Shaking Hands With The Avant Garde

This collaboration between legendary drummer Steve Reid (who has worked in such varied contexts as Miles Davis' last major recording band on the 'Tutu' album and session sticksman for Martha Reeves and the Vandellas) and electronic maverick Kieran Hebden (Four Tet, Fridge) is a mouth watering prospect. Hebden leant some electronic effects to Reid's excellent 'Spirit Walk' album last year, and this album is the result of just one day's session between the two. As the somewhat gushing sleevenotes are pained to point out - this is all live, with no overdubs or retakes. Laptop improvisation can be stiflingly emotionless and sterile - but Reid's inventive drumming, which places the emphasis much more on sound and texture than virtuosic technique, provides much of the human warmth here. It's fascinating to hear an album which is almost entirely devoid of melody, yet sounds so compelling and enticing.

The obvious reference point is the jazz tradition from which Reid comes, and which Hebden so obviously adores - the 'spiritual jazz' model of John and Alice Coltrane, Pharoah Sanders, Yusuf Lateef and, especially, Sun Ra. Reid's combinations of atmospheric bells and quietly grooving insistence captures this tradition effortlessly and, for the most part, Hebden has found the sounds to match. The least effective moments come when Hebden seems to use samples of the kind of squawking saxophone you might expect to hear on a late period John Coltrane record - this technique seems a little regressive and obvious. Yet, it's kept to a relative minimum, and particularly on the lengthy final track, the two seem to have found an integration that is instinctive and insightful, Hebden producing some unusual and hypnotic electronic sounds.

Both musicians are brave enough to take their ideas and extrapolate them, and whilst the three lengthy tracks do indeed switch between styles, the rhythms and sounds are given plenty of time to settle and they certainly become transfixing. This will be a completely alien world for those weaned on commercial rock and pop - but it is a world full where intelligent ideas, feel and emotion need not be mutually exclusive.



Then there's 'Drum's Not Dead', the third album from Liars and already one of the most uncompromising and extraordinary albums of 2006. It's not as if this has ever been a band to shirk pretensions or affectations (just look at their penchant for lengthy album titles) but the major transformation they underwent with their last full-length ('They Were Wrong So We Drowned') succeeded in alienating a substantial portion of their fanbase. Still, it was a much more original prospect than their more generic debut and those that stuck with the band will now consider themselves amply rewarded.

'Drum's Not Dead' is an exotic and highly unusual album - a near continuous barrage of sound incorporating primitive, duelling drumming and droning guitar effects. Threading it all together is unfathomably tall singer Angus Andrew's bizarre falsetto, and a concept involving two characters, Drum and Mt. Heart Attack, that I've yet to really get my head around. Still, the last album was all about witches, so that shouldn't come as too much of a surprise to the initiated.

Musically, it's not too far away from the noise experiments of early Animal Collective (circa 'Spirit They've Gone...'), but it's less folksy and much denser. Whilst it occasionally achieves passages of eerie calm, much of the album is menacing and uncomfortable. The twin attack of 'A Visit From Drum' and 'Drum Gets A Glimpse' makes for the album's high point, the relentlessly pounding drums beating out some kind of frightening portent. Quite what it's all about is anybody's guess, but it provides a perverse and irrational thrill.

Comedy and Music Do Mix!

A new album from The Broken Family Band is always cause for rejoicing - all the more so in the case of 'Balls' because it represents a welcome regression from the polite and polished production of 'Welcome Home Loser' back to the raw country-punk sound they have so well defined for themselves. In this era of restrictive record company schedules, this band are thrillingly prolific and, even though they are arguably yet to produce the consistently outstanding album they are so clearly capable of, they've written more great songs in their five year career than most bands manage in double that time.

We might as well get the criticism out of the way first - 'Balls' yet again seems to suffer from the sequencing problems that have muted the impact of previous BFB albums. Recent live shows have promised some raucous and aggressive material for this album and it doesn't disappoint. Yet, the rougher, noisier tracks are all concentrated in the first half of the album, from the brilliantly unhinged 'You're Like A Woman' through to the rampant 'I'm Thirsty'. Only the spectacularly demented take on Leonard Cohen's 'Diamonds In The Mine' and the (perhaps irritatingly) jaunty 'Michelle' break the more melancholy preoccupations of the album's second half. This is not to suggest that the second half of 'Balls' is weak (it actually contains some of the band's most affecting songs), but the album might have made for a more fulfilling listen if the contrast between the two tempos were not so marked.

Still, the band is certainly on top form here, and 'Balls' represents another small but accomplished step towards gathering a wider audience. That it achieves this without the hints at compromise the band made on 'Welcome Home Loser' makes it feel special. This is their best attempt thus far at capturing their live sound on disc.

Despite my earlier comments, it's also one of their more diverse records. There's the fatalistic slow stomp of 'It's All Over', the mournful 'Alone In The Make Out Room' (with a wonderful performance from special guest Piney Gir of the Scha-La-Las, perhaps playing Tammy to Steven Adams' George Jones) and even hints at the more dirgey, mysterious lo-fi sound of Adams' solo project in the elusive 'I See How You Are'. Adams is on dependably barbarous form lyrically, with 'You're Like A Woman' and 'The Booze and The Drugs' particularly good examples of his savage wit.

It's a blistering record - full of rollicking, propulsive rhythms and deceptively vulnerable melodies. It takes an audacious band to give their album such a laughable title and get away with it. Note too that there's no exclamation mark - this is as dry and forthright as humorous songwriting gets.

Are BFB familiar with Sparks perhaps? This most undervalued of bands also released an album called 'Balls' a few years back. They now return with their latest full-length 'Hello Young Lovers' which, suprisingly and pleasingly, seems to have come with a barrage of new industry interest and press fascination. There was even a feature about them on Newsnight a couple of weeks ago! Ron Mael still looks like Hitler more than his intended Charlie Chaplin and, more disturbingly, Russell Mael seems to increasingly resemble Wee Jimmy Krankie (check out the photos on the inlay card - it's true).

'Hello Young Lovers' takes the high-camp, mock-operatic preoccupations of their masterful 'Lil Beethoven' album to new extremes, adding some hilarious heavy metal distorted guitars and even the odd bit of clattering percussion. It's not as austere as it's predecessor - but it shares its characteristically ingenious songwriting. Sometimes they stretch their ideas a little too far and many of the tracks here could have benefited from some more ruthless pruning. Still, there's plenty of richly ironic charm on display here.

The opener 'Dick Around' is brilliant - flitting schizophrenically between styles and tempos and establishing its own distinctively madcap approach. Similarly, the barmy 'As I Sit Down To Play Organ in the Notre Dame Cathedral' and '(Baby Baby) Can I Invade Your Country?' benefit from audacious and peculiar arrangements, like musical theatre without the forced emotion and unconvincing earnestness. The latter is essentially the Sparks corruption of the Star Spangled Banner, creating a thinly veiled satire of American foreign policy through innuendo-laden lyrics. It's marvellous but, inexplicably, some of the hilarious lyrics of a version that appeared on a free CD with Word Magazine seem to have been excised from this version.

They can do simple ideas just as brilliantly though - from the single 'Perfume' which is basically just a list of fragrances, each verse ending with the caveat 'but you don't wear no perfume/That's why I want to spend my life with you'. 'Metaphor' dissects the age old notion that reciting poetry makes for a good seduction techinique. It also sounds like cheerleading ('chicks dig dig D-I-G metaphors!').

Any album this reliant on ornate, florid arrangements and highly unfashionable synth strings should not work - but it does. 'Hello Young Lovers' is everything great pop music should be - infectious, hilarious, shameless and deeply silly.

A Weekend Hard On The Hearing

Tilly and The Wall/Emmy The Great/Frankie Machine/The Long Beach
Attack! Attack! at the Buffalo Bar – 19th Feb 2006

Blimey - I've been out three times in as many nights. That hardly happens these days! A great night at Bosh! at the Barfly on Friday (with a rousing, spirited performance from Roll Deep), Union at ULU on Saturday (with the excellent reggae/hip hop hybrid Nullbug) and finally this superb night at the Buffalo Bar in Highbury. What a great event. Four artists of consistently engaging quality, DJs spinning a mind boggling variety of great music (Smog, Annie, Prince and, ahem, Bon Jovi all featured), quick changeovers between the artists – it’s just a shame that the venue doesn’t serve any decent beer. The good folks at Exercise 1 Recordings assembled a really great line-up for this one, with new Moshi Moshi signings Tilly and The Wall topping the bill. All the acts were different and highly individualistic - but presenting them at the same event seemed logical and considered, rather than the usual ragbag of mediocrity you tend to find at small-ish London venues.

I have to concede that opening act The Long Beach didn’t do all that much for me. I suspect it was something to do with their penchant for aggressive strumming of amplified (and frequently distorted) acoustic guitars, along with some slightly grating and earnest vocals. There was probably plenty to admire in these songs, but there seemed to be a fair bit of over-emoting smothering it all.

Thank goodness then for Frankie Machine, guitarist for MJ Hibbett’s Validators and excellent songwriter in his own right, bringing some poise, wit and subtlety to the occasion. These songs are delicate and tender, yet also wise and sympathetic. It was probably inevitable that the crowd would talk through his quietly compelling set, as the emphasis was very much on the ‘quiet’ – but this should do nothing to detract from a performance that was both considered and warm.

It’s somewhat ridiculous that this was the first live performance I’ve managed to catch from Emmy The Great, an associate of Jeremy Warmsley and outstandingly imposing singer-songwriter. This is love-it-or-hate-it-stuff: Quirky, elaborate and highly tangential prose poems delivered in a voice that oscillates unpredictably between something soothing and bitingly harsh. Naturally, I loved it! Emmy’s quirky demeanour on stage (an individual dress sense, right down to the classic gym plimsoles and a tendency to lean towards the microphone awkwardly to emphasise certain elements of the lyrics) adds to the overall impression that she could easily earn her place in the pantheon of Great British eccentrics. There are elements of the insularity of Kate Bush or Bill Fay, but she avoids pretension by achieving a quirkiness which seems natural rather than hard-won and also through deploying some ingratiating humour. One song has a lyric which goes something like ‘I was doing alright/Until you came and spoiled it/Every time I see you/I have to rush to the toilet/I don’t know if it’s love or just a stomach disorder…’ If that’s not audacious enough, she goes on to rhyme disorder with ‘aorta’! This was genuinely one of the most striking and powerful performances from a singer-songwriter I’ve seen in recent years, even if she was in a hurry to get off stage to see the headliners. She’s about to go on tour with Euros Childs – definitely one not to miss!

Tilly and The Wall are apparently associates of Conor Oberst and the whole Saddle Creek scene, but they reject his frustrating excesses with something much more whimsical. It’s the sort of thing that works very well in small doses, and tonight it would have been churlish to resist their appealing mix of Phil Spector girl-pop, high school cheerleading, childlike wonder and tap dancing. Yes – tap dancing! There’s no drummer on stage, but plenty of intricate rhythmic invention nonetheless. Whilst this could so easily have been a gimmick too far, it probably avoided the band from becoming yet another lightly chugging indie act. It all felt a little frivolous for sure, but delightfully so, and these infectious, enervating songs made for a neat contrast to the introspection of the support acts. Were there enough room in the somewhat cramped venue, they would certainly have got the crowd dancing. They maintained a high level of energy throughout, and although much of the album got an airing – the new songs seemed to be the most memorable, hinting that there may be a future in the long term for this charming and highly entertaining band.

The Calm After The Storm

Brad Mehldau Trio - The Barbican Hall 13/2/06
The Gossip - Cargo 11/2/06

For all the rapturous acclaim he frequently receives, I've struggled to appreciate Brad Mehldau (the otherwise rational John Fordham has just given one of the dates on this tour a five star review in The Guardian). Most baffling of all is the fact that he is hailed as an innovator for tackling popular songs, when more inventive acts such as The Bad Plus are often regarded with suspicion for taking a similar approach, albeit with much less reverence for the material. Still, with a ticket given to me as payment in kind for a couple of recording sessions, I went to this show determined to keep an open mind. Sadly, I remain unconvinced.

A handful of impressive moments peppered this set from this new trio (drummer Jeff Ballard has joined Mehldau and bassist Larry Grenadier during the past twelve months). Mehldau certainly has a talent for drawing out every last breath of musicality from his unorthodox repertoire. Although it started tentatively, the opening take on Nick Drake's 'Day Is Done' swelled to something approaching majesty, without resorting to ratcheting up the volume. The furious, fast-paced take on Radiohead's 'Knives Out' was curiously effective, although it largely dispensed with the nervous, reflective mood of the original. Ballard sustained some rigorous hard-bop style swinging, which almost directly opposed Mehldau's audacious stretching of the melody and fluid, elegant improvising. It made for a striking contrast. Best of all was the new interpretation of Soundgarden's 'Black Hole Sun' - a piece of music that, for me at least, could easily have felt stilted through over-familiarity. The trio handled it adroitly though, turning it from sludgy rock ballad into something both limber and haunting.

Still, it's difficult to see why Mehldau is frequently placed at the very vanguard of contemporary jazz. Much of his playing tonight seemed defiantly classicist - rooted much more in the conservatories of Central and Eastern Europe than the jazz clubs of New York City. This is a criticism that has been levelled against Keith Jarrett in the past - and more recently against the new wave of contemplative piano trios led by Esbjorn Svensson and Tord Gustavsen. Yet whilst Svensson and Gustavsen achieve a meditative calm, Mehldau's playing feels limited by formalism and conceptual theory. There's little spirituality or soul to be found in tonight's set. The worst culprits are Mehldau's own nameless compositions, which meander in fairly sleepy and aimless fashion.

The most exploratory musician on stage was drummer Jeff Ballard, who seemed determined to display the whole gamut of possible sounds from the drum kit. He tapped on stands, played the rims and even dispensed with sticks altogether, using the kit as a set of hand drums. This could frequently be compelling, but often to the detriment of the music, particularly when the trio drifted between a plethora of different ideas, often failing to establish a coherent mood or feel before trying something else. The encore of McCartney's 'She's Leaving Home' veered off at several tangents, with Ballard somewhat pointlessly switching between three different tambourines and disrupting the stately rhythm in the process. It probably didn't help that, despite their longstanding acceptance within the jazz canon, McCartney's compositions do not necessarily benefit from this kind of academic exposition. All the lingering melancholy of the original seemed to have been sidelined in Mehldau's needlessly florid arrangement. The band worked much better when they settled on a sustained and cohesive exploration of a single idea - such as on 'Knives Out' or the closing minutes of 'Day Is Done'. Such moments were sadly not frequent enough to enliven what was mostly an unenlightening performance. Whilst there was plenty to admire in this trio's control and dynamic subtlety, there was also little to really inspire or move.

Whilst Mehldau's trio maintained a rigorously stately demeanour, Saturday's performance from The Gossip could not be gutsier. Similarly, whilst Mehldau was studied, this was in keeping with the untutored, DIY ethos of punk. Swigging whisky and denouncing the evil machinations of the mainstream music industry at every opportunity, singer Beth put in a splendidly shameless performance which was almost magnetic in its intensity. Subtlety is not really this band's strong point, but then that's not really what they're about, and this show at Cargo was drenched in sweat resulting from a primal blues fever.

The band produce a frightful noise from a bare bones line-up of just guitar, drums and vocals (although there is a switch to bass for the delightfully groovy 'Listen Up' - More Cowbell!). The pace is pretty much relentless, although balance is provided by the exquisitely soulful 'Coal To Diamonds', which demonstrated a more considered side to Beth's vocal delivery. Particularly awesome was a brisk and taut performance of the title track from new album 'Standing In The Way Of Control' and a barnstorming 'Yesterday's News', with Beth performing from within the audience.

It was all riotously entertaining, if a little brief (in keeping with the mercilessly concise nature of their recorded output) and very pleasing to see an old friend from school days (Irene Revell) getting credit from the band for organising the Ladyfest tour that first brought them to the UK.