, the latecomers, who managed to get a sneaky level check in before the doors opened.
Whilst we still have a few friends left in Cambridge, I wasn't sure how many people would be there. It transpired that a surprisingly good crowd turned out, which made me feel that my effort had been worth it. We began our groovy mash-up with a pretty storming version of 'Television' - Brendan getting crazy on the guitar, and Dan starting the silly cat dancing far too early in the set! Our new set list continued to work wonders, as there was far less arsing around (although Brendan's guitar tuning nightmares did return to haunt us tonight - we've finally bought an amp, a new guitar is now on the wishlist). We had intended to change it slightly from the previous gig at the Betsey Trotwood, but were ruthlessly curtailed as time seemed to slip from our fingers. Fair enough - it was my fault it was all running a bit late! So, our anti-Bush rant to backing track 'Monkey King' was an unfortunate casualty ('miditastic' as the soundman so accurately described it), as was the Turtle's sublime piece of wry borderline misogyny 'O Woman'. There always seems to be a gaping hole when these songs are absent - but the void was at least partially filled by new song 'The Explorer', given an even more energetic performance tonight than at its debut a couple of weeks ago, and it may well become a standard set closer. I love the lyrics - and the way it veers between half and full time without batting an eyelid. It's one of my current favourites. All good, although the onstage sound was frustratingly muffled and it's always annoying not to be able to hear the vocals. I wondered if place names were repeated during the improvised chorus to 'Shooting People'. This week we will be working on live versions of 'All EYes On You', 'Listen It Out', 'Highway 75' and 'Secretary Of State' - all to be given their live debut in the not too distant future. Check http://www.unit-hq.com for new live dates as they are confirmed.
The full set was:
TELEVISION
SLEEP WHEN YOU'RE DEAD
SHOOTING PEOPLE
EDGE OF TOWN
LOVER'S MESH
2C OTHERS AS THEY C ME
THE EXPLORER
After a quick trip to a cashpoint on the realisation I had no money for drinks - on came MJ Hibbett and The Validators. I've seen them a couple of times now, as well as MJ Hibbett solo, but this was comfortably the best of the bunch. Mark was understandably concerned about playing so many new songs - but I didn't find this a problem at all, simply because the songs are among his most articulate, immediate and entertaining. I particularly enjoyed 'The Gay Train' and 'Tell Me Something You Do Like' and it's refreshing to hear a songwriter so adept at identifying the state of the nation, but also of singing about it all with such infectious positivity. Best of all was a song about the brutal reality of the Thatcher years that may or may not be called 'The Fight For History' - provocative, incisive and also good fun. The band were also on top form, with Frankie Machine's great steal from 'This Charming Man' an extra level of irony to 'The Lesson Of The Smiths'.
All these songs seem to deploy the same four chords - but this doesn't matter a jot, because Hibbett and band can reap so many rewards from what might appear to be a limited framework. The inclusion of a violin with multi-effects also adds to the quirky appeal of their sound. Their performance brought a great beaming smile to my face - and that's a big compliment, if it doesn't sound too cheesy. The Validators are recording a new album imminently - I'm really looking forward to its appearance later this year. MJ Hibbett's own account of the evening can be read at http://www.mjhibbett.com
Headlining were the superb Colonel Bastard, who played many songs I remembered from my student days, but in considerably more polished and impressive versions. I don't think it would be overstating the case to say that this is some of the best indie guitar pop I've heard in recent months - so much more distinctive and enjoyable than most of the po-faced tripe in the pages of the NME. It's music with zest, intelligence and charm to boot. Martin White also has a great sense of humour - "I'm MJ White" he says, "so for one night only we are MJ White and The Vindicators!"
There are classics in abundance - the hilarious 'Peter Sissons' and 'Boring Gordon' are songs which revive the great British tradition of character and narrative in songwriting (and in this respect, Colonel Bastard hark back not just to the power pop of XTC, but also to Ray Davies and The Kinks). They end with a gloriously ragged version of their 'punk rock opera' 'Whitley Grange' which has lodged itself in my consciousness and now refuses to go away. They also looked great in their suits and hats, and had energy and enthusiasm in bucketloads. Tonight has made me realised that, whilst we have some great material, Unit need to go away and work quite hard on this aspect of our performance.
Afterwards, it was all back to Ben from Colonel Bastard's place for an aftershow with BEER - although it involved negotiating a maze of Cambridge backstreets that I never even knew existed. Thanks again to everyone involved.
Obviously I can't really review my own gig - so this is going to be more of an account of what proved to be a quite brilliant night in Cambridge. Thanks must go to Cambridge local heroes Colonel Bastard for arranging this gig - it really was a great pleasure and privilege to play with some bands I actually like rather than a couple of random pub rock seventies throwbacks as usually happens. Self-promotion is the way forward - I intend to begin by honouring my promise of an exchange with Colonel Bastard - I hope we can repeat this line-up in London at some point soon.
Things got off to a terrible start, largely because of my EXTREME LATENESS. Some people (specifically John Kell) will tell you this was not exactly out of character - although having driven for three hours (across London North to South to pick up a bass amp - back again to avoid the apparently clogged M25 and then out to Cambridge) it was not entirely my fault this time. My reckless haste up an almost entirely empty M11 at least meant that the equipment arrived only just over an hour late, and frankly it could have been much worse. Sadly, that still left no time for adequate soundchecks - and I felt it was more than a little unfair that it was us, the latecomers, who managed to get a sneaky level check in before the doors opened.
Whilst we still have a few friends left in Cambridge, I wasn't sure how many people would be there. It transpired that a surprisingly good crowd turned out, which made me feel that my effort had been worth it. We began our groovy mash-up with a pretty storming version of 'Television' - Brendan getting crazy on the guitar, and Dan starting the silly cat dancing far too early in the set! Our new set list continued to work wonders, as there was far less arsing around (although Brendan's guitar tuning nightmares did return to haunt us tonight - we've finally bought an amp, a new guitar is now on the wishlist). We had intended to change it slightly from the previous gig at the Betsey Trotwood, but were ruthlessly curtailed as time seemed to slip from our fingers. Fair enough - it was my fault it was all running a bit late! So, our anti-Bush rant to backing track 'Monkey King' was an unfortunate casualty ('miditastic' as the soundman so accurately described it), as was the Turtle's sublime piece of wry borderline misogyny 'O Woman'. There always seems to be a gaping hole when these songs are absent - but the void was at least partially filled by new song 'The Explorer', given an even more energetic performance tonight than at its debut a couple of weeks ago, and it may well become a standard set closer. I love the lyrics - and the way it veers between half and full time without batting an eyelid. It's one of my current favourites. All good, although the onstage sound was frustratingly muffled and it's always annoying not to be able to hear the vocals. I wondered if place names were repeated during the improvised chorus to 'Shooting People'. This week we will be working on live versions of 'All EYes On You', 'Listen It Out', 'Highway 75' and 'Secretary Of State' - all to be given their live debut in the not too distant future. Check http://www.unit-hq.com for new live dates as they are confirmed.
The full set was:
TELEVISION
SLEEP WHEN YOU'RE DEAD
SHOOTING PEOPLE
EDGE OF TOWN
LOVER'S MESH
2C OTHERS AS THEY C ME
THE EXPLORER
After a quick trip to a cashpoint on the realisation I had no money for drinks - on came MJ Hibbett and The Validators. I've seen them a couple of times now, as well as MJ Hibbett solo, but this was comfortably the best of the bunch. Mark was understandably concerned about playing so many new songs - but I didn't find this a problem at all, simply because the songs are among his most articulate, immediate and entertaining. I particularly enjoyed 'The Gay Train' and 'Tell Me Something You Do Like' and it's refreshing to hear a songwriter so adept at identifying the state of the nation, but also of singing about it all with such infectious positivity. Best of all was a song about the brutal reality of the Thatcher years that may or may not be called 'The Fight For History' - provocative, incisive and also good fun. The band were also on top form, with Frankie Machine's great steal from 'This Charming Man' an extra level of irony to 'The Lesson Of The Smiths'.
All these songs seem to deploy the same four chords - but this doesn't matter a jot, because Hibbett and band can reap so many rewards from what might appear to be a limited framework. The inclusion of a violin with multi-effects also adds to the quirky appeal of their sound. Their performance brought a great beaming smile to my face - and that's a big compliment, if it doesn't sound too cheesy. The Validators are recording a new album imminently - I'm really looking forward to its appearance later this year. MJ Hibbett's own account of the evening can be read at http://www.mjhibbett.com
Headlining were the superb Colonel Bastard, who played many songs I remembered from my student days, but in considerably more polished and impressive versions. I don't think it would be overstating the case to say that this is some of the best indie guitar pop I've heard in recent months - so much more distinctive and enjoyable than most of the po-faced tripe in the pages of the NME. It's music with zest, intelligence and charm to boot. Martin White also has a great sense of humour - "I'm MJ White" he says, "so for one night only we are MJ White and The Vindicators!"
There are classics in abundance - the hilarious 'Peter Sissons' and 'Boring Gordon' are songs which revive the great British tradition of character and narrative in songwriting (and in this respect, Colonel Bastard hark back not just to the power pop of XTC, but also to Ray Davies and The Kinks). They end with a gloriously ragged version of their 'punk rock opera' 'Whitley Grange' which has lodged itself in my consciousness and now refuses to go away. They also looked great in their suits and hats, and had energy and enthusiasm in bucketloads. Tonight has made me realised that, whilst we have some great material, Unit need to go away and work quite hard on this aspect of our performance.
Afterwards, it was all back to Ben from Colonel Bastard's place for an aftershow with BEER - although it involved negotiating a maze of Cambridge backstreets that I never even knew existed. Thanks again to everyone involved.
Wednesday, April 13, 2005
Happy Birthday!
I can't believe I've managed to let In League With Paton's first birthday slip by (can it really be a year since I started this?).
So anyway, March 25th 2005 was the date - but I have no problem with a belated celebration!
In other news - for those in the Cambridge area there is a gig alert - TONIGHT - Colonel Bastard, MJ Hibbett and The Validators and Unit (my band!) at The Man On The Moon. It promises to be an excellent night!
So anyway, March 25th 2005 was the date - but I have no problem with a belated celebration!
In other news - for those in the Cambridge area there is a gig alert - TONIGHT - Colonel Bastard, MJ Hibbett and The Validators and Unit (my band!) at The Man On The Moon. It promises to be an excellent night!
Tuesday, April 12, 2005
Return Of The Mode
This has made me quite excited.....
http://www.nme.com/news/112011.htm
Following the remix album, it seems Depeche Mode are fashionable once more! Ben Hiller has produced some of the most intriguing British albums of recent years (Doves - Some Cities, Elbow - Cast Of Thousands, Blur - Think Tank) so I have very high expectations of this project.
http://www.nme.com/news/112011.htm
Following the remix album, it seems Depeche Mode are fashionable once more! Ben Hiller has produced some of the most intriguing British albums of recent years (Doves - Some Cities, Elbow - Cast Of Thousands, Blur - Think Tank) so I have very high expectations of this project.
Fun, Fun, Fun
Redjetson, Libreez, Twentysix Feet, Jeremy Warmsley – The Marquee 11/4/05
Truth be told, this was a bit of a frustrating evening, although clearly a labour of love for its promoter, who twice admonished us for sitting at the candlelit tables when we should have been standing in the middle watching the bands. Well, fine – and I’m all in favour of showing respect for the artists on stage (the woman in front of me who had an exceedingly loud conversation all the way through Jeremy Warmsley’s set did annoy me somewhat). However, first of all, the artists on stage need to show a corresponding degree of respect for their audience and two, don’t provide the tables if you don’t want people to use them. Promoters also need to use some modicum of common sense when putting events like this together. I’m by no means closed minded in my tastes, and I support diversity (anyone who has ever heard In League With Paton on CUR1350 or read this blog would realise this), but this line-up just felt somewhat uncomfortable in its self-conscious bucking of conventions.
Jeremy Warmsley opened the night convincingly, with brash energy. It’s hard for me to write critically about a friend – especially one whose music I certainly have admiration for, but there can be little doubt that Jeremy is a songwriter brimming with potential. On disc, he demonstrates a tremendous skill with atmospherics and production trickery. Live, and entirely solo, his songs are necessarily more skeletal – although he manages to get some interesting results from his heavy reliance on guitar loops and effects. Shorn of the layered vocals and electronic punctuations, ‘After The Fact’ and ‘Centre Of Things’ sound closer to the post-punk and new wave inspirations currently very much in vogue. Jeremy manages to avoid academic references by means of his inventive, spiky guitar playing and distinctive, powerful, slightly nasal vocals. He’s also reliable with a good melody – although his best songs twist and turn in unpredictable directions rather than relying on verse/chorus structures. He’s tremendously self-confident, and his talent is manifest. It’s refreshing simply to see a solo singer-songwriter not content to sit on a stool and blandly strum at an acoustic guitar. John Kell described him as ‘a more interesting Sondre Lerche’ – which, for those familiar with the work of either songwriter, pretty much hits the nail on the head. Both have a penchant for angular, quirky pop songs, although Lerche’s appeal rests more on a certain naivety and innocence, whilst Warmsley’s rests largely on his sheer precociousness.
The set was not without its problems, however. The murky sound didn’t help much, with a reverb-laden vocal so boomy that it became very difficult to discern Jeremy’s half-hearted between-song banter or even what he was singing about. Why do sound engineers do this? Granted, reverb can be a useful tool in crafting a mysterious sound (My Morning Jacket might well be the best recent example), but Jeremy’s voice has an unusual, striking character of its own – and this was unfortunately submerged in echo this evening. Given what I could comprehend, I’m not entirely convinced that Jeremy has found his voice as a lyricist yet. His words can seem a little self-absorbed or detached and he doesn’t yet have the poetic qualities of the classic songwriters. Still, this may come, as he experiments more with narrative in songs like ‘5 Verses’ (one of the highlights this evening) or comes closer to universalising his own experiences. He has largely abandoned his older songs that, although less original, had considerable warmth and charm. His more recent material however does demonstrate an admirable desire to escape the spell of his immediate influences, and tonight justifiably earned him a warm reception.
Whilst Jeremy undoubtedly takes his work very seriously (and some might even find him lacking in humour), it did seem more than a little unfair to lump him with such a po-faced line-up tonight. Twentysix Feet at least had voluminous commitment and energy (the singer’s highly physical performance seemed to leave him suffering from an unpleasant back injury). They also had a robust, impressively loud sound, incorporating electronics without sounding too mechanistic or clunky. It was, however, possibly all a bit too relentless. They were at their best when they allowed subtler textures and hints of melody to pierce through the metallic sheen. Still, possibly ones to watch, as this kind of prog-metal seems to be very much the rage right now (see also Oceansize and Pure Reason Revolution).
When Libreez began setting up, John Kell remarked that they ‘looked a bit indie in a Strokes- rather -than- Belle -and -Sebastian -kind -of -way’. Much to our mutual horror, he could not have been more wrong. This was art-wank of the most uncomfortable and embarrassing kind. As a jazz trained musician who has grown up instilled with the modern jazz tradition, I am open to the avant garde, and I dismiss improvised music with reluctance. This, however, really was utterly hopeless. One thrumming, dissonant chord was repeated over and over again, behind which the drummer bashed out intricate, impulsive interventions with considerable fervour. There was also a saxophone player, who attempted neither the squawking ferocity of an Evan Parker, nor the cool sophistication of a John Surman. He just warbled aimlessly over the top. It was 15-20 minutes of continuous meandering noise. If it was a jazz-club style satirical joke, it was complete genius – but I get the feeling these people are aiming for the heart of the improv pitch – and are therefore taking it all very seriously indeed. It didn’t have the intensity for free jazz, nor the aggression for rock or the melody for pop. All the great jazz pioneers – from Duke Ellington and Miles Davis to John Coltrane, Ornette Coleman and Cecil Taylor, all learnt the rulebook before they attempted to break it. These foolishly confrontational imbeciles demonstrated little or no knowledge of the tradition from which they were self-righteously stealing. The only positive comment I can make about this performance was that the silence at the end of their deluge of mindless noise was about the most sublime sound I heard all evening.
Redjetson finished the night with some slow-paced, doggedly tempestuous post-rock. We stayed for a few tunes that were not exactly unengaging – but felt like too small a reward after such a massive endurance test. They at least incorporated affecting melody into their tried and tested sturm und drang, sounding tough and, at least initially, powerfully arresting. Yet, without Jeremy’s appealing subversion of pop songwriting conventions, this line-up would have been insufferably po-faced and excessively serious. Whilst talent was evident, the evening was desperately in need of a sense of fun.
Truth be told, this was a bit of a frustrating evening, although clearly a labour of love for its promoter, who twice admonished us for sitting at the candlelit tables when we should have been standing in the middle watching the bands. Well, fine – and I’m all in favour of showing respect for the artists on stage (the woman in front of me who had an exceedingly loud conversation all the way through Jeremy Warmsley’s set did annoy me somewhat). However, first of all, the artists on stage need to show a corresponding degree of respect for their audience and two, don’t provide the tables if you don’t want people to use them. Promoters also need to use some modicum of common sense when putting events like this together. I’m by no means closed minded in my tastes, and I support diversity (anyone who has ever heard In League With Paton on CUR1350 or read this blog would realise this), but this line-up just felt somewhat uncomfortable in its self-conscious bucking of conventions.
Jeremy Warmsley opened the night convincingly, with brash energy. It’s hard for me to write critically about a friend – especially one whose music I certainly have admiration for, but there can be little doubt that Jeremy is a songwriter brimming with potential. On disc, he demonstrates a tremendous skill with atmospherics and production trickery. Live, and entirely solo, his songs are necessarily more skeletal – although he manages to get some interesting results from his heavy reliance on guitar loops and effects. Shorn of the layered vocals and electronic punctuations, ‘After The Fact’ and ‘Centre Of Things’ sound closer to the post-punk and new wave inspirations currently very much in vogue. Jeremy manages to avoid academic references by means of his inventive, spiky guitar playing and distinctive, powerful, slightly nasal vocals. He’s also reliable with a good melody – although his best songs twist and turn in unpredictable directions rather than relying on verse/chorus structures. He’s tremendously self-confident, and his talent is manifest. It’s refreshing simply to see a solo singer-songwriter not content to sit on a stool and blandly strum at an acoustic guitar. John Kell described him as ‘a more interesting Sondre Lerche’ – which, for those familiar with the work of either songwriter, pretty much hits the nail on the head. Both have a penchant for angular, quirky pop songs, although Lerche’s appeal rests more on a certain naivety and innocence, whilst Warmsley’s rests largely on his sheer precociousness.
The set was not without its problems, however. The murky sound didn’t help much, with a reverb-laden vocal so boomy that it became very difficult to discern Jeremy’s half-hearted between-song banter or even what he was singing about. Why do sound engineers do this? Granted, reverb can be a useful tool in crafting a mysterious sound (My Morning Jacket might well be the best recent example), but Jeremy’s voice has an unusual, striking character of its own – and this was unfortunately submerged in echo this evening. Given what I could comprehend, I’m not entirely convinced that Jeremy has found his voice as a lyricist yet. His words can seem a little self-absorbed or detached and he doesn’t yet have the poetic qualities of the classic songwriters. Still, this may come, as he experiments more with narrative in songs like ‘5 Verses’ (one of the highlights this evening) or comes closer to universalising his own experiences. He has largely abandoned his older songs that, although less original, had considerable warmth and charm. His more recent material however does demonstrate an admirable desire to escape the spell of his immediate influences, and tonight justifiably earned him a warm reception.
Whilst Jeremy undoubtedly takes his work very seriously (and some might even find him lacking in humour), it did seem more than a little unfair to lump him with such a po-faced line-up tonight. Twentysix Feet at least had voluminous commitment and energy (the singer’s highly physical performance seemed to leave him suffering from an unpleasant back injury). They also had a robust, impressively loud sound, incorporating electronics without sounding too mechanistic or clunky. It was, however, possibly all a bit too relentless. They were at their best when they allowed subtler textures and hints of melody to pierce through the metallic sheen. Still, possibly ones to watch, as this kind of prog-metal seems to be very much the rage right now (see also Oceansize and Pure Reason Revolution).
When Libreez began setting up, John Kell remarked that they ‘looked a bit indie in a Strokes- rather -than- Belle -and -Sebastian -kind -of -way’. Much to our mutual horror, he could not have been more wrong. This was art-wank of the most uncomfortable and embarrassing kind. As a jazz trained musician who has grown up instilled with the modern jazz tradition, I am open to the avant garde, and I dismiss improvised music with reluctance. This, however, really was utterly hopeless. One thrumming, dissonant chord was repeated over and over again, behind which the drummer bashed out intricate, impulsive interventions with considerable fervour. There was also a saxophone player, who attempted neither the squawking ferocity of an Evan Parker, nor the cool sophistication of a John Surman. He just warbled aimlessly over the top. It was 15-20 minutes of continuous meandering noise. If it was a jazz-club style satirical joke, it was complete genius – but I get the feeling these people are aiming for the heart of the improv pitch – and are therefore taking it all very seriously indeed. It didn’t have the intensity for free jazz, nor the aggression for rock or the melody for pop. All the great jazz pioneers – from Duke Ellington and Miles Davis to John Coltrane, Ornette Coleman and Cecil Taylor, all learnt the rulebook before they attempted to break it. These foolishly confrontational imbeciles demonstrated little or no knowledge of the tradition from which they were self-righteously stealing. The only positive comment I can make about this performance was that the silence at the end of their deluge of mindless noise was about the most sublime sound I heard all evening.
Redjetson finished the night with some slow-paced, doggedly tempestuous post-rock. We stayed for a few tunes that were not exactly unengaging – but felt like too small a reward after such a massive endurance test. They at least incorporated affecting melody into their tried and tested sturm und drang, sounding tough and, at least initially, powerfully arresting. Yet, without Jeremy’s appealing subversion of pop songwriting conventions, this line-up would have been insufferably po-faced and excessively serious. Whilst talent was evident, the evening was desperately in need of a sense of fun.
Saturday, April 09, 2005
Music From The Margins
Prefuse 73 – Surrounded By Silence (Warp)
A more appropriate title might well have been ‘Surrounded By Special Guests’, so prominent are collaborations on this album. This work has been heavily criticised in some quarters for being fractured and fragmented, which seems odd to me given that these were the same people who heaped plaudits on its predecessor (‘One Word Extinguisher’), which was an equally bitty record. Herren’s working method is to ensure that his tracks are mercilessly concise, hence ‘Surrounded By Silence’ manages to squeeze a testing 21 tracks into its 70+ minutes. Whilst this approach tends to be a major obstacle to enjoying most conventional hip hop albums for me, it works perfectly with Prefuse 73. This is mainly because Herren is intelligent and talented enough a producer to know that short does not necessarily have to mean insubstantial.
What an array of guests Herren has amassed for this one – El-P, The Books, Broadcast, Aesop Rock, Kazu from Blonde Redhead, Beans – it’s a critical list of the most significant figures in contemporary experimental music. Reading the album credits feels a little uncomfortable – you could be forgiven for pre-judging Herren and assuming that he has depended on the talents of others to carry an otherwise lacklustre work. Luckily, this is not the case. The crucial point to remember is that Herren is not a lyricist – so collaborations are to some extent a necessity if Herren is going to progress beyond a narrow audience and convert more traditional rap fans.
This isn’t to say that there are no problems with ‘Surrounded By Silence’, just that the scattergun approach has always seemed to me to be one of Herren’s endearing idiosyncrasies. The slight malaise that drags down much of this record is its slight trepidation. It doesn’t ever go straight for the jugular like previous Prefuse releases, and it sounds slightly tentative and afraid to be audacious. The stuttering, fearlessly intricate beats of previous albums have been replaced by flatter, slightly plodding, more generic hip-hop conventions. The jazzy infusions of ‘One Word Extinguisher’ have been replaced by more familiar murky atmospherics.
There are some notable stand-out moments. Kazu’s breathy, slightly distant vocal adds some appealing mystery to ‘We Got Our Own Way’, whilst El-P and Ghostface sound ragged and fiery on ‘Hide Ya Face’. Beans retains his quixotic, quirky wordplay on the excellent ‘Morale Crusher’. Elsewhere, some of the collaborations feel strangely fruitless. The Books are one of the most inventive and distinctive electronica acts of the moment, but Herren can do little to improve on their already comfortable blueprint on ‘Pagina Dos’. ‘Just The Thought’, featuring Masta Killa and Gza of the Wu-Tang Clan ought to be a bewildering and brilliant clash of styles – but it disappoints simply by fault of not sounding fresh enough.
‘Surrounded By Silence’ also suffers as an album because of the lack of a unifying theme. The best hip hop albums of recent years have been powerful thematically as well as musically (take Cannibal Ox’s ‘The Cold Vein’, a dazzling, almost overwhelmingly brutal record that is evokes contemporary New York with grim and uncompromising realism). As a compilation, ‘Surrounded By Silence’ would be an impressive display, capturing both the successes and failures of an intelligent producer. As an album, it’s something of a frustrating challenge. It does reap rewards, but some of Herren’s sharper edges have been blunted in the process.
Sage Francis – A Healthy Distrust (Epitaph)
Sage Francis is a white rapper who has endured the inevitable comparisons with Eminem. Why are music journalists so lazy? Eminem is a hugely marketable proposition, with a cartoon style and populist production. Francis is uncompromising, with an acid tongue, and a brings a wry, refreshingly liberal perspective to his probing social commentaries. Their chosen genre of performance and the colour of their skin may well be their only common ground. It’s unlikely that Francis will enjoy Eminem’s massive success, but ‘A Healthy Distrust’ is a brilliant record nonetheless, elaborate, articulate, and hitting all the right targets with admirable rigour.
I picked this up largely because of ‘Sea Lion’, a collaboration with Will Oldham that works remarkably well. I’m always endeared to rappers and hip hop producers who seek out new ways of incorporating melody without relying on lazy cut and paste samples from classic soul records (compare this with the complete tedium of Kanye West and his helium segments). ‘Sea Lion’ is a deceptively simple record, with its skeletal guitar and woozy melody, and its effect is something close to intoxicating. It’s one of the finest tracks I’ve heard so far this year.
Fortuitously, there’s plenty more of interest elsewhere on this record. Francis is an engaging and often fearless rapper, dismissing radio stations that ignore him because they are afraid of veering from ‘clear channel playlists’ and best of all undermining rap’s casual homophobia by depicting the gun as a phallic symbol on the remarkable ‘Gunz Yo’. He even gets metaphysical on ‘Sun Vs. Moon’, stating that ‘the Devil only exists because of your belief in him’ and envisioning a ‘cock fight’ between the sun and moon. ‘Slow Down Gandhi’ seems to encompass as many topics as possible – berating political bandwagonists whilst providing something approaching a cogent analysis of America’s current political cul-de-sac. When placed next to the wealth-obsessed, bling nightmare of the current mainstream hip hop scene, we have an articulate poet, characterised by extreme scepticism (as the title implies) who is capable of reflection as well as braggadocio, and who is unafraid of confronting darker forces in the world around him.
Francis has also employed some inventive and creative producers to help him out. Alias, one of the numerous members of the Anticon collective, provides something close to folky ambience, particularly evocative for ‘Escape Artist’ and the aforementioned ‘Sea Lion’. There are also memorable contributions from Reanimator and Daddy Key. Best of all is Dangermouse, who gives a menacing undercurrent to ‘Gunz Yo’, placing the cut and paste schtik of ‘The Grey Album’ in a more intriguing context. All the contributions cohere more easily than the latest Prefuse 73 effort, at least in part due to Francis’ engagement with wider themes, and ‘A Healthy Distrust’ seems to work effortlessly.
Alasdair Roberts – No Earthly Man (Drag City)
I had high expectations of this record, not least because Alasdair Roberts has delivered two of my favourite records of recent years with ‘The Crook Of My Arm’ and ‘Farewell Sorrow’, and also because production duties on this third solo album are handled by Will Oldham. It is, of course, a natural move for Roberts. He has collaborated with Oldham before (on the Amalgamated Sons Of Rest project, also with Jason Molina) and benefited from Oldham’s patronage when fronting the now justly revered Appendix Out.
Oldham’s production makes for a considerably more challenging record. These songs delve right back into the folk tradition –with dirge-like melodies, and relentless, droning accompaniments. Oldham creates a mysterious space through which Roberts can thread his delicate, wispy vocals. Deeply respectful of the tradition from which he has drawn these songs, Roberts commits to singing all the verses, and the songs are typical of their idiom in their length and tendency towards repetition. This makes for a difficult listen – but the obstacles to enjoyment are counterbalanced by the ease with which Roberts inhabits this distant world of murder and sin. There are some who would question whether Roberts can really justify recording a collection of Scottish folk ballads – but listening to ‘No Earthly Man’, it becomes immediately clear how deep his understanding of the genre is. This is the music he has grown up with, refashioned for the contemporary folk world.
There are times when the effect is mesmerising and hypnotic. Opening track ‘Lord Ronald’ is typical. It is unusually floaty, but is cemented by Roberts’ endearingly vulnerable voice, the striking poetry of the lyrics and the respect for the traditional melody. Oldham provides some appropriately spectral backing vocals that weave in and out of the mix. It’s unusual to hear traditional music that sounds this original and fascinating, whilst also capturing the timeless quality of folk music. It’s easy to imagine these ballads as campfire songs – but they have been refracted through the restless imaginations of Roberts and Oldham. Even when they adopt something close to a conventional approach, such as on the acoustic lament ‘Sweet William’, it still sounds distant and almost alien. The paradoxes at the heart of this deeply impressive record make for a confounding but engaging experience.
Antony and The Johnsons – I Am A Bird Now (Secretly Canadian/ Rough Trade)
I bought this very hyped record after being so sick of reading about Antony that I simply had to hear the music speak for itself. Given the knowledge that this was an album of highly theatrical cabaret torch songs, I was expecting to admire it more than appreciate it. I’ve been somewhat guilty of prejudging it – this is an exquisite album, and one that is virtuous in restraint as well as elaborate expression. At just over 35 minutes, it is brilliantly brief. A longer album might well have given us too much of Antony’s tremulous vibrato. As it stands, we are left wanting more. Not only this, but there is much subtlety to be found beneath the theatrics.
This doesn’t have much in common with the Prefuse 73 album – but it does share that record’s preponderance for special guests. ‘I Am A Bird Now’ gives gainful employment to all the musical cognoscenti who have offered Antony their patronage – from critics’ darling Rufus Wainwright to fallen icon Boy George, via Lou Reed and overrated new folk minstrel Devendra Banhart. Some of them pale into insignificance next to Antony’s exquisite phrasing. Boy George guests on the sublime ‘You Are My Sister’ but it rather sounds like he’s trying too hard to emulate Antony’s distinctive style, Banhart is left floundering. Lou Reed offers a typically droll semi-spoken intro to the outstanding ‘Fistfull Of Love’ (sic) and therefore fares much better simply by being himself. Wainwright and Antony have already collaborated on the outrageously camp ‘Old Whore’s Diet’ (from Rufus’ excellent Want Two album), and they repeat the trick here.
Yet Antony manages to emerge sounding not only the freshest but also the most impressive talent here, particularly at the beginning and end of the album. The first three tracks are extraordinary. On ‘Hope There’s Someone’, he genuinely evokes memories of Nina Simone with his hovering, vulnerable tones, and he lends a sensuous, soulful quality to ‘My Lady Story’. Best of all is the delightfully simple ‘For Today I Am A Boy’, where the vocals are multi-tracked in delirious harmony. Significantly, whilst these tracks play heavily on Antony’s gender bending persona, they do not sound contrived or unconvincing, but instead entirely natural. This all reaches its apotheosis in the outstanding closer ‘Bird Guhrl’, which seems to sum up Antony’s thematic preoccupations very neatly, whilst also being remarkably free in its expression.
This is not just an album of cabaret torch songs, however. It’s clear that Antony’s inspiration runs deeper than that – there are hints of Southern Soul in the brass punctuations of ‘Fistfull Of Love’, and ‘My Lady Story’ might betray an interest in 80s electronics. The overall sound is both coherent and distinctive – and the salacious, sultry mood also comes tinged with mournful sadness and regret. ‘I Am A Bird Now’ is moving, evocative and timelessly beautiful.
A more appropriate title might well have been ‘Surrounded By Special Guests’, so prominent are collaborations on this album. This work has been heavily criticised in some quarters for being fractured and fragmented, which seems odd to me given that these were the same people who heaped plaudits on its predecessor (‘One Word Extinguisher’), which was an equally bitty record. Herren’s working method is to ensure that his tracks are mercilessly concise, hence ‘Surrounded By Silence’ manages to squeeze a testing 21 tracks into its 70+ minutes. Whilst this approach tends to be a major obstacle to enjoying most conventional hip hop albums for me, it works perfectly with Prefuse 73. This is mainly because Herren is intelligent and talented enough a producer to know that short does not necessarily have to mean insubstantial.
What an array of guests Herren has amassed for this one – El-P, The Books, Broadcast, Aesop Rock, Kazu from Blonde Redhead, Beans – it’s a critical list of the most significant figures in contemporary experimental music. Reading the album credits feels a little uncomfortable – you could be forgiven for pre-judging Herren and assuming that he has depended on the talents of others to carry an otherwise lacklustre work. Luckily, this is not the case. The crucial point to remember is that Herren is not a lyricist – so collaborations are to some extent a necessity if Herren is going to progress beyond a narrow audience and convert more traditional rap fans.
This isn’t to say that there are no problems with ‘Surrounded By Silence’, just that the scattergun approach has always seemed to me to be one of Herren’s endearing idiosyncrasies. The slight malaise that drags down much of this record is its slight trepidation. It doesn’t ever go straight for the jugular like previous Prefuse releases, and it sounds slightly tentative and afraid to be audacious. The stuttering, fearlessly intricate beats of previous albums have been replaced by flatter, slightly plodding, more generic hip-hop conventions. The jazzy infusions of ‘One Word Extinguisher’ have been replaced by more familiar murky atmospherics.
There are some notable stand-out moments. Kazu’s breathy, slightly distant vocal adds some appealing mystery to ‘We Got Our Own Way’, whilst El-P and Ghostface sound ragged and fiery on ‘Hide Ya Face’. Beans retains his quixotic, quirky wordplay on the excellent ‘Morale Crusher’. Elsewhere, some of the collaborations feel strangely fruitless. The Books are one of the most inventive and distinctive electronica acts of the moment, but Herren can do little to improve on their already comfortable blueprint on ‘Pagina Dos’. ‘Just The Thought’, featuring Masta Killa and Gza of the Wu-Tang Clan ought to be a bewildering and brilliant clash of styles – but it disappoints simply by fault of not sounding fresh enough.
‘Surrounded By Silence’ also suffers as an album because of the lack of a unifying theme. The best hip hop albums of recent years have been powerful thematically as well as musically (take Cannibal Ox’s ‘The Cold Vein’, a dazzling, almost overwhelmingly brutal record that is evokes contemporary New York with grim and uncompromising realism). As a compilation, ‘Surrounded By Silence’ would be an impressive display, capturing both the successes and failures of an intelligent producer. As an album, it’s something of a frustrating challenge. It does reap rewards, but some of Herren’s sharper edges have been blunted in the process.
Sage Francis – A Healthy Distrust (Epitaph)
Sage Francis is a white rapper who has endured the inevitable comparisons with Eminem. Why are music journalists so lazy? Eminem is a hugely marketable proposition, with a cartoon style and populist production. Francis is uncompromising, with an acid tongue, and a brings a wry, refreshingly liberal perspective to his probing social commentaries. Their chosen genre of performance and the colour of their skin may well be their only common ground. It’s unlikely that Francis will enjoy Eminem’s massive success, but ‘A Healthy Distrust’ is a brilliant record nonetheless, elaborate, articulate, and hitting all the right targets with admirable rigour.
I picked this up largely because of ‘Sea Lion’, a collaboration with Will Oldham that works remarkably well. I’m always endeared to rappers and hip hop producers who seek out new ways of incorporating melody without relying on lazy cut and paste samples from classic soul records (compare this with the complete tedium of Kanye West and his helium segments). ‘Sea Lion’ is a deceptively simple record, with its skeletal guitar and woozy melody, and its effect is something close to intoxicating. It’s one of the finest tracks I’ve heard so far this year.
Fortuitously, there’s plenty more of interest elsewhere on this record. Francis is an engaging and often fearless rapper, dismissing radio stations that ignore him because they are afraid of veering from ‘clear channel playlists’ and best of all undermining rap’s casual homophobia by depicting the gun as a phallic symbol on the remarkable ‘Gunz Yo’. He even gets metaphysical on ‘Sun Vs. Moon’, stating that ‘the Devil only exists because of your belief in him’ and envisioning a ‘cock fight’ between the sun and moon. ‘Slow Down Gandhi’ seems to encompass as many topics as possible – berating political bandwagonists whilst providing something approaching a cogent analysis of America’s current political cul-de-sac. When placed next to the wealth-obsessed, bling nightmare of the current mainstream hip hop scene, we have an articulate poet, characterised by extreme scepticism (as the title implies) who is capable of reflection as well as braggadocio, and who is unafraid of confronting darker forces in the world around him.
Francis has also employed some inventive and creative producers to help him out. Alias, one of the numerous members of the Anticon collective, provides something close to folky ambience, particularly evocative for ‘Escape Artist’ and the aforementioned ‘Sea Lion’. There are also memorable contributions from Reanimator and Daddy Key. Best of all is Dangermouse, who gives a menacing undercurrent to ‘Gunz Yo’, placing the cut and paste schtik of ‘The Grey Album’ in a more intriguing context. All the contributions cohere more easily than the latest Prefuse 73 effort, at least in part due to Francis’ engagement with wider themes, and ‘A Healthy Distrust’ seems to work effortlessly.
Alasdair Roberts – No Earthly Man (Drag City)
I had high expectations of this record, not least because Alasdair Roberts has delivered two of my favourite records of recent years with ‘The Crook Of My Arm’ and ‘Farewell Sorrow’, and also because production duties on this third solo album are handled by Will Oldham. It is, of course, a natural move for Roberts. He has collaborated with Oldham before (on the Amalgamated Sons Of Rest project, also with Jason Molina) and benefited from Oldham’s patronage when fronting the now justly revered Appendix Out.
Oldham’s production makes for a considerably more challenging record. These songs delve right back into the folk tradition –with dirge-like melodies, and relentless, droning accompaniments. Oldham creates a mysterious space through which Roberts can thread his delicate, wispy vocals. Deeply respectful of the tradition from which he has drawn these songs, Roberts commits to singing all the verses, and the songs are typical of their idiom in their length and tendency towards repetition. This makes for a difficult listen – but the obstacles to enjoyment are counterbalanced by the ease with which Roberts inhabits this distant world of murder and sin. There are some who would question whether Roberts can really justify recording a collection of Scottish folk ballads – but listening to ‘No Earthly Man’, it becomes immediately clear how deep his understanding of the genre is. This is the music he has grown up with, refashioned for the contemporary folk world.
There are times when the effect is mesmerising and hypnotic. Opening track ‘Lord Ronald’ is typical. It is unusually floaty, but is cemented by Roberts’ endearingly vulnerable voice, the striking poetry of the lyrics and the respect for the traditional melody. Oldham provides some appropriately spectral backing vocals that weave in and out of the mix. It’s unusual to hear traditional music that sounds this original and fascinating, whilst also capturing the timeless quality of folk music. It’s easy to imagine these ballads as campfire songs – but they have been refracted through the restless imaginations of Roberts and Oldham. Even when they adopt something close to a conventional approach, such as on the acoustic lament ‘Sweet William’, it still sounds distant and almost alien. The paradoxes at the heart of this deeply impressive record make for a confounding but engaging experience.
Antony and The Johnsons – I Am A Bird Now (Secretly Canadian/ Rough Trade)
I bought this very hyped record after being so sick of reading about Antony that I simply had to hear the music speak for itself. Given the knowledge that this was an album of highly theatrical cabaret torch songs, I was expecting to admire it more than appreciate it. I’ve been somewhat guilty of prejudging it – this is an exquisite album, and one that is virtuous in restraint as well as elaborate expression. At just over 35 minutes, it is brilliantly brief. A longer album might well have given us too much of Antony’s tremulous vibrato. As it stands, we are left wanting more. Not only this, but there is much subtlety to be found beneath the theatrics.
This doesn’t have much in common with the Prefuse 73 album – but it does share that record’s preponderance for special guests. ‘I Am A Bird Now’ gives gainful employment to all the musical cognoscenti who have offered Antony their patronage – from critics’ darling Rufus Wainwright to fallen icon Boy George, via Lou Reed and overrated new folk minstrel Devendra Banhart. Some of them pale into insignificance next to Antony’s exquisite phrasing. Boy George guests on the sublime ‘You Are My Sister’ but it rather sounds like he’s trying too hard to emulate Antony’s distinctive style, Banhart is left floundering. Lou Reed offers a typically droll semi-spoken intro to the outstanding ‘Fistfull Of Love’ (sic) and therefore fares much better simply by being himself. Wainwright and Antony have already collaborated on the outrageously camp ‘Old Whore’s Diet’ (from Rufus’ excellent Want Two album), and they repeat the trick here.
Yet Antony manages to emerge sounding not only the freshest but also the most impressive talent here, particularly at the beginning and end of the album. The first three tracks are extraordinary. On ‘Hope There’s Someone’, he genuinely evokes memories of Nina Simone with his hovering, vulnerable tones, and he lends a sensuous, soulful quality to ‘My Lady Story’. Best of all is the delightfully simple ‘For Today I Am A Boy’, where the vocals are multi-tracked in delirious harmony. Significantly, whilst these tracks play heavily on Antony’s gender bending persona, they do not sound contrived or unconvincing, but instead entirely natural. This all reaches its apotheosis in the outstanding closer ‘Bird Guhrl’, which seems to sum up Antony’s thematic preoccupations very neatly, whilst also being remarkably free in its expression.
This is not just an album of cabaret torch songs, however. It’s clear that Antony’s inspiration runs deeper than that – there are hints of Southern Soul in the brass punctuations of ‘Fistfull Of Love’, and ‘My Lady Story’ might betray an interest in 80s electronics. The overall sound is both coherent and distinctive – and the salacious, sultry mood also comes tinged with mournful sadness and regret. ‘I Am A Bird Now’ is moving, evocative and timelessly beautiful.
Monday, April 04, 2005
One Step Forward and Three Steps Back
…As Paula Abdul and MC Skat Kat sang back in early 1990. This is part one of what will most likely become a two-week long megapost as I try to work my way through all the CDs that I’ve picked up over the last couple of months or so. I have decided to begin with the upfront pre-releases, so I can at least appear as if I’m one step ahead of the game.
Teenage Fanclub – Man-Made (Pema)
It exists and it’s finally here! Words cannot express the beam of joy that exploded across my face as I came across a promo of this record. This is what I’ve been waiting five long years for!
Alan McGee used to say that he never knew quite what to make of each new Teenage Fanclub album when they first played the finished product to him, as it always took him at least twenty listens to appreciate them. Given the immediate chiming pop appeal of albums like ‘Grand Prix’ and ‘Songs From Northern Britain’, I always found this notion a little baffling. With ‘Man-Made’, however, I begin to see his point. I have to concede that on first listen I was slightly underwhelmed by this – the songs are lovely of course, but the melodies are sometimes slightly more obtuse than usual, the production seems deliberately muffled, and the trademark harmonies, whilst still very much in the frame, are less of a feature than on previous albums.
But wait! It’s a real grower! ‘Man-Made’ may be less immediate, but it benefits greatly from a more subtle approach to arrangement and production. There are some wonderfully heart-stopping moments on this album, many of them entirely unexpected. I love the way the middle-section in the thumping ‘Time Stops’ suddenly gives way to some delicately bucolic acoustic guitar plucking, the way the main arrangement of ‘Flowing’ fades out, just leaving some warmly fuzzy lead guitars to conclude the song, and the way ‘Slow Fade, the paciest and most aggressive recording they’ve made since the days of ‘Thirteen’, ends a good minute before you expect it to. This is probably Teenage Fanclub’s most musically intelligent album to date, and the muted production sound (courtesy of John McEntire of Tortoise) frequently sounds strangely appropriate, such as on the dry, touching and carefully arranged ‘Only With You’.
As for the songwriting, this is The Fannies’ most democratic album so far, with each member of the band composing four songs. Luckily, the days when the words ‘Raymond’s going to sing this one’ inspired a slightly uncomfortable feeling are long gone. Since the remarkable blossoming of his songwriting talents on ‘Songs From Northern Britain’, Raymond McGinley has never looked back, and ‘Man-Made’ marks an admirable continuation of this trend. The aforementioned ‘Only With You’, with its vulnerable arpeggios, tinkly piano and muted rhythm guitar is one of the best tracks here, and the closing ‘Don’t Hide’ features a similarly inventive arrangement. ‘Feel’ (Feel what? The sunshine of course, what else?!?) is a typical Teenage Fanclub summery pop song, whilst ‘Nowhere’ has a pleasant Byrdsian shimmer.
Gerry Love has some gems too – ‘Born Under A Good Sign’ may not be the most substantial song here, essentially being built on a repeated chord sequence and ending with a huge psychedelic duelling guitar solo, but it certainly has energy and enthusiasm in droves. Much better though is ‘Fallen Leaves’, which, with its chorus claiming ‘the future’s here’ is one of the most uplifting songs in this set. ‘Save’ is one of the songs that takes a while to get to grips with, but it features some lovely rhythm guitar playing and benefits from the juxtaposition of a lingeringly infectious chorus with a slightly more underplayed melody in its verses.
Norman Blake is such a dependable songwriter that it hardly needs to be stated that he writes the album’s warmest, most familiar and comfortable songs. I’d be very surprised if album opener ‘It’s All In My Mind’, with its chugging rhythm and naggingly insistent melodic line was not used as the album’s lead single. He also offers the simple sugar rush of ‘Slow Fade’, the delicate melancholy of ‘Flowing’ (although perhaps the lyrics here rest a little too much on familiar sentiment) and the rustic folk of ‘Cells’, another of the album’s most engaging moments. He hasn’t written anything here quite in the same league as ‘Neil Jung’, ‘I Don’t Want Control Of You’ or ‘Did I Say’ though, and perhaps the one thing ‘Man-Made’ lacks is an absolute killer song.
However, that’s not really what it’s about – it’s an album where all three songwriters seem entirely comfortable and at ease, and where the arrangements have become as important as the melodies. It’s a remarkably coherent and consistent work, and if given time, may be seen as one of their most successful records. It remains to be seen whether there’s anyone left in the music press who still cares (I can’t imagine the current staff at the NME getting too excited about this) – we can only hope that this album brings The Fannies the dues they so richly deserve. Britain’s finest songwriters since Lennon-McCartney are still going strong.
Four Tet – Everything Ecstatic
Is that title just meant to imply extreme happiness – or is there a trippy drugs influence behind this album? Either way, it sees Kieren Hebden veer away from the music somewhat uncomfortably dubbed ‘folktronica’ (understandably, Hebden has felt uncomfortable with this tag) and back into the realms of percussion-heavy electronica and free-jazz inspired swampy grooves. If anything, this album is closer to ‘Dialogue’, Hebden’s debut as Four Tet, than to any of his subsequent work under the moniker.
Previous album ‘Rounds’ was so successful because it carefully integrated tiny fractured melodies, and intriguing harmonic implications into its ethereal electronic mix. This made it both more accessible and more engaging. ‘Everything Ecstatic’ is a less easy listen – many of its ideas seem almost self-consciously complex and confrontational, but it marks another interesting sidestep from one of our most inventive producers and composers.
There are moments of sheer brilliance – opening track ‘A Joy’ has some exuberant multi-tracked beats that manage to sound naturalistic and organic. ‘High Fives’ is more densely textured and evocative, and possibly the closest this album comes to recreating the elusive mystery of ‘Rounds’.
Elsewhere, there are plenty of rhythmic flourishes and squawking saxophones, and single ‘Smile Around The Face’ is perhaps a little too repetitive, with its high pitched ostinato melody the main focus, it borders on irritating.
Hebden remains as inventive as ever, and ‘Everything Ecstatic’ is admirable for its cavalier approach to genre convention. Hebden has melded a number of different styles together here and, for the most part, has successfully shaken off the apparent stigma of journalistic tags. It’s much less accessible than his recent highly acclaimed albums, and may have the effect of pushing him back into the margins when he should be reaping commercial rewards. The open-minded will find it engaging and compelling.
New Order – Waiting For The Sirens’ Call
It feels a bit churlish – but there’s just something not quite right about this new album from New Order. They are now a highly marketable proposition, based on their enduring status as influential pioneers. Yet, like all of the New Order releases post ‘Technique’, there’s not actually all that much innovation going on here. It feels comfortably familiar (sometimes persistent and infectious), and some of the tracks have a lovely summery pop vibe. The sound, however, as always characterised by the uniquely melodic bass lines of Peter Hook and the robotic drumming of Steven Morris, has not really been embellished or developed much for this release. Sometimes, it even feels like a more polished, neutered version of the classic New Order sound.
The first single, ‘Krafty’ very much sets the tone. It’s entirely unobjectionable, and comes with a string of instantly hummable hooks and melodies. It has that lingering atmosphere (hammered home with some trademark swirling synths and clanging guitars) that marks out the best New Order pop songs. Taken in isolation, its enjoyable enough, but when placed next to a string of very similar sounding songs (‘Who’s Joe?’, ‘Hey Now, What You Doing?, ‘Turn’) it no longer sounds distinctive.
Whereas ‘Krafty’ has enough rhythmic propulsion and feeling to render it engaging, there are some real low points on this album that just sound totally contrived. Worst of all is the electro reggae of ‘I Told You So’, which genuinely starts out sounding like Ace of Base. I’m entirely in favour of the band expanding their reach (and this album clearly demonstrates that they need to reinvent themselves somehow), but genre parody is not really the best approach. Equally, ‘Jetstream’, with the moonlighting Ana Matronic of the Scissor Sisters feels like an uncomfortable attempt to broaden their target audience. The closing ‘Working Overtime’ is a clunky rather than quirky Stooges-inspired turd.
The more conventional, guitar-dominated pop songs certainly fare better, but Bernard Sumner’s lyrics and vocal lines remain frustratingly inconsistent. Plenty of people have hailed this album as a success simply because of its ‘quality songwriting’. I would certainly concede that an album of quality songs would be enough from a band that has already done so much to break the mould. However, ‘Waiting For The Sirens’ Call’ simply isn’t consistent enough an album to fit that description.
Mu – Out Of Breach
Readers of John Kell’s Unpredictable Same fanzine (http://www.kingofquiet.tk) might remember be waxing lyrical about the debut Mu album ‘Afro Finger and Gel’ in the first issue. I stated then that it’s hard to explain why a talentless Japanese girl shouting over minimal percussion and bass backdrops was so thrilling, and the point is worth repeating. ‘Out Of Breach’ basically provides more of the same and is, if anything, even more extreme. It could not exactly be described as melodic, but it remains memorable and convincing nonetheless.
It all works best when the extraordinary producer Maurice Fulton cooks up his most hypnotic grooves. ‘Tigerbastard’ essentially repeats the tricks of cult classic single ‘Let’s Get Sick’, with its relentless driving beat and flurry of agogo and cowbells. The title track is magnificent, with Mu’s voice made to sound disconcertingly masculine with some canny use of vocal effects. The overall impact is disquieting and sinister. It’s also dance music that genuinely makes you want to dance, whether in a club environment or within the privacy of your own home.
If the music is uncompromising and confrontational, Mu’s voice is something else entirely. She is totally tuneless – and often grating – as she shrieks and hollers her way through her primitive English lyrics, frequently incomprehensibly. Luckily there’s an accompanying lyric sheet, which does not reveal her to be a great poet, or indeed much of a master of the conventions of grammar. There is, however, something entirely appropriate about her self-righteous, fundamental screaming that combines perfectly with Fulton’s crazed, psycho-delic take on house music. On ‘Tigerbastard’, one of the best tracks, Mu disses her old record label with remarkable anger and self-belief. It all sounds peculiarly liberating – and Mu definitely comes across as a feisty woman – someone you wouldn’t want to double cross or meet in a dark alleyway.
Best of all is the timely ‘Stop Bothering Michael Jackson’, where Mu defends the troubled former King of Pop with a near religious fervour. It’s a weirdly calculated chaos of pounding drums and violent vocal outbursts and, unsurprisingly, Martin Bashir does not escape from Mu’s unstoppable wrath.
‘Out Of Breach’ tails off slightly towards the end, when the vocals start to dominate the music a little too much, and Fulton breaks away from his beats into more abstract territory. Nevertheless, it’s a more consistently experimental work than its predecessor, and shows that this extraordinary team are honing and improving their sound. It’s difficult to know how long the thrill will last (there are only so many albums of this kind of material anyone could take), and it’s certainly not for everyone, but ‘Out Of Breach’ marks another step on a challenging and adventurous path.
Many more reviews to come later this week….
Teenage Fanclub – Man-Made (Pema)
It exists and it’s finally here! Words cannot express the beam of joy that exploded across my face as I came across a promo of this record. This is what I’ve been waiting five long years for!
Alan McGee used to say that he never knew quite what to make of each new Teenage Fanclub album when they first played the finished product to him, as it always took him at least twenty listens to appreciate them. Given the immediate chiming pop appeal of albums like ‘Grand Prix’ and ‘Songs From Northern Britain’, I always found this notion a little baffling. With ‘Man-Made’, however, I begin to see his point. I have to concede that on first listen I was slightly underwhelmed by this – the songs are lovely of course, but the melodies are sometimes slightly more obtuse than usual, the production seems deliberately muffled, and the trademark harmonies, whilst still very much in the frame, are less of a feature than on previous albums.
But wait! It’s a real grower! ‘Man-Made’ may be less immediate, but it benefits greatly from a more subtle approach to arrangement and production. There are some wonderfully heart-stopping moments on this album, many of them entirely unexpected. I love the way the middle-section in the thumping ‘Time Stops’ suddenly gives way to some delicately bucolic acoustic guitar plucking, the way the main arrangement of ‘Flowing’ fades out, just leaving some warmly fuzzy lead guitars to conclude the song, and the way ‘Slow Fade, the paciest and most aggressive recording they’ve made since the days of ‘Thirteen’, ends a good minute before you expect it to. This is probably Teenage Fanclub’s most musically intelligent album to date, and the muted production sound (courtesy of John McEntire of Tortoise) frequently sounds strangely appropriate, such as on the dry, touching and carefully arranged ‘Only With You’.
As for the songwriting, this is The Fannies’ most democratic album so far, with each member of the band composing four songs. Luckily, the days when the words ‘Raymond’s going to sing this one’ inspired a slightly uncomfortable feeling are long gone. Since the remarkable blossoming of his songwriting talents on ‘Songs From Northern Britain’, Raymond McGinley has never looked back, and ‘Man-Made’ marks an admirable continuation of this trend. The aforementioned ‘Only With You’, with its vulnerable arpeggios, tinkly piano and muted rhythm guitar is one of the best tracks here, and the closing ‘Don’t Hide’ features a similarly inventive arrangement. ‘Feel’ (Feel what? The sunshine of course, what else?!?) is a typical Teenage Fanclub summery pop song, whilst ‘Nowhere’ has a pleasant Byrdsian shimmer.
Gerry Love has some gems too – ‘Born Under A Good Sign’ may not be the most substantial song here, essentially being built on a repeated chord sequence and ending with a huge psychedelic duelling guitar solo, but it certainly has energy and enthusiasm in droves. Much better though is ‘Fallen Leaves’, which, with its chorus claiming ‘the future’s here’ is one of the most uplifting songs in this set. ‘Save’ is one of the songs that takes a while to get to grips with, but it features some lovely rhythm guitar playing and benefits from the juxtaposition of a lingeringly infectious chorus with a slightly more underplayed melody in its verses.
Norman Blake is such a dependable songwriter that it hardly needs to be stated that he writes the album’s warmest, most familiar and comfortable songs. I’d be very surprised if album opener ‘It’s All In My Mind’, with its chugging rhythm and naggingly insistent melodic line was not used as the album’s lead single. He also offers the simple sugar rush of ‘Slow Fade’, the delicate melancholy of ‘Flowing’ (although perhaps the lyrics here rest a little too much on familiar sentiment) and the rustic folk of ‘Cells’, another of the album’s most engaging moments. He hasn’t written anything here quite in the same league as ‘Neil Jung’, ‘I Don’t Want Control Of You’ or ‘Did I Say’ though, and perhaps the one thing ‘Man-Made’ lacks is an absolute killer song.
However, that’s not really what it’s about – it’s an album where all three songwriters seem entirely comfortable and at ease, and where the arrangements have become as important as the melodies. It’s a remarkably coherent and consistent work, and if given time, may be seen as one of their most successful records. It remains to be seen whether there’s anyone left in the music press who still cares (I can’t imagine the current staff at the NME getting too excited about this) – we can only hope that this album brings The Fannies the dues they so richly deserve. Britain’s finest songwriters since Lennon-McCartney are still going strong.
Four Tet – Everything Ecstatic
Is that title just meant to imply extreme happiness – or is there a trippy drugs influence behind this album? Either way, it sees Kieren Hebden veer away from the music somewhat uncomfortably dubbed ‘folktronica’ (understandably, Hebden has felt uncomfortable with this tag) and back into the realms of percussion-heavy electronica and free-jazz inspired swampy grooves. If anything, this album is closer to ‘Dialogue’, Hebden’s debut as Four Tet, than to any of his subsequent work under the moniker.
Previous album ‘Rounds’ was so successful because it carefully integrated tiny fractured melodies, and intriguing harmonic implications into its ethereal electronic mix. This made it both more accessible and more engaging. ‘Everything Ecstatic’ is a less easy listen – many of its ideas seem almost self-consciously complex and confrontational, but it marks another interesting sidestep from one of our most inventive producers and composers.
There are moments of sheer brilliance – opening track ‘A Joy’ has some exuberant multi-tracked beats that manage to sound naturalistic and organic. ‘High Fives’ is more densely textured and evocative, and possibly the closest this album comes to recreating the elusive mystery of ‘Rounds’.
Elsewhere, there are plenty of rhythmic flourishes and squawking saxophones, and single ‘Smile Around The Face’ is perhaps a little too repetitive, with its high pitched ostinato melody the main focus, it borders on irritating.
Hebden remains as inventive as ever, and ‘Everything Ecstatic’ is admirable for its cavalier approach to genre convention. Hebden has melded a number of different styles together here and, for the most part, has successfully shaken off the apparent stigma of journalistic tags. It’s much less accessible than his recent highly acclaimed albums, and may have the effect of pushing him back into the margins when he should be reaping commercial rewards. The open-minded will find it engaging and compelling.
New Order – Waiting For The Sirens’ Call
It feels a bit churlish – but there’s just something not quite right about this new album from New Order. They are now a highly marketable proposition, based on their enduring status as influential pioneers. Yet, like all of the New Order releases post ‘Technique’, there’s not actually all that much innovation going on here. It feels comfortably familiar (sometimes persistent and infectious), and some of the tracks have a lovely summery pop vibe. The sound, however, as always characterised by the uniquely melodic bass lines of Peter Hook and the robotic drumming of Steven Morris, has not really been embellished or developed much for this release. Sometimes, it even feels like a more polished, neutered version of the classic New Order sound.
The first single, ‘Krafty’ very much sets the tone. It’s entirely unobjectionable, and comes with a string of instantly hummable hooks and melodies. It has that lingering atmosphere (hammered home with some trademark swirling synths and clanging guitars) that marks out the best New Order pop songs. Taken in isolation, its enjoyable enough, but when placed next to a string of very similar sounding songs (‘Who’s Joe?’, ‘Hey Now, What You Doing?, ‘Turn’) it no longer sounds distinctive.
Whereas ‘Krafty’ has enough rhythmic propulsion and feeling to render it engaging, there are some real low points on this album that just sound totally contrived. Worst of all is the electro reggae of ‘I Told You So’, which genuinely starts out sounding like Ace of Base. I’m entirely in favour of the band expanding their reach (and this album clearly demonstrates that they need to reinvent themselves somehow), but genre parody is not really the best approach. Equally, ‘Jetstream’, with the moonlighting Ana Matronic of the Scissor Sisters feels like an uncomfortable attempt to broaden their target audience. The closing ‘Working Overtime’ is a clunky rather than quirky Stooges-inspired turd.
The more conventional, guitar-dominated pop songs certainly fare better, but Bernard Sumner’s lyrics and vocal lines remain frustratingly inconsistent. Plenty of people have hailed this album as a success simply because of its ‘quality songwriting’. I would certainly concede that an album of quality songs would be enough from a band that has already done so much to break the mould. However, ‘Waiting For The Sirens’ Call’ simply isn’t consistent enough an album to fit that description.
Mu – Out Of Breach
Readers of John Kell’s Unpredictable Same fanzine (http://www.kingofquiet.tk) might remember be waxing lyrical about the debut Mu album ‘Afro Finger and Gel’ in the first issue. I stated then that it’s hard to explain why a talentless Japanese girl shouting over minimal percussion and bass backdrops was so thrilling, and the point is worth repeating. ‘Out Of Breach’ basically provides more of the same and is, if anything, even more extreme. It could not exactly be described as melodic, but it remains memorable and convincing nonetheless.
It all works best when the extraordinary producer Maurice Fulton cooks up his most hypnotic grooves. ‘Tigerbastard’ essentially repeats the tricks of cult classic single ‘Let’s Get Sick’, with its relentless driving beat and flurry of agogo and cowbells. The title track is magnificent, with Mu’s voice made to sound disconcertingly masculine with some canny use of vocal effects. The overall impact is disquieting and sinister. It’s also dance music that genuinely makes you want to dance, whether in a club environment or within the privacy of your own home.
If the music is uncompromising and confrontational, Mu’s voice is something else entirely. She is totally tuneless – and often grating – as she shrieks and hollers her way through her primitive English lyrics, frequently incomprehensibly. Luckily there’s an accompanying lyric sheet, which does not reveal her to be a great poet, or indeed much of a master of the conventions of grammar. There is, however, something entirely appropriate about her self-righteous, fundamental screaming that combines perfectly with Fulton’s crazed, psycho-delic take on house music. On ‘Tigerbastard’, one of the best tracks, Mu disses her old record label with remarkable anger and self-belief. It all sounds peculiarly liberating – and Mu definitely comes across as a feisty woman – someone you wouldn’t want to double cross or meet in a dark alleyway.
Best of all is the timely ‘Stop Bothering Michael Jackson’, where Mu defends the troubled former King of Pop with a near religious fervour. It’s a weirdly calculated chaos of pounding drums and violent vocal outbursts and, unsurprisingly, Martin Bashir does not escape from Mu’s unstoppable wrath.
‘Out Of Breach’ tails off slightly towards the end, when the vocals start to dominate the music a little too much, and Fulton breaks away from his beats into more abstract territory. Nevertheless, it’s a more consistently experimental work than its predecessor, and shows that this extraordinary team are honing and improving their sound. It’s difficult to know how long the thrill will last (there are only so many albums of this kind of material anyone could take), and it’s certainly not for everyone, but ‘Out Of Breach’ marks another step on a challenging and adventurous path.
Many more reviews to come later this week….
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