http://drownedinsound.com/in_depth/4136259
Fourteen minutes and thirty-two seconds of complete immersion in sound – yet the shortest fourteen minutes and thirty-two seconds that have ever passed this writer by. Moving slightly away from the otherwise stifling, intensely personal nature of the slowcore movement, Mark Kozelek’s Sun Kil Moon persona offers an expansive yet opaque bridge towards post-rock via lingering percussion, resounding bridges and impenetrably dense atmospherics.
‘Duk Koo Kim’, from Ghosts Of The Great Highway, is based around the tragedy of the South Korean boxer who died four days after taking on rival Mancini in a Vegas fight. Prior to the fight, he’d only once fought outside his homeland. The fight capitulated in a series of 39 straight punches, Kim on the floor helpless. He died four days later in hospital.
In Sun Kil Moon’s magnum opus, the death of Duk Koo Kim is related back to the transience of life and eventually, the fact that we’re all mortal beings; heroism is pitted against fallibility through a microscope. It’s an infinite series of contrasts, and the length and textures of the piece so cleverly take on the character of Kozelek’s mind. Set three-quarters of the way through the album, the persistence of the downbeat symbolises the whole ‘never giving up’ ethos behind ‘Duk Koo Kim’. The length of ‘Duk Koo Kim’ in comparison with the rest of the offerings on Ghosts enacts the aphorism to live for the moment, realizing your human limitations only through an enforced vulnerability.
Sonically, this is likely the slowest, quietest exposure of emotion you’ll ever hear. Quixotic and constantly urging itself on, you can take each minute on its own terms – only the broadly-focused ruminations run solidly throughout. The melodies delay their surrender, at the same time forcing their existences onwards. Never remaining in the same place for longer than their own lives, they’re allowed the space and time to resonate before morphing into something related. They find a place within the new layers added with every second resonation.
It’s a lyrical journey so understated and affecting that it’s induced tears of dismay/ despair/ disillusion/ self-realization in this writer and probably hundreds of others. “I saw a typhoon coming in close,” Kozelek almost cries; “I knew there I'd die alone/with no one to reach to” is next. And never has a feeling been so carefully constructed and portrayed than in the words “you never know what day could pick you baby/ out of the air, out of nowhere”.
The way Kozelek channels pain into something this sonically beautiful is incomparable; it’s the soul of his soul. The ringing guitars at about the eight minute mark are inspirational, even life-changing. They’re the moment you realise the lack of gaps between this and your own emotional composition.
This failure to give-in – just like the boxer, helplessly lying on the floor - is dressed up in a synthesis of chords, building up to the astounding cathartic multi-track guitar work at the end. And that moment is the realisation of Kozelek’s ingenuity, never failing to throw itself insistently, ruthlessly, against the listener’s senses like a persistent fireball of a voice inside your head.
It can be warm, autumnal or stark and wintry; escapist or head-on "deal with it". ‘Duk Koo Kim’ is an ultimately awe-inspiring chunk of positivism, about realising your own failures and making the most of the time ahead. Through the joy of space and time, the ringing-out of each chord, the building-up of each layer, ‘Duk Koo Kim’ takes you on a boundless journey of self-realization. Right here is the meaning of soul, and everything else just feels like a parasite.
Want more? Visit www.musosguide.com
Thursday, 23 April 2009
Sunday, 25 January 2009
White Lies - To Lose My Life...
http://web.orange.co.uk/article/white-lies-to-lose-my-life
Pound the drums like The Bravery did back on 2005's 'An Honest Mistake', sing a bit flat in a "dead robot" sort of way, and finally add a pastiche of a Depeche Mode synth line. Indie bands, please reconsider your options.
To Lose My Life... isn't so much extended gloom as it is White Lies moping as they stare at their own reflections. Despite the hype about White Lies being yet another heir to Joy Division's throne, on this evidence the west London three-piece don't even have the right to touch the tip of Ian Curtis's nose. Instead To Lose My Life...'s insistent, dense basslines stall at the point of futility.
"This fear's got a hold on me," sings Harry McVeigh in opener 'Death', but it just doesn't sound convincing or honest. "You got blood on your hands and I know it's mine/I just need more time" ('Unfinished Business') falls at the same hurdle, failing to portray any emotion and instead leading us to feel that White Lies' lyrical structures are merely marriages of convenience. All too often the result is vacuous, bloated and immature.
It seems that White Lies are chasing an expansive sound, but have instead ended up with a dreary, rather flat and over-polished record. 'Fifty On Our Foreheads', though, at least leaves us feeling nostalgic for '80s post-rock forerunners Talk Talk.
In case you didn't get that they're mortality-crazed, just take a look at the track listing ('Death', 'To Lose My Life') or the album artwork. It all seems awkwardly contrived - 'Farewell To The Fairground' could even be Eno-produced Coldplay in another guise.
To Lose My Life... isn't a White Lie, more a compilation of clichés piled up in the shape of a crucifix.
Pound the drums like The Bravery did back on 2005's 'An Honest Mistake', sing a bit flat in a "dead robot" sort of way, and finally add a pastiche of a Depeche Mode synth line. Indie bands, please reconsider your options.
To Lose My Life... isn't so much extended gloom as it is White Lies moping as they stare at their own reflections. Despite the hype about White Lies being yet another heir to Joy Division's throne, on this evidence the west London three-piece don't even have the right to touch the tip of Ian Curtis's nose. Instead To Lose My Life...'s insistent, dense basslines stall at the point of futility.
"This fear's got a hold on me," sings Harry McVeigh in opener 'Death', but it just doesn't sound convincing or honest. "You got blood on your hands and I know it's mine/I just need more time" ('Unfinished Business') falls at the same hurdle, failing to portray any emotion and instead leading us to feel that White Lies' lyrical structures are merely marriages of convenience. All too often the result is vacuous, bloated and immature.
It seems that White Lies are chasing an expansive sound, but have instead ended up with a dreary, rather flat and over-polished record. 'Fifty On Our Foreheads', though, at least leaves us feeling nostalgic for '80s post-rock forerunners Talk Talk.
In case you didn't get that they're mortality-crazed, just take a look at the track listing ('Death', 'To Lose My Life') or the album artwork. It all seems awkwardly contrived - 'Farewell To The Fairground' could even be Eno-produced Coldplay in another guise.
To Lose My Life... isn't a White Lie, more a compilation of clichés piled up in the shape of a crucifix.
Tuesday, 13 January 2009
Lady GaGa - The Fame
http://web.orange.co.uk/article/lady-gaga-the-fame
NYC's Lady GaGa is courting fame on both sides of the Atlantic, and probably the ocean in between. The lead single from The Fame, 'Just Dance', is currently sitting at No.1 in the US and UK charts. And why? Well, that's the puzzling bit.
'Just Dance' recalls Timbaland's 'The Way I Are'. It's robotic, but rather than Timbaland, it features Akon - he of the chipmunked voice. It's cold and soulless, anonymous and futile. The rest of the up-tempo material on The Fame begins to take a familiar template: a stark electro opening leading into a saccharine-coated Neptunes-esque "club tune". This is never more noticeable than on 'LoveGame'... oh, and 'I Like It Rough', 'Starstruck' and 'Money Honey'.
Stefani Joanne Germanotta (she wasn't born Lady GaGa, you know) is unashamedly - hell, even with attempted gusto - going for some kerrazy hybrid of pop, glam rock, Ashlee Simpson, electro, disco, Gwen Stefani, gouda, Uffie, bump'n'grind and Hilary Duff. Ambitious? Well, actually it's not - it's an incoherent, unintentional parody of the worst bits of everything it's trying to imitate.
'Paparazzi' is so well-trodden it's got us with pegs over our noses; and when those candy-pop harmonies combine with contrived synth flinches, we're questioning humanity. Elsewhere, 'Boys Boys Boys' sounds like a Pussycat Dolls filler song: "I like you a lot lot/Think you're really hot hot."
'Eh, Eh' recalls Ace Of Base. Opening like Uffie and closing like Will.I.Am producing 'Believe'-era Cher, The Fame will be a vision of a dream to some, but unfortunately not to us. A guilty pleasure moniker is derisive at best, but it's with this epithet that Lady GaGa is set to take over 2009.
NYC's Lady GaGa is courting fame on both sides of the Atlantic, and probably the ocean in between. The lead single from The Fame, 'Just Dance', is currently sitting at No.1 in the US and UK charts. And why? Well, that's the puzzling bit.
'Just Dance' recalls Timbaland's 'The Way I Are'. It's robotic, but rather than Timbaland, it features Akon - he of the chipmunked voice. It's cold and soulless, anonymous and futile. The rest of the up-tempo material on The Fame begins to take a familiar template: a stark electro opening leading into a saccharine-coated Neptunes-esque "club tune". This is never more noticeable than on 'LoveGame'... oh, and 'I Like It Rough', 'Starstruck' and 'Money Honey'.
Stefani Joanne Germanotta (she wasn't born Lady GaGa, you know) is unashamedly - hell, even with attempted gusto - going for some kerrazy hybrid of pop, glam rock, Ashlee Simpson, electro, disco, Gwen Stefani, gouda, Uffie, bump'n'grind and Hilary Duff. Ambitious? Well, actually it's not - it's an incoherent, unintentional parody of the worst bits of everything it's trying to imitate.
'Paparazzi' is so well-trodden it's got us with pegs over our noses; and when those candy-pop harmonies combine with contrived synth flinches, we're questioning humanity. Elsewhere, 'Boys Boys Boys' sounds like a Pussycat Dolls filler song: "I like you a lot lot/Think you're really hot hot."
'Eh, Eh' recalls Ace Of Base. Opening like Uffie and closing like Will.I.Am producing 'Believe'-era Cher, The Fame will be a vision of a dream to some, but unfortunately not to us. A guilty pleasure moniker is derisive at best, but it's with this epithet that Lady GaGa is set to take over 2009.
Wednesday, 23 July 2008
Camera Obscura @ KCLSU
http://www.drownedinsound.com/articles/3695484
The venue is atrocious, or, rather, the crowd should be ashamed of themselves. They talk all the way through the really rather decent support, Mockingbird, Wish Me Luck, whose orchestral indie-pop is only a tad too twee to command, and then eke their dull murmur for the duration of the headline set. But it all becomes irrelevant as Tracyanne Campbell leads Camera Obscura into a dreamlike segue – one which in part, I don’t want to break down.
But alas, for those that haven’t seen Camera Obscura live, it’s necessary. The band don’t enter the stage until gone ten as there’s some dodgy techery going on – and it takes them around one and a half songs to get into their stride. They don’t look like they’re having fun for only the first ten or so minutes, but after that, the mood soars. It becomes a ‘best of’ set of sorts, tracks from each of their albums getting an airing. Material from Let’s Get Out Of This Country gets the biggest reception, the brush kit and twee march of ‘The False Contender’ and the abundant drums on ‘If Looks Could Kill’ framing the instruments in their most all-out, superlative form.
Equally, the finicky, intricate guitars on ‘Teenager’ impress – not knowing quite what to expect live, it’s a lovely surprise that the rhythms are so free. The feel of the music is, in a way, much more contained on record. Yet on stage, there’s the attention to detail as well as the general tendency to just go with it, let go. Or something.
Be it the tiny inflections and unison handclaps on ‘Come Back Margaret’, or that true sense of warmth on ‘Eighties Fan’, it’s unimaginable to think that anyone here in the crowd hasn’t been reduced to a drooling fangirl by the halfway stage. Traceyanne’s remarks, just after ‘Lloyd, I'm Ready To Be Heartbroken’, that she feels like she’s on a boat – only in the sense that everyone here is part of some overriding, unified sense of presence. The casual fans take heed as soon as the organ chimes begin for that song, a real sense of magic.
Onto the new material – the band have been recording in Sweden, apparently, and if anyone puts the videos on YouTube, they’ll be in for a beating (not so apparently). ‘French Navy’ (“about the colour”) isn’t so much of a departure, more a massive leap forward – the reverie for the past is whipped up with some Orange Juice jangle on this surfy little number. And ‘Swans’ is, quite simply, vintage Camera Obscura – somewhere between a torch anthem and the theme to the closing scene in a B-movie, one to lose yourself in.
The new stuff is extremely exciting, that’s for sure, and save for the mid-set lethargy of ‘A Sister's Social Agony’, it’s a super performance. And the thumping, spasmodic, inner Mogwai creeping out of set-closer ‘Razzle Dazzle Rose’ sets off the post-gig vibrations perfectly – this writer walks away with a romantic fuzz all around her, following her for the next few days and more. A glorious, luminescent romanticism that could probably exist of its own accord, worryingly.
The venue is atrocious, or, rather, the crowd should be ashamed of themselves. They talk all the way through the really rather decent support, Mockingbird, Wish Me Luck, whose orchestral indie-pop is only a tad too twee to command, and then eke their dull murmur for the duration of the headline set. But it all becomes irrelevant as Tracyanne Campbell leads Camera Obscura into a dreamlike segue – one which in part, I don’t want to break down.
But alas, for those that haven’t seen Camera Obscura live, it’s necessary. The band don’t enter the stage until gone ten as there’s some dodgy techery going on – and it takes them around one and a half songs to get into their stride. They don’t look like they’re having fun for only the first ten or so minutes, but after that, the mood soars. It becomes a ‘best of’ set of sorts, tracks from each of their albums getting an airing. Material from Let’s Get Out Of This Country gets the biggest reception, the brush kit and twee march of ‘The False Contender’ and the abundant drums on ‘If Looks Could Kill’ framing the instruments in their most all-out, superlative form.
Equally, the finicky, intricate guitars on ‘Teenager’ impress – not knowing quite what to expect live, it’s a lovely surprise that the rhythms are so free. The feel of the music is, in a way, much more contained on record. Yet on stage, there’s the attention to detail as well as the general tendency to just go with it, let go. Or something.
Be it the tiny inflections and unison handclaps on ‘Come Back Margaret’, or that true sense of warmth on ‘Eighties Fan’, it’s unimaginable to think that anyone here in the crowd hasn’t been reduced to a drooling fangirl by the halfway stage. Traceyanne’s remarks, just after ‘Lloyd, I'm Ready To Be Heartbroken’, that she feels like she’s on a boat – only in the sense that everyone here is part of some overriding, unified sense of presence. The casual fans take heed as soon as the organ chimes begin for that song, a real sense of magic.
Onto the new material – the band have been recording in Sweden, apparently, and if anyone puts the videos on YouTube, they’ll be in for a beating (not so apparently). ‘French Navy’ (“about the colour”) isn’t so much of a departure, more a massive leap forward – the reverie for the past is whipped up with some Orange Juice jangle on this surfy little number. And ‘Swans’ is, quite simply, vintage Camera Obscura – somewhere between a torch anthem and the theme to the closing scene in a B-movie, one to lose yourself in.
The new stuff is extremely exciting, that’s for sure, and save for the mid-set lethargy of ‘A Sister's Social Agony’, it’s a super performance. And the thumping, spasmodic, inner Mogwai creeping out of set-closer ‘Razzle Dazzle Rose’ sets off the post-gig vibrations perfectly – this writer walks away with a romantic fuzz all around her, following her for the next few days and more. A glorious, luminescent romanticism that could probably exist of its own accord, worryingly.
Mockingbird, Wish Me Luck @ KCLSU
http://www.clashmusic.com/live-review/mockingbird%2C-wish-me-luck
The crowd tonight are hellish; completely disinterested, proceeding to talk their way through the whole of Mockingbird, Wish Me Luck’s set.
The Bukowski-inspired Swedish eight-piece try to let their orchestral, handclap-infused indie-pop do the talking, but you can’t help but feel that they need to command the audience – silence them, in a way. But alas, there’s a limit to this.
Their LP, Days Come And Go, has a wonderful knack of framing the fun. And whilst the instrument swapping antics on stage do a little to convince, the songs are crying out for something more shambolic. The music is delightfully twee like some sort of Concretes/Jens Lekman hybrid, all the same – and there’s a Magnetic Fields’ kind of haze glossed all over it.
The trombone adds another dimension to the tweeness, and this lot have certainly got a way with the crescendo – each of the songs build up to a point where the flautist is piping away at a heartier rate, the guitars are denser, and the vocals are more impassioned. They bring to mind Aloha rather than Belle and Sebastian when they do that.
It’s more advisable to buy the record, for now, than see them live. ‘Pictures (Too Big To Fit In A Sight)’ and ‘Let’s Watch The Sunrise’ are both true saccharine delights.
It’s early days, and they all look so young, but there’s certainly a future ahead for Mockingbird, Wish Me Luck – they just need to release a bit more, and get the crowd onside.
The crowd tonight are hellish; completely disinterested, proceeding to talk their way through the whole of Mockingbird, Wish Me Luck’s set.
The Bukowski-inspired Swedish eight-piece try to let their orchestral, handclap-infused indie-pop do the talking, but you can’t help but feel that they need to command the audience – silence them, in a way. But alas, there’s a limit to this.
Their LP, Days Come And Go, has a wonderful knack of framing the fun. And whilst the instrument swapping antics on stage do a little to convince, the songs are crying out for something more shambolic. The music is delightfully twee like some sort of Concretes/Jens Lekman hybrid, all the same – and there’s a Magnetic Fields’ kind of haze glossed all over it.
The trombone adds another dimension to the tweeness, and this lot have certainly got a way with the crescendo – each of the songs build up to a point where the flautist is piping away at a heartier rate, the guitars are denser, and the vocals are more impassioned. They bring to mind Aloha rather than Belle and Sebastian when they do that.
It’s more advisable to buy the record, for now, than see them live. ‘Pictures (Too Big To Fit In A Sight)’ and ‘Let’s Watch The Sunrise’ are both true saccharine delights.
It’s early days, and they all look so young, but there’s certainly a future ahead for Mockingbird, Wish Me Luck – they just need to release a bit more, and get the crowd onside.
Tuesday, 8 July 2008
Morrissey at Wireless, Hyde Park
http://www.gigwise.com/reviews/live/44425/friday-040708-morrissey-the-national-guillemots-@-wireless-festival-hyde-park-london
Glastonbury’s younger, dwarf-like cousin has upped his bags and moved into Hyde Park for a holiday – bringing with him expensive gifts like super-amazing flushing portaloos. Not only that, but he’s brought with him the sun, and a fantastic line-up.
So, for The Rascals: the performance is a strange contrast between showmanship and technical introversion, almost too precise despite the fun the trio are having. The consistent sense of urgency does the trick in the short run, but it’s an unvaried set at least until Alex Turner makes a cameo on set-closer ‘Is It Too Late’ – which finally feeds the audience some much needed gusto.
Next up on the second stage is Jacksonville’s Black Kids. Their set’s a shambles, or more specifically, a mess of indistinguishable noise. Sure, ‘Hit The Heartbrakes’ wails some on record… but that and ‘I’ve Underestimated My Charm Again’ are reduced to screeching, out-of-tune cringefests live. Frontman Reggie Youngblood tries way too hard to impress, though Dawn and Ali’s 60s girlgroup harmonies do carry off live, redeeming the frontman a little. And it’s way too referential live. Shameful, and surely not down to the soundsystem because the same thing happened at Glastonbury last week.
Following that was Guillemots on the main stage, the diverse setlist taking in everything from the wistful ‘Made Up Lovesong #43’ to all-out dance on ‘Last Kiss’. Sporadic and not at all sitting right next to each other, they’ve a strange way of making it work. How unique a frontman Fyfe Dangerfield is becomes evermore apparent on ‘Standing On The Last Star’ - which is more stunning and skittishness live than can ever be imagined.
It’s now mid-afternoon/early-evening, and lapse ensuing, the PA announcement instructs the audience to “cry milky tears” in preparation for The Wombats’ arrival. Dubious. If dumbed-down, pappy, throwaway, foot-stomping, anthem-by-numbers indie-pop is your thing, then it’s a veritable feast. Doubtful though, with the high calibre elsewhere on this day’s bill. Perhaps I’m just irked about how The Wombats have followed me to every festival I’ve been to over the course of the summer. Against my will, may I add.
Aside, higher aspirations lead to the falafel stand – which sits happily alongside the burgers despite the believable rumours of a meat ban (!) – and then towards The National back on the second stage. Time constraints mean that I miss Beck’s set, which is a shame. But it’s more than compensated for by a fantastic display from frontman Matt Berninger, rich baritone in top form. ‘Slow Show’ is just perfect live, the whole set building and building and building into a giant climax of symphonic hyperbole. Boxer is such a stunning LP, which begs the question why The National haven’t been latched onto Arcade Fire-stylee. Not that the half full tent are complaining.
And now for the Moz; it’s vintage, quite simply. Three costume changes and a load of nipple sweat later, the night escalates into a brilliantly orchestrated 21-song set comprising new material, solo hits, and a select few Smiths’ favourites. With Bush-bashing and Kylie-commendations in almost equal part. Opening with ‘Last Of The Famous International Playboys’, it’s ‘What She Said’, ‘Vicar In A Tutu’ and ‘How Soon Is Now’ that get the heartiest receptions. The comeback era songs like ‘First Of The Gang To Die’ and ‘Irish Blood, English Heart’ come off brilliantly live, as Morrissey transforms into a super-human being seemingly born for playing these massive gigs. There’s even a cover of Buzzcocks’ ‘You Don’t Say You Love Me’, shamefully lost on much of the audience. New material such as 'Mama Lay Softly On The Riverbed' impresses too, with impassioned jangling like any of his best cuts. Forget the ‘depressing’ moniker that’s attached itself to le Moz because he comes across naturally funny, and humbled by the minions. I want to invite him to a private book club, but that’s another story.
In this ever-changing musical climate, Morrissey is the eternal paradigm. And that’s the greatest achievement of them all.
Glastonbury’s younger, dwarf-like cousin has upped his bags and moved into Hyde Park for a holiday – bringing with him expensive gifts like super-amazing flushing portaloos. Not only that, but he’s brought with him the sun, and a fantastic line-up.
So, for The Rascals: the performance is a strange contrast between showmanship and technical introversion, almost too precise despite the fun the trio are having. The consistent sense of urgency does the trick in the short run, but it’s an unvaried set at least until Alex Turner makes a cameo on set-closer ‘Is It Too Late’ – which finally feeds the audience some much needed gusto.
Next up on the second stage is Jacksonville’s Black Kids. Their set’s a shambles, or more specifically, a mess of indistinguishable noise. Sure, ‘Hit The Heartbrakes’ wails some on record… but that and ‘I’ve Underestimated My Charm Again’ are reduced to screeching, out-of-tune cringefests live. Frontman Reggie Youngblood tries way too hard to impress, though Dawn and Ali’s 60s girlgroup harmonies do carry off live, redeeming the frontman a little. And it’s way too referential live. Shameful, and surely not down to the soundsystem because the same thing happened at Glastonbury last week.
Following that was Guillemots on the main stage, the diverse setlist taking in everything from the wistful ‘Made Up Lovesong #43’ to all-out dance on ‘Last Kiss’. Sporadic and not at all sitting right next to each other, they’ve a strange way of making it work. How unique a frontman Fyfe Dangerfield is becomes evermore apparent on ‘Standing On The Last Star’ - which is more stunning and skittishness live than can ever be imagined.
It’s now mid-afternoon/early-evening, and lapse ensuing, the PA announcement instructs the audience to “cry milky tears” in preparation for The Wombats’ arrival. Dubious. If dumbed-down, pappy, throwaway, foot-stomping, anthem-by-numbers indie-pop is your thing, then it’s a veritable feast. Doubtful though, with the high calibre elsewhere on this day’s bill. Perhaps I’m just irked about how The Wombats have followed me to every festival I’ve been to over the course of the summer. Against my will, may I add.
Aside, higher aspirations lead to the falafel stand – which sits happily alongside the burgers despite the believable rumours of a meat ban (!) – and then towards The National back on the second stage. Time constraints mean that I miss Beck’s set, which is a shame. But it’s more than compensated for by a fantastic display from frontman Matt Berninger, rich baritone in top form. ‘Slow Show’ is just perfect live, the whole set building and building and building into a giant climax of symphonic hyperbole. Boxer is such a stunning LP, which begs the question why The National haven’t been latched onto Arcade Fire-stylee. Not that the half full tent are complaining.
And now for the Moz; it’s vintage, quite simply. Three costume changes and a load of nipple sweat later, the night escalates into a brilliantly orchestrated 21-song set comprising new material, solo hits, and a select few Smiths’ favourites. With Bush-bashing and Kylie-commendations in almost equal part. Opening with ‘Last Of The Famous International Playboys’, it’s ‘What She Said’, ‘Vicar In A Tutu’ and ‘How Soon Is Now’ that get the heartiest receptions. The comeback era songs like ‘First Of The Gang To Die’ and ‘Irish Blood, English Heart’ come off brilliantly live, as Morrissey transforms into a super-human being seemingly born for playing these massive gigs. There’s even a cover of Buzzcocks’ ‘You Don’t Say You Love Me’, shamefully lost on much of the audience. New material such as 'Mama Lay Softly On The Riverbed' impresses too, with impassioned jangling like any of his best cuts. Forget the ‘depressing’ moniker that’s attached itself to le Moz because he comes across naturally funny, and humbled by the minions. I want to invite him to a private book club, but that’s another story.
In this ever-changing musical climate, Morrissey is the eternal paradigm. And that’s the greatest achievement of them all.
Tuesday, 17 June 2008
The Futureheads On... The Music - Part Four of Four
http://www.clashmusic.com/feature/the-futureheads-examined-pt.4
Though the business side of their career courts its own focus these days, it’s only fair that The Futureheads are given the chance to elucidate on that thing they’re known for: the music. Not only theirs, but the stuff they love, hate and love to hate.
I reckon ‘Sale Of The Century’ (on the new album) is my favourite thing you’ve ever done. Really ferocious, very Joy Division.
Jaff: We didn’t even want that one on the album!
David: It was a contentious one, I remember it well.
Jaff: Us two were outvoted. But lots of people are saying that to us about that one.
It does sound completely different to anything you’ve done before.
David: Yeah, you’ve got to take yourself outside of the recording world and let somebody else tell you what’s good or bad.
What are the setlists like now?
Jaff: Seven old, seven new, one from News and Tributes.
Why? Because the fans don’t want to hear the second album?
Jaff: Yep.
David: And ‘cause we can’t play it!
Jaff: It’s too hard.
David: We can play them…
Jaff: They’ve got a million vocal tracks.
David: We found that when we started playing the songs off this album it brought the energy down.
Jaff: They relied too much on precision.David: Like we’d play ‘He Knows’ and then go on to ‘Thursday’, and it was just…
Was it to do with the way the second album was produced then?
David: Yeah.
Jaff: And the way it was written. And the idea we had writing it was to make a record that’d sound good on stereos rather than…
David: …rather than gigs. It was arrogant.
Jaff: Oh aye. We thought we’d get away with that. We did it, and it was hard to do. We’re still very fond of the record but it’s not for live.
Did Youth’s production really change the sound of this album?
Jaff: Massively. He couldn’t really be bothered with fannying about.
David: Doodling, self-indulgence...
Jaff: We’d lay the song up on the morning, work on the bass for an hour – try this, try that – then do the bass, the drumming, the guitars, the vocals, the rest of the guitars, the rest of the vocals…
David: It was very quick.
Exhausting?
David: Mostly because of the heat (the band recorded This Is Not The World in Andalucia).
Jaff: Aye, they were long days.
David: I was done by three o’clock everyday, go and have a few drinks.
Jaff: I had to drive.
You were out there in the mountains somewhere weren’t you?
Jaff: Aye, it were brilliant like.
This album feels a lot more, well, technical. Technically put together, structure-wise. I probably haven’t quite got the right word but…
David: No, I know what you mean. The first one was a lot busier.
Jaff: Our third record is a lot more traditional. We couldn’t start a song until the lyrics were finished and the chorus was finished.
Was the album all written before you got to the studios?
Jaff: No, we wrote 20 songs when were out there – it was pretty intense. We were there for three weeks so...
David: …there was time for the beach.
Jaff: Torremolinos!
David: It was brilliant.
Blimey, talk about polar opposites!
David: Yeah!
What are you both listening to these days?
Jaff: Let me try and think what the last thing I bought was… ah, the MGMT record. It’s very good. We just did a little tour with them and CSS.
David: I’ve been listening to The Rolling Stones the whole time. I hated them for years and now I love them. I don’t really listen to new music, can’t be dealing with all that crap.Jaff: Not gonna be as good as ‘Sticky Fingers’ mate, is it?
David: No, nothing can be as good as ‘Sticky Fingers’.
You sound like a 50 year-old man, Dave…
David: Yeah I don’t like any of this nu-rave business, I can’t be arsed with it.
What else can’t you stand?
Dave: Alphabeat!(Jaff gives him a sly look)
Dave: Do you like that one, Jaff?
Jaff: It’s great! It’s brilliant, it’s a classic!
Dave: I think we’re going in different directions…
Jaff: I’m definitely gonna play that one when I DJ, like. It’ll send the pulses up like David Bowie! If I’m gonna be brutally honest, there’s a trend in the UK at the minute for guitar bands. Not only do a lot of dreadful bands get signed, but a lot of dreadful bands get to be quite big. There’s a load of mediocrity on the live scene that’s come from record companies signing guitar bands and trying to make them pop bands. There’s a lot of dreadful ones. They all just write songs like (in stupid voice) “That’s nice/oh my god/got drunk/na na na” – the lyrics just sprawl on and on. There’s no rhythm, no melody, no metre, no…
Though the business side of their career courts its own focus these days, it’s only fair that The Futureheads are given the chance to elucidate on that thing they’re known for: the music. Not only theirs, but the stuff they love, hate and love to hate.
I reckon ‘Sale Of The Century’ (on the new album) is my favourite thing you’ve ever done. Really ferocious, very Joy Division.
Jaff: We didn’t even want that one on the album!
David: It was a contentious one, I remember it well.
Jaff: Us two were outvoted. But lots of people are saying that to us about that one.
It does sound completely different to anything you’ve done before.
David: Yeah, you’ve got to take yourself outside of the recording world and let somebody else tell you what’s good or bad.
What are the setlists like now?
Jaff: Seven old, seven new, one from News and Tributes.
Why? Because the fans don’t want to hear the second album?
Jaff: Yep.
David: And ‘cause we can’t play it!
Jaff: It’s too hard.
David: We can play them…
Jaff: They’ve got a million vocal tracks.
David: We found that when we started playing the songs off this album it brought the energy down.
Jaff: They relied too much on precision.David: Like we’d play ‘He Knows’ and then go on to ‘Thursday’, and it was just…
Was it to do with the way the second album was produced then?
David: Yeah.
Jaff: And the way it was written. And the idea we had writing it was to make a record that’d sound good on stereos rather than…
David: …rather than gigs. It was arrogant.
Jaff: Oh aye. We thought we’d get away with that. We did it, and it was hard to do. We’re still very fond of the record but it’s not for live.
Did Youth’s production really change the sound of this album?
Jaff: Massively. He couldn’t really be bothered with fannying about.
David: Doodling, self-indulgence...
Jaff: We’d lay the song up on the morning, work on the bass for an hour – try this, try that – then do the bass, the drumming, the guitars, the vocals, the rest of the guitars, the rest of the vocals…
David: It was very quick.
Exhausting?
David: Mostly because of the heat (the band recorded This Is Not The World in Andalucia).
Jaff: Aye, they were long days.
David: I was done by three o’clock everyday, go and have a few drinks.
Jaff: I had to drive.
You were out there in the mountains somewhere weren’t you?
Jaff: Aye, it were brilliant like.
This album feels a lot more, well, technical. Technically put together, structure-wise. I probably haven’t quite got the right word but…
David: No, I know what you mean. The first one was a lot busier.
Jaff: Our third record is a lot more traditional. We couldn’t start a song until the lyrics were finished and the chorus was finished.
Was the album all written before you got to the studios?
Jaff: No, we wrote 20 songs when were out there – it was pretty intense. We were there for three weeks so...
David: …there was time for the beach.
Jaff: Torremolinos!
David: It was brilliant.
Blimey, talk about polar opposites!
David: Yeah!
What are you both listening to these days?
Jaff: Let me try and think what the last thing I bought was… ah, the MGMT record. It’s very good. We just did a little tour with them and CSS.
David: I’ve been listening to The Rolling Stones the whole time. I hated them for years and now I love them. I don’t really listen to new music, can’t be dealing with all that crap.Jaff: Not gonna be as good as ‘Sticky Fingers’ mate, is it?
David: No, nothing can be as good as ‘Sticky Fingers’.
You sound like a 50 year-old man, Dave…
David: Yeah I don’t like any of this nu-rave business, I can’t be arsed with it.
What else can’t you stand?
Dave: Alphabeat!(Jaff gives him a sly look)
Dave: Do you like that one, Jaff?
Jaff: It’s great! It’s brilliant, it’s a classic!
Dave: I think we’re going in different directions…
Jaff: I’m definitely gonna play that one when I DJ, like. It’ll send the pulses up like David Bowie! If I’m gonna be brutally honest, there’s a trend in the UK at the minute for guitar bands. Not only do a lot of dreadful bands get signed, but a lot of dreadful bands get to be quite big. There’s a load of mediocrity on the live scene that’s come from record companies signing guitar bands and trying to make them pop bands. There’s a lot of dreadful ones. They all just write songs like (in stupid voice) “That’s nice/oh my god/got drunk/na na na” – the lyrics just sprawl on and on. There’s no rhythm, no melody, no metre, no…
The Futureheads On... Nostalgia and The Band Dynamic - Part Three Of Four
http://www.clashmusic.com/feature/the-futureheads-examined-pt.3
At this stage in their collective career, it’s inevitable that the members of The Futureheads know each other inside out. Their highs and lows have been most publicly condensed into the past eighteen months, but behind the scenes there’s a whole lot more going on.
What’s been the highest moment in your careers so far?
David: Meeting Dennis Hopper. We did a TV show in LA and he came into our dressing room with his son. He had our album with him and wanted it signed for his son. We were like ‘wow’!Jaff: I think for me it was Glastonbury 2005, when ‘Hounds of Love’ was out.
David: Yeah that was brilliant.
What do you want in the next couple of years?
Jaff: Hopefully me Knighthood. Not really! I guess I just want to see this record do better than the others. I’d like to see it come out and be given a chance. I think it’s really good and I’m really proud of it. I feel like we should be given the chance – I’m sounding a bit emo – I think we’re a pretty good band.
Well yeah, you have come back into favour. It was all a bit unfair after News and Tributes really wasn’t it? How did you feel back then?
David: I can’t really remember it.
Jaff: What you gonna do? You can’t make people like the music, can you? You can’t go away and make an album and say “we’re gonna make a song that people like”. And if they don’t like it you can’t go “oh no” (puts on whiney voice).
David: You just do what you’ve got to do and see what happens.
Has the band dynamic changed?
Jaff: It totally has I think, yeah.
Dave: Aye.Jaff: I think we know each other so well now. We wind each other up constantly - I quite enjoy trying to wind Ross up. I’m probably more miserable than I used to be, I used to be a right laugh!
Today must be a good day then!
David: I think that’s a bit harsh on yourself, Jaff.
Jaff: Er…er, nah.
David: Yeah.
It can’t be completely easy living out of each others pockets on tour and stuff.
Jaff: Well exactly. When you go out with someone you get on amazing for the first year and then start fighting all the time. The fact is there’s loads of testosterone flying about.
David: Recently we had our first big, like, er… (Jaff starts laughing) well our first big band fight. It was over and done and it worked.
Jaff: It was good. We don’t want to get into it.
David: It was our first fight.Jaff: Bearing in mind it was probably my fault.
Was it violent?
David: No, it wasn’t.
Jaff: No.
David: It could’ve got violent!
Jaff: It was good! It was a kind of process.
David: A release.
Jaff: I think there’s a lot of things that people don’t say sometimes and when you see someone for three weeks by the end they’re getting on your nerves, like. The next time it takes two weeks and then next time it takes one week, and you realise you’re all getting on each others nerves and someone will say something and you’ll just snap. I said some things I pretty much regretted straight away, but I felt like I should’ve said them anyway and everyone at least knew what I thought. It was good.
Dave: It was.
Jaff: It was a good little process, pretty mad though.
I shan’t press you on it any more.
David: I remember Jaff calling Barry ‘Barry Mozart’.
Jaff: Ssh!(mass laughter and knowing looks occur)
David: That was pretty much the funniest part. It was very, very funny.
At this stage in their collective career, it’s inevitable that the members of The Futureheads know each other inside out. Their highs and lows have been most publicly condensed into the past eighteen months, but behind the scenes there’s a whole lot more going on.
What’s been the highest moment in your careers so far?
David: Meeting Dennis Hopper. We did a TV show in LA and he came into our dressing room with his son. He had our album with him and wanted it signed for his son. We were like ‘wow’!Jaff: I think for me it was Glastonbury 2005, when ‘Hounds of Love’ was out.
David: Yeah that was brilliant.
What do you want in the next couple of years?
Jaff: Hopefully me Knighthood. Not really! I guess I just want to see this record do better than the others. I’d like to see it come out and be given a chance. I think it’s really good and I’m really proud of it. I feel like we should be given the chance – I’m sounding a bit emo – I think we’re a pretty good band.
Well yeah, you have come back into favour. It was all a bit unfair after News and Tributes really wasn’t it? How did you feel back then?
David: I can’t really remember it.
Jaff: What you gonna do? You can’t make people like the music, can you? You can’t go away and make an album and say “we’re gonna make a song that people like”. And if they don’t like it you can’t go “oh no” (puts on whiney voice).
David: You just do what you’ve got to do and see what happens.
Has the band dynamic changed?
Jaff: It totally has I think, yeah.
Dave: Aye.Jaff: I think we know each other so well now. We wind each other up constantly - I quite enjoy trying to wind Ross up. I’m probably more miserable than I used to be, I used to be a right laugh!
Today must be a good day then!
David: I think that’s a bit harsh on yourself, Jaff.
Jaff: Er…er, nah.
David: Yeah.
It can’t be completely easy living out of each others pockets on tour and stuff.
Jaff: Well exactly. When you go out with someone you get on amazing for the first year and then start fighting all the time. The fact is there’s loads of testosterone flying about.
David: Recently we had our first big, like, er… (Jaff starts laughing) well our first big band fight. It was over and done and it worked.
Jaff: It was good. We don’t want to get into it.
David: It was our first fight.Jaff: Bearing in mind it was probably my fault.
Was it violent?
David: No, it wasn’t.
Jaff: No.
David: It could’ve got violent!
Jaff: It was good! It was a kind of process.
David: A release.
Jaff: I think there’s a lot of things that people don’t say sometimes and when you see someone for three weeks by the end they’re getting on your nerves, like. The next time it takes two weeks and then next time it takes one week, and you realise you’re all getting on each others nerves and someone will say something and you’ll just snap. I said some things I pretty much regretted straight away, but I felt like I should’ve said them anyway and everyone at least knew what I thought. It was good.
Dave: It was.
Jaff: It was a good little process, pretty mad though.
I shan’t press you on it any more.
David: I remember Jaff calling Barry ‘Barry Mozart’.
Jaff: Ssh!(mass laughter and knowing looks occur)
David: That was pretty much the funniest part. It was very, very funny.
The Futureheds On... Themes and Inspirations - Part Two Of Four
http://www.clashmusic.com/feature/the-futureheads-examined-pt.2
The Futureheads are notoriously difficult to pigeonhole. The lyrics have ranged from being dressed up in frantic barbershop quartet style harmonies (typically on their first album), in sparser structures (on News And Tributes) or in bigger radio rock anthems (on their latest LP). The one thing that’s remained is a general feeling of distance from the world around them, a frustration – even an obsession - with broader issues that are out of their control.
To me, this album feels the most personal. I’m not sure if I’m right on that one?
Jaff: Yeah, I think it is. It came out of a conflict. And when Barry and Ross write the words three albums in they’re not scared to say certain things. They realise it’s ok to have certain ways about you. It’s ok to talk about feelings so long as you don’t use the word ‘feeling’. I do think it’s a lot more personal, you can see into the band’s psyche a little bit more.
David: We’ve got more involved in this album with us doing it all ourselves, like. As far as myspace and getting involved – we do stupid video clips and stuff. It’s something we’ve never done before.
Had you ever contemplated doing that sort of thing before?
Jaff: We couldn’t, we weren’t allowed to.
David: This album’s been fun in that way – we can finally get the fans to observe what we’re about and how we do it. Yeah, it’s a good thing.
I’ve noticed how much time crops up as a theme on all of your material.
Jaff: You are probably the first person that’s noticed that.
You must be joking?
Jaff: No! It’s true - ‘Broke Up The Time’ on this album, half the songs on the first album – ‘Trying Not To Think About Time’, ‘He Knows’, ‘Meantime’… And ‘Everything’s Changing Today’ on This Is Not The World.
Why does it figure so much? It’s a pretty bold, all-encompassing thing.
Jaff: Barry is pretty scared of getting old. Though most of the time ones are Ross’s.
David: Yeah, the ones from the first record.
Do those two come to you with the lyrics then? Do you always know what the songs are about?Jaff: Yeah, yeah we do. I mean, you know what they’re about. That’s the thing about lyrics though – if you don’t know what the song’s about then you can’t relate to it. And if you can’t relate to a song then it’s not a very good song. Why would anyone from Sunderland ever listen to American bands if it wasn’t for lyrics? Our lives are so different. People like foreign music. It doesn’t matter where the people are from, it’s how they write the song.
I’ve noticed that there seem to be a fair amount of external forces you’re switched on to. Stuff around you. What inspires you to fight against them?
David: What do you mean?
Jaff: Like what?
Well of course I mean time as one example, but lyrically The Futureheads are extremely challenging. It’s nigh on abstract concepts sometimes; deep stuff that you don’t really tend to hear from artists that’ve broken into the mainstream.
Jaff: Yeah I think you’re right. We write about things that affect us. Things we care about. I think we are quite easily affected by things. We don’t have to have to have a vision, we comment on things - especially lyrically. Yeah you are right. You’re quite good at this, like! People don’t pick up on this sort of stuff normally.
David: She’s good. She’s very good.
Jaff: We never get asked these types of questions!
David: It’s normally ‘What shoes do you like?’
Jaff: Seriously, you’re right. We do care about things. It’s that observational thing we find interesting.
David: I think Barry and Ross are very aware of not writing about going out on a Saturday night and getting bevvied up and all that crap. There’s no blasé lyric writing.
Jaff: With the first record the lyrics were very much a means to an end, to getting the song finished.
David: Yeah.
Wow, I find that surprising.
David: Aye.
Jaff: The riffs would normally come first.D
avid: And then the lyrics.
‘Radio Heart’ – it’s pretty bold. Do you want to want to change the way people think or is it just an observational thing?
Jaff: It’s observational, yeah. I wouldn’t like the lead quote on this piece to say “The Futureheads want to change people”!
I’ll try rephrasing that question – how about, do you want to make people more aware of the world around them or is it just an observational thing?
Jaff: Better. Yeah, I think that is why you write songs. Though you write songs and you know they’re not listening. You write lyrics ‘cause you want people to notice. It’s all about a point of view.
The Futureheads are notoriously difficult to pigeonhole. The lyrics have ranged from being dressed up in frantic barbershop quartet style harmonies (typically on their first album), in sparser structures (on News And Tributes) or in bigger radio rock anthems (on their latest LP). The one thing that’s remained is a general feeling of distance from the world around them, a frustration – even an obsession - with broader issues that are out of their control.
To me, this album feels the most personal. I’m not sure if I’m right on that one?
Jaff: Yeah, I think it is. It came out of a conflict. And when Barry and Ross write the words three albums in they’re not scared to say certain things. They realise it’s ok to have certain ways about you. It’s ok to talk about feelings so long as you don’t use the word ‘feeling’. I do think it’s a lot more personal, you can see into the band’s psyche a little bit more.
David: We’ve got more involved in this album with us doing it all ourselves, like. As far as myspace and getting involved – we do stupid video clips and stuff. It’s something we’ve never done before.
Had you ever contemplated doing that sort of thing before?
Jaff: We couldn’t, we weren’t allowed to.
David: This album’s been fun in that way – we can finally get the fans to observe what we’re about and how we do it. Yeah, it’s a good thing.
I’ve noticed how much time crops up as a theme on all of your material.
Jaff: You are probably the first person that’s noticed that.
You must be joking?
Jaff: No! It’s true - ‘Broke Up The Time’ on this album, half the songs on the first album – ‘Trying Not To Think About Time’, ‘He Knows’, ‘Meantime’… And ‘Everything’s Changing Today’ on This Is Not The World.
Why does it figure so much? It’s a pretty bold, all-encompassing thing.
Jaff: Barry is pretty scared of getting old. Though most of the time ones are Ross’s.
David: Yeah, the ones from the first record.
Do those two come to you with the lyrics then? Do you always know what the songs are about?Jaff: Yeah, yeah we do. I mean, you know what they’re about. That’s the thing about lyrics though – if you don’t know what the song’s about then you can’t relate to it. And if you can’t relate to a song then it’s not a very good song. Why would anyone from Sunderland ever listen to American bands if it wasn’t for lyrics? Our lives are so different. People like foreign music. It doesn’t matter where the people are from, it’s how they write the song.
I’ve noticed that there seem to be a fair amount of external forces you’re switched on to. Stuff around you. What inspires you to fight against them?
David: What do you mean?
Jaff: Like what?
Well of course I mean time as one example, but lyrically The Futureheads are extremely challenging. It’s nigh on abstract concepts sometimes; deep stuff that you don’t really tend to hear from artists that’ve broken into the mainstream.
Jaff: Yeah I think you’re right. We write about things that affect us. Things we care about. I think we are quite easily affected by things. We don’t have to have to have a vision, we comment on things - especially lyrically. Yeah you are right. You’re quite good at this, like! People don’t pick up on this sort of stuff normally.
David: She’s good. She’s very good.
Jaff: We never get asked these types of questions!
David: It’s normally ‘What shoes do you like?’
Jaff: Seriously, you’re right. We do care about things. It’s that observational thing we find interesting.
David: I think Barry and Ross are very aware of not writing about going out on a Saturday night and getting bevvied up and all that crap. There’s no blasé lyric writing.
Jaff: With the first record the lyrics were very much a means to an end, to getting the song finished.
David: Yeah.
Wow, I find that surprising.
David: Aye.
Jaff: The riffs would normally come first.D
avid: And then the lyrics.
‘Radio Heart’ – it’s pretty bold. Do you want to want to change the way people think or is it just an observational thing?
Jaff: It’s observational, yeah. I wouldn’t like the lead quote on this piece to say “The Futureheads want to change people”!
I’ll try rephrasing that question – how about, do you want to make people more aware of the world around them or is it just an observational thing?
Jaff: Better. Yeah, I think that is why you write songs. Though you write songs and you know they’re not listening. You write lyrics ‘cause you want people to notice. It’s all about a point of view.
Wednesday, 11 June 2008
The Futureheads On... Being Dropped - Part One of Four
http://www.clashmusic.com/feature/the-futureheads-examined-pt.1
At the end of 2006, The Futureheads were ceremoniously dumped by their label. Relentlessly, they set up their own label (Nul Records), and have just released their third album, This Is Not The World. And here’s Part One of a four-part series documenting Clash’s catch-up session with Jaff (bass) and Dave (drums) in an East London boozer…
What were your initial reactions after being dropped?
Jaff: I think they were mixed within the band – Barry talked about how he was happy, I was worried about how I was gonna pay me mortgage but I was also thinking it was the best thing for the band. I was pretty concerned because I’m the sort of person that likes to know what’s happening in advance. It was a bit of a shock, but artistically it was the best thing that could’ve happened, like. We don’t want to slag major record companies off but they are generally tits. Though they do provide a certain kind of…
Security?
Jaff: Yep, yep they do. They pay your wage and they pay for you to go on tour.Dave: But we’ve still got a wage. It never stopped, did it? It’s alright.
There’s a huge sense of defiance on opening track ‘Beginning of The Twist’ but at the same time, it’s very on the edge. Was that related to the stuff that went on with 679?
Jaff: People ask that, but Barry had written that song before we got dropped. The lyrics anyway, and the arrangements came when we were in Spain. I just think it’s a good example of the record as a whole - it’s pretty defiant, it’s pretty rock. It’s upfront and direct, and it’s got that dark twist. The lyrics work perfectly for being first on the album, and as the first single. It’s about mental illness and those hard times in your life. It’s not quite so obvious.Dave: It’s nothing to do with the label.
Do you think the album would’ve gone in the same direction if you hadn’t got dropped?
Dave: Nah, we’d have been miserable.
Jaff: Or we’d have split up.
Really?
Jaff: Yeah, we’d have split up. We wouldn’t have had it in us, we couldn’t have been arsed. There’d have been too many decisions to be made. We would’ve have made records.
Wow. Was there ever a midpoint between splitting up and setting up Nul then? Was it going to go this way as soon as you got dropped?
Jaff: We got dropped in October 2006 and then we had a tour in the December which’d already sold out. So we realised it’d sold out and we wanted to do it on our own. We took the Christmas off, and Barry lives in Glasgow. So he came down for Christmas with a bunch of songs and we went from there. We recorded a couple of songs, and got back into it.
Do you think you’d have ever been able to get to where you’re at now without having been signed to 679 for two albums?
Jaff: Nah. And I’ll tell you why – essentially, Warner Bros (owner of subsidiary, 679) had spent about £700k on us. And that’s the kind of thing you can’t equate with really when you start doing it yourself. The capital they put into bands to start with… they were crazy to drop us. They put so much money in.
David: Yeah.
Jaff: They could’ve signed three bands with the amount of money they put into us – they should’ve given us another chance. But I’m so glad it happened – now we don’t owe them anything and all the money we make’ll be ours. We’ll get more money and make more music.
David: It is more about the music than the money.
Are you sick of talking about the industry side of things yet?
David: Yeah, I’m bored! Nah, joking (he pats Clash on the back to clarify how much fun he’s really having).
Jaff: I love it.
David: We let ourselves in for it really; we’ve been championing ourselves for a few months now. We’re doing it all ourselves. Though I don’t really have a clue about what’s going on on the business side – the others are pretty clued up though.
What’s the day-to-day involvement?
David: We’ve got people doing the everyday stuff. We do our job, they do theirs.
Jaff: It’s the four of us in the band and two managers that set up Nul. We split it all six ways, it’s good.
David: It’s working really well.
What could you offer in terms of advice to new bands? How are they supposed to get the best result from the word go?
Jaff: Just get a good lawyer! It’s different now though - it’s easier to market your music via myspace and things like that. It’s easier. You can get a fanbase without spending money. But it’s hard too because everyone sets the example of the Arctic Monkeys.
David: I don’t think anyone should look at the example of the Arctic Monkeys and say “right, that’s where we’ll go” because it’ll never happen. They sold more copies than The Beatles in the first week their album was released.
Yeah, it’s not a realistic target.
David: It’s cool though. It’s great.
Jaff: They’re a good band but it’s not the norm. I mean, how many bands have myspace sites? Loads.
At the end of 2006, The Futureheads were ceremoniously dumped by their label. Relentlessly, they set up their own label (Nul Records), and have just released their third album, This Is Not The World. And here’s Part One of a four-part series documenting Clash’s catch-up session with Jaff (bass) and Dave (drums) in an East London boozer…
What were your initial reactions after being dropped?
Jaff: I think they were mixed within the band – Barry talked about how he was happy, I was worried about how I was gonna pay me mortgage but I was also thinking it was the best thing for the band. I was pretty concerned because I’m the sort of person that likes to know what’s happening in advance. It was a bit of a shock, but artistically it was the best thing that could’ve happened, like. We don’t want to slag major record companies off but they are generally tits. Though they do provide a certain kind of…
Security?
Jaff: Yep, yep they do. They pay your wage and they pay for you to go on tour.Dave: But we’ve still got a wage. It never stopped, did it? It’s alright.
There’s a huge sense of defiance on opening track ‘Beginning of The Twist’ but at the same time, it’s very on the edge. Was that related to the stuff that went on with 679?
Jaff: People ask that, but Barry had written that song before we got dropped. The lyrics anyway, and the arrangements came when we were in Spain. I just think it’s a good example of the record as a whole - it’s pretty defiant, it’s pretty rock. It’s upfront and direct, and it’s got that dark twist. The lyrics work perfectly for being first on the album, and as the first single. It’s about mental illness and those hard times in your life. It’s not quite so obvious.Dave: It’s nothing to do with the label.
Do you think the album would’ve gone in the same direction if you hadn’t got dropped?
Dave: Nah, we’d have been miserable.
Jaff: Or we’d have split up.
Really?
Jaff: Yeah, we’d have split up. We wouldn’t have had it in us, we couldn’t have been arsed. There’d have been too many decisions to be made. We would’ve have made records.
Wow. Was there ever a midpoint between splitting up and setting up Nul then? Was it going to go this way as soon as you got dropped?
Jaff: We got dropped in October 2006 and then we had a tour in the December which’d already sold out. So we realised it’d sold out and we wanted to do it on our own. We took the Christmas off, and Barry lives in Glasgow. So he came down for Christmas with a bunch of songs and we went from there. We recorded a couple of songs, and got back into it.
Do you think you’d have ever been able to get to where you’re at now without having been signed to 679 for two albums?
Jaff: Nah. And I’ll tell you why – essentially, Warner Bros (owner of subsidiary, 679) had spent about £700k on us. And that’s the kind of thing you can’t equate with really when you start doing it yourself. The capital they put into bands to start with… they were crazy to drop us. They put so much money in.
David: Yeah.
Jaff: They could’ve signed three bands with the amount of money they put into us – they should’ve given us another chance. But I’m so glad it happened – now we don’t owe them anything and all the money we make’ll be ours. We’ll get more money and make more music.
David: It is more about the music than the money.
Are you sick of talking about the industry side of things yet?
David: Yeah, I’m bored! Nah, joking (he pats Clash on the back to clarify how much fun he’s really having).
Jaff: I love it.
David: We let ourselves in for it really; we’ve been championing ourselves for a few months now. We’re doing it all ourselves. Though I don’t really have a clue about what’s going on on the business side – the others are pretty clued up though.
What’s the day-to-day involvement?
David: We’ve got people doing the everyday stuff. We do our job, they do theirs.
Jaff: It’s the four of us in the band and two managers that set up Nul. We split it all six ways, it’s good.
David: It’s working really well.
What could you offer in terms of advice to new bands? How are they supposed to get the best result from the word go?
Jaff: Just get a good lawyer! It’s different now though - it’s easier to market your music via myspace and things like that. It’s easier. You can get a fanbase without spending money. But it’s hard too because everyone sets the example of the Arctic Monkeys.
David: I don’t think anyone should look at the example of the Arctic Monkeys and say “right, that’s where we’ll go” because it’ll never happen. They sold more copies than The Beatles in the first week their album was released.
Yeah, it’s not a realistic target.
David: It’s cool though. It’s great.
Jaff: They’re a good band but it’s not the norm. I mean, how many bands have myspace sites? Loads.
Wednesday, 4 June 2008
The Futureheads at Camden Electric Ballroom
http://drownedinsound.com/articles/3409878
The Futureheads are currently playing like it’s their last hour on the planet – a fact (well, it’s as objective as I’ve ever tried to be) which surely can’t invoke anything other than histrionic praise. It’s a truly mind-blowing set where I marvel in the wonder of just where the undying fervour and force comes from. The stream of anthems emitting from the stage is endless, each one having its own matchless characteristic - from the “ooh-ooh-ooh” punctuating ‘Carnival Kids’ to the instinctual, homely beat holding together ‘Area’. And the tempo keeps building throughout, almost of its own accord.
They’re on top of their game, be it via straight-up stormer ‘Everything Is Changing Today’ or the frenetic syncopation of ‘Man Ray’. Only ‘Hard To Bear’ allays the undying pace, and it’s placed at exactly the right moment – the guitars chug like steam engines and the drums enter a quasi-tango phase, sometimes. It comes across so tender because of the preciseness of the performance - the contrasts are amplified as each bass flinch, each syllable, each uplifting coming together of harmony is put out there on a limb. Such a distinctive blend of sounds, another the reason this lot impress so much is their passion; simple, old-fashioned showmanship where the crowd are mere foils. It’s essentially four huge personalities buzzing off of each other into a mix of sound which is never contained. Back to the way that every little nuance exemplifies itself, the jostling interplay and sparser downbeat of ‘Skip To The End’ showcase the ambition of the band to prolific effect - especially when placed in a set of mostly feverish snatches.
A huge sense of self-assertion has encircled the band since I last saw them around the release of News and Tributes – there’s a new warmth to their once ramshackle, throw-it-all-in dramaticism. It only takes a glimpse at the contrast between ‘Broke Up The Time’ and ‘Stupid and Shallow’ – there’s warmth and humanity at one end, and abstract anecdotes at the other. And from that, there seems to be a sense of pride growing within their performance. The loudness and the fastness remains, but the guts behind it have undergone a change in substance. Each snatch is played out with swagger, framing the observations in protagonist-led social scrutiny.
It’s an absolutely perfect set, with the band’s relatively pared-down moments (notably, most of the second album) foregone in favour of a 15-song set of impossibly tight harmonies, spat out nuances and frenzied emotion – and that’s the master stroke, to be quite honest. For what it’s worth, ‘Sale Of The Century’ and ‘Alms’ are my choice Futureheads songs – but they just wouldn’t work in this context of full-on vigour without a let up. The only problem now is that every time I listen to the records I’m going to wish they were performing it before me instead. Kudos to the sound and lighting people too – it’s spot on, particularly the moments that feel like I’m watching the band through a red tint. Brilliant, symbiotic almost.
Where the heck to go next? Who cares. For now, this is a supreme masterclass in itself. Maybe one of these days I’ll choose to review a gig for DiS that’ll disappoint me… I’m not easy to please, promise.
The Futureheads are currently playing like it’s their last hour on the planet – a fact (well, it’s as objective as I’ve ever tried to be) which surely can’t invoke anything other than histrionic praise. It’s a truly mind-blowing set where I marvel in the wonder of just where the undying fervour and force comes from. The stream of anthems emitting from the stage is endless, each one having its own matchless characteristic - from the “ooh-ooh-ooh” punctuating ‘Carnival Kids’ to the instinctual, homely beat holding together ‘Area’. And the tempo keeps building throughout, almost of its own accord.
They’re on top of their game, be it via straight-up stormer ‘Everything Is Changing Today’ or the frenetic syncopation of ‘Man Ray’. Only ‘Hard To Bear’ allays the undying pace, and it’s placed at exactly the right moment – the guitars chug like steam engines and the drums enter a quasi-tango phase, sometimes. It comes across so tender because of the preciseness of the performance - the contrasts are amplified as each bass flinch, each syllable, each uplifting coming together of harmony is put out there on a limb. Such a distinctive blend of sounds, another the reason this lot impress so much is their passion; simple, old-fashioned showmanship where the crowd are mere foils. It’s essentially four huge personalities buzzing off of each other into a mix of sound which is never contained. Back to the way that every little nuance exemplifies itself, the jostling interplay and sparser downbeat of ‘Skip To The End’ showcase the ambition of the band to prolific effect - especially when placed in a set of mostly feverish snatches.
A huge sense of self-assertion has encircled the band since I last saw them around the release of News and Tributes – there’s a new warmth to their once ramshackle, throw-it-all-in dramaticism. It only takes a glimpse at the contrast between ‘Broke Up The Time’ and ‘Stupid and Shallow’ – there’s warmth and humanity at one end, and abstract anecdotes at the other. And from that, there seems to be a sense of pride growing within their performance. The loudness and the fastness remains, but the guts behind it have undergone a change in substance. Each snatch is played out with swagger, framing the observations in protagonist-led social scrutiny.
It’s an absolutely perfect set, with the band’s relatively pared-down moments (notably, most of the second album) foregone in favour of a 15-song set of impossibly tight harmonies, spat out nuances and frenzied emotion – and that’s the master stroke, to be quite honest. For what it’s worth, ‘Sale Of The Century’ and ‘Alms’ are my choice Futureheads songs – but they just wouldn’t work in this context of full-on vigour without a let up. The only problem now is that every time I listen to the records I’m going to wish they were performing it before me instead. Kudos to the sound and lighting people too – it’s spot on, particularly the moments that feel like I’m watching the band through a red tint. Brilliant, symbiotic almost.
Where the heck to go next? Who cares. For now, this is a supreme masterclass in itself. Maybe one of these days I’ll choose to review a gig for DiS that’ll disappoint me… I’m not easy to please, promise.
Tuesday, 3 June 2008
Lykke Li - Youth Novels
http://www.gigwise.com/reviews/albums/43552/lykke-li--youth-novels-ll-released-090608
Coming in at fourteen tracks, this album would have benefited from being a few tracks shorter. All the same, it’s a remarkably different debut; the vocals are fragile, the variation knowing. There’s an underlying - even superseding – minimalism that holds the songs together. And that’s why some of the offerings are so astonishing. The emotion is raw and fragile but the high, saccharine register gives it a confusing sugar-coating.Opening with Kraftwerk-meets-Madonna spoken-word mantra ‘Melodies & Desires’ isn’t the best idea – it’s overly pretentious, too consciously zen. “You’ll be the rhythm and I’ll be the beat/And I’ll be the rhythm and you’ll be the beat” sings Sweden’s Lykke Li; it’s certainly a fitting introduction to the key dichotomies throughout, but it’s also a false lead.
The album progresses rapidly through the twitchy, minimal tribalism and cowbell vacuum interludes on ‘Dance, Dance, Dance’; the flinches of bizarre percussion, comforting repetition and yo-yo vocals on ‘I’m Good, I’m Gone’; and the beat-led, syncopated snatch ‘Let It Fall’. Throughout this strong and varied series of songs, one thing remains - a very slightly flat vocal which turns out to be a laudible stylistic trick. But that same flatness grates in parts as despite everything around it changing, it remains. It’s immovable and extremely out of place on more twee takes like ‘Hanging High’.
As the album continues, it begins to tire a tad - ‘Tonight’ feels too overwrought, ‘The Trumpet In My Head’ strangely evoking Sting. To elucidate, it’s because there’s a fine line between insubstantial and minimal. ‘My Love’ dances the line, veering towards the more favourable side of it after repeated listens. The Bossa rhythms and drifting harmonies are easy on the ear but it lacks immediate direction - albeit the song’s about waiting for a lover in a state of stagnancy, so it’s probably justified. So that’s a pretty circular point, but it’s fairer to say that the structure of sparse verse/broad-spanning harmony-punctuated harmony feels all too predictable five tracks in.
The song that got Lykke Li noticed, ‘Little Bit’, is of course a snippet of brilliance. It combines tropicalia, electro and low-slung folk with a shudderingly sexy vocal – it showcases just how emotions are laid on the line throughout this album, but more to the point has something extraordinary; a really special hook that lodges itself in the brain by reflex. And then there’s ‘Complaint Department’, the starkest contrast yet to Li’s syrupy vocal timbre – the words remain soft but the loops are bleak and damaged. It’s difficult to warm to though and despite the album never once staying in one place, it feels strange that this track has ever found itself here. It’s admirably followed by the nursery-rhyme feyness of ‘Breaking It Up’, with sounds of a children’s choir and all. Which is crying out for a Metronomy remix, may I add.
The closing three tracks don’t go down a treat, to be frank – the bare emotions are on display as ever, but without the idiosyncrasies El Perro Del Mar does a better job. ‘Time Flies’ equally lacks the contrasts found elsewhere but it’s still an admirable offering considering that this is a debut record - Björn Yttling’s production is top notch too, making every uber-vibration count.
The hard-hitting contrasts between songs may prove isolating at first but if you give Lykke Li the chance, you’ll fall for her. The songs are dainty, sure – but there’s a sandpaper-rough edge around every note’s perimeter. Let’s hope she remembers the quality control button next time around – if she’d done so this time, this album would be a pop phenomenon of the finest calibre.
Coming in at fourteen tracks, this album would have benefited from being a few tracks shorter. All the same, it’s a remarkably different debut; the vocals are fragile, the variation knowing. There’s an underlying - even superseding – minimalism that holds the songs together. And that’s why some of the offerings are so astonishing. The emotion is raw and fragile but the high, saccharine register gives it a confusing sugar-coating.Opening with Kraftwerk-meets-Madonna spoken-word mantra ‘Melodies & Desires’ isn’t the best idea – it’s overly pretentious, too consciously zen. “You’ll be the rhythm and I’ll be the beat/And I’ll be the rhythm and you’ll be the beat” sings Sweden’s Lykke Li; it’s certainly a fitting introduction to the key dichotomies throughout, but it’s also a false lead.
The album progresses rapidly through the twitchy, minimal tribalism and cowbell vacuum interludes on ‘Dance, Dance, Dance’; the flinches of bizarre percussion, comforting repetition and yo-yo vocals on ‘I’m Good, I’m Gone’; and the beat-led, syncopated snatch ‘Let It Fall’. Throughout this strong and varied series of songs, one thing remains - a very slightly flat vocal which turns out to be a laudible stylistic trick. But that same flatness grates in parts as despite everything around it changing, it remains. It’s immovable and extremely out of place on more twee takes like ‘Hanging High’.
As the album continues, it begins to tire a tad - ‘Tonight’ feels too overwrought, ‘The Trumpet In My Head’ strangely evoking Sting. To elucidate, it’s because there’s a fine line between insubstantial and minimal. ‘My Love’ dances the line, veering towards the more favourable side of it after repeated listens. The Bossa rhythms and drifting harmonies are easy on the ear but it lacks immediate direction - albeit the song’s about waiting for a lover in a state of stagnancy, so it’s probably justified. So that’s a pretty circular point, but it’s fairer to say that the structure of sparse verse/broad-spanning harmony-punctuated harmony feels all too predictable five tracks in.
The song that got Lykke Li noticed, ‘Little Bit’, is of course a snippet of brilliance. It combines tropicalia, electro and low-slung folk with a shudderingly sexy vocal – it showcases just how emotions are laid on the line throughout this album, but more to the point has something extraordinary; a really special hook that lodges itself in the brain by reflex. And then there’s ‘Complaint Department’, the starkest contrast yet to Li’s syrupy vocal timbre – the words remain soft but the loops are bleak and damaged. It’s difficult to warm to though and despite the album never once staying in one place, it feels strange that this track has ever found itself here. It’s admirably followed by the nursery-rhyme feyness of ‘Breaking It Up’, with sounds of a children’s choir and all. Which is crying out for a Metronomy remix, may I add.
The closing three tracks don’t go down a treat, to be frank – the bare emotions are on display as ever, but without the idiosyncrasies El Perro Del Mar does a better job. ‘Time Flies’ equally lacks the contrasts found elsewhere but it’s still an admirable offering considering that this is a debut record - Björn Yttling’s production is top notch too, making every uber-vibration count.
The hard-hitting contrasts between songs may prove isolating at first but if you give Lykke Li the chance, you’ll fall for her. The songs are dainty, sure – but there’s a sandpaper-rough edge around every note’s perimeter. Let’s hope she remembers the quality control button next time around – if she’d done so this time, this album would be a pop phenomenon of the finest calibre.
Tuesday, 27 May 2008
Sunset Rubdown at Kilburn Luminaire
http://www.clashmusic.com/live-review/sunset-rubdown
Sunset Rubdown began in 2005 as a Spencer Krug (Wolf Parade, Frog Eyes, Fifths of Seven, Swan Lake) solo affair. On record, it’s a haunting, aesthetic vocal with some sublimely complex synthship – and by heck, does it transfer to the stage in the band’s first ever UK tour.
Beyond even the most heightened expectations, which are inevitably present. It’s far from a solo project now and this intimate gig unravels into one of the most brilliant experiences/displays of inconceivably amazing music likely to be witnessed this year, if not ever.
The tightness and focus of the band (and particularly the second drummer) is simply astounding – it’s joyous, manic and draining all at once. And there’s a divergence too, as what they’re emitting alone are completely distinct components. The textures seep into a technicolour tornado; a genre-confounding, epoch-defining display. The room falls into a scholarly silence amidst songs such as ‘Winged/Wicked Things’ and ‘Trumpet, Trumpet, Toot! Toot!’ – and the setlist is structured to perfection, keeping the audience engrossed in a mesmeric gaze of sorts.
Krug perches on a stool occasionally, mostly leaning into his synth as if spellbound by it. The guitar work is feverish and precise, the sound as a whole a vapour of nervous energy. Appreciation is rife, with never-ending applause and gratitude, and the whole band seem genuinely surprised by just how well they are received.
From the schizoid sonics of closing song, ‘The Mending Of The Gown’, to the insistent, instant epic quality of ‘Up on Your Leopard, Upon the End of Your Feral Days’, this is certainly a show. It’s endearing just how anxious they appear between songs too. The repertoire as a whole feels harder than it can convey on record, particularly ‘Shut Up I Am Dreaming of Places Where Lovers Have Wings’ – and it’s due to the huge variation in sound between songs, some expert timbral movement and a perfect fit of astounding musicians.
Some new songs are debuted too, giving as good evidence as any that the next studio output from this marvel of a collective is going to be as spectacular and expansive as anything they’ve done before. Truly an incredible “you had to be there” experience, a shame than only 200-odd have the privilege. Guess the masses had better get in there quicker next time…
Sunset Rubdown began in 2005 as a Spencer Krug (Wolf Parade, Frog Eyes, Fifths of Seven, Swan Lake) solo affair. On record, it’s a haunting, aesthetic vocal with some sublimely complex synthship – and by heck, does it transfer to the stage in the band’s first ever UK tour.
Beyond even the most heightened expectations, which are inevitably present. It’s far from a solo project now and this intimate gig unravels into one of the most brilliant experiences/displays of inconceivably amazing music likely to be witnessed this year, if not ever.
The tightness and focus of the band (and particularly the second drummer) is simply astounding – it’s joyous, manic and draining all at once. And there’s a divergence too, as what they’re emitting alone are completely distinct components. The textures seep into a technicolour tornado; a genre-confounding, epoch-defining display. The room falls into a scholarly silence amidst songs such as ‘Winged/Wicked Things’ and ‘Trumpet, Trumpet, Toot! Toot!’ – and the setlist is structured to perfection, keeping the audience engrossed in a mesmeric gaze of sorts.
Krug perches on a stool occasionally, mostly leaning into his synth as if spellbound by it. The guitar work is feverish and precise, the sound as a whole a vapour of nervous energy. Appreciation is rife, with never-ending applause and gratitude, and the whole band seem genuinely surprised by just how well they are received.
From the schizoid sonics of closing song, ‘The Mending Of The Gown’, to the insistent, instant epic quality of ‘Up on Your Leopard, Upon the End of Your Feral Days’, this is certainly a show. It’s endearing just how anxious they appear between songs too. The repertoire as a whole feels harder than it can convey on record, particularly ‘Shut Up I Am Dreaming of Places Where Lovers Have Wings’ – and it’s due to the huge variation in sound between songs, some expert timbral movement and a perfect fit of astounding musicians.
Some new songs are debuted too, giving as good evidence as any that the next studio output from this marvel of a collective is going to be as spectacular and expansive as anything they’ve done before. Truly an incredible “you had to be there” experience, a shame than only 200-odd have the privilege. Guess the masses had better get in there quicker next time…
Friday, 23 May 2008
MGMT at The Astoria
http://www.gigwise.com/reviews/live/43354/mgmt-florence-and-the-machinethe-astoria-london
Florence and the Machine thrive on a seething Astoria – the vocals sit somewhere between Laura Marling and Mirah and her persona is a far giddier and more excitable swirling, saccharine affair. Opening with a cover of Cold War Kids’ ‘Hospital Beds’, they play a short set including ‘Girl With 1 Eye’ and ‘Kiss With A Fist’; it’s a delight to the ears and eyes for the half hour it’s on, but it ends at the right moment. Captivating, never whimsical and with a set of lungs to rival Shirley Bassey, it’s certainly an impressive showing. Unfamiliar songs begin to blur into each other too much after a while, as the one (albeit quite lovely) trick begins to tire. All the same, the set is played out by Florence Welch with the energy of a child trying to impress – it’d just sit better in a smaller venue. For now.
MGMT, on the other hand, invoke something completely different. Their debut album 'Oracular Spectacular' is chocka with dazzling hooks; truly one of 2008’s essential albums. It’d be impossible to moniker their songs “to the point”, but they’re certainly a unified call out of hyperbolic-scale electro. Very together, always pushing forward. Live, it’s like this: the conciseness is reduced to an unstructured mess of rehearsal room jamming where the band completely forget that there’s an audience there watching them. The “set” is shorter than the “encore”, the latter being longer in time than the former and consisting of some very strange occurrences – there’s unintroduced songs that feel like they’re being played for the first time, a strange caterwauling noise sporadically making itself known and the general feeling of an overdrawn, pretentious mess of noise. And the weirdest moment yet occurs when the touring members of the band disappear from the stage and ‘Kids’ suddenly starts out of nowhere – funnily enough sounding exactly like the version on the album. It turns into just that, a backing track being played to a still up for it crowd and at the end, the drum machine being politely battered with a guitar solo laid over the top. They keep talking about wanting to “fuck around” and arguably, that’s what they do – the album track plays out with WynGarden and Goldwasser undulating on the floor somewhere. What even is this? Is no-one else wondering whether we’re part of some sort of Beadle’s About 2.0? Everything that could be augmented is, over and over – they run way over their 11pm curfew in fact. But the crowd lap it up, all the same.
Aside from the jam-type mass, ‘Electric Feel’ storms the room, as do ‘Pieces of What’ and ‘The Handshake’. But the fact that they’re sandwiched somewhere in between a 1:9 ratio of killer: filler makes the idea of them bothering with the “songs” feel like a complete waste of time. Even the song, ‘Time to Pretend’, loses its strength with the keys up too loud and the opportunity for a pre-, mid-, in between- and post-song jam wrongly seized yet again. The solos prove uninspiring, cheap and devoid of likeable quirk.
It’s certainly unlike any other live show going but it completely fails to do justice to their excellent album. Credit for having the balls to do something this bizarre but there’s still the overwhelming notion of an endurance test where the audience filters out and only the strongest win. But those who stay until the never ending song ends don’t really win, per se – all they get is a massive sense of excitement when a familiar song makes it structure known. The weirdness is too knowing live, that’s part of the crux – and the self-obsession/overdrawn jam conceit needs to be sorted out for this Brooklyn assortment to prove themselves live, unless festival season somehow manages to force them into a set with a time limit.
There are moments when the audience seem to drift off into an alternate universe only to open their eyes and realise that MGMT are still playing. But don’t let this put you off - there are many positives, like the fact they’re only on album number one (which, once again, is a fantastic record) and like, the nice dress and stuff. Shame about the indulgence, mind.
Florence and the Machine thrive on a seething Astoria – the vocals sit somewhere between Laura Marling and Mirah and her persona is a far giddier and more excitable swirling, saccharine affair. Opening with a cover of Cold War Kids’ ‘Hospital Beds’, they play a short set including ‘Girl With 1 Eye’ and ‘Kiss With A Fist’; it’s a delight to the ears and eyes for the half hour it’s on, but it ends at the right moment. Captivating, never whimsical and with a set of lungs to rival Shirley Bassey, it’s certainly an impressive showing. Unfamiliar songs begin to blur into each other too much after a while, as the one (albeit quite lovely) trick begins to tire. All the same, the set is played out by Florence Welch with the energy of a child trying to impress – it’d just sit better in a smaller venue. For now.
MGMT, on the other hand, invoke something completely different. Their debut album 'Oracular Spectacular' is chocka with dazzling hooks; truly one of 2008’s essential albums. It’d be impossible to moniker their songs “to the point”, but they’re certainly a unified call out of hyperbolic-scale electro. Very together, always pushing forward. Live, it’s like this: the conciseness is reduced to an unstructured mess of rehearsal room jamming where the band completely forget that there’s an audience there watching them. The “set” is shorter than the “encore”, the latter being longer in time than the former and consisting of some very strange occurrences – there’s unintroduced songs that feel like they’re being played for the first time, a strange caterwauling noise sporadically making itself known and the general feeling of an overdrawn, pretentious mess of noise. And the weirdest moment yet occurs when the touring members of the band disappear from the stage and ‘Kids’ suddenly starts out of nowhere – funnily enough sounding exactly like the version on the album. It turns into just that, a backing track being played to a still up for it crowd and at the end, the drum machine being politely battered with a guitar solo laid over the top. They keep talking about wanting to “fuck around” and arguably, that’s what they do – the album track plays out with WynGarden and Goldwasser undulating on the floor somewhere. What even is this? Is no-one else wondering whether we’re part of some sort of Beadle’s About 2.0? Everything that could be augmented is, over and over – they run way over their 11pm curfew in fact. But the crowd lap it up, all the same.
Aside from the jam-type mass, ‘Electric Feel’ storms the room, as do ‘Pieces of What’ and ‘The Handshake’. But the fact that they’re sandwiched somewhere in between a 1:9 ratio of killer: filler makes the idea of them bothering with the “songs” feel like a complete waste of time. Even the song, ‘Time to Pretend’, loses its strength with the keys up too loud and the opportunity for a pre-, mid-, in between- and post-song jam wrongly seized yet again. The solos prove uninspiring, cheap and devoid of likeable quirk.
It’s certainly unlike any other live show going but it completely fails to do justice to their excellent album. Credit for having the balls to do something this bizarre but there’s still the overwhelming notion of an endurance test where the audience filters out and only the strongest win. But those who stay until the never ending song ends don’t really win, per se – all they get is a massive sense of excitement when a familiar song makes it structure known. The weirdness is too knowing live, that’s part of the crux – and the self-obsession/overdrawn jam conceit needs to be sorted out for this Brooklyn assortment to prove themselves live, unless festival season somehow manages to force them into a set with a time limit.
There are moments when the audience seem to drift off into an alternate universe only to open their eyes and realise that MGMT are still playing. But don’t let this put you off - there are many positives, like the fact they’re only on album number one (which, once again, is a fantastic record) and like, the nice dress and stuff. Shame about the indulgence, mind.
Monday, 19 May 2008
Islands - Arm's Way
http://www.gigwise.com/reviews/albums/43260/islands--arms-way
Canada, home of many brilliant things: maple syrup, Spencer Krug, that almost British wryness, and, er, Conrad Black, Celine Dion and Avril Lavigne. But of course, Islands are the most relevant right now. Just over two years ago they released their debut LP, ‘Return To The Sea’ – it was full of a strangely quaint grandeur. Infectious, broadly influenced, rich, melodic and dead-on smart too. It’s not to be forgotten also that Islands formed from the ashes of The Unicorns, but it’s increasingly irrelevant now as original Unicorn/Islands co-founder Jamie Thompson (aka J’aime Tambeur) has departed. Confused much? Nah. The fact is thus: the darkness has been honed in on here to the point of no return, and the vague tweeness has been viciously disposed of in Islands’ ambitious quest towards a journeying masterpiece of a second album.
Where previous takes like ‘Don’t Call Me Whitney, Bobby’ held their genius in how gathered their wit was, this album is stark in comparison. It’s a larger-scale mess of noise with more strings, higher emotions than ever, and frequently epic and persisting mood swings. Opener ‘The Arm’ is dark and broody, with a stunning vocal performance – it’s far from surprising that it was written after Nick Diamonds got caught up in a thunderstorm. It’s got more menace than anything they’ve done before and sets up Arm’s Way just perfectly.
‘Abominable Snow’, on the other hand, is the band’s most tender moment yet with massive orchestration and the sense of brooding that many can only strive towards. But the fact that this is placed directly after ‘J’aime Vous Voir Quitter’ is a statement in itself – ‘Jaime…’ is Ted Leo-ish, open-sounding punk. It’s alliterative, dynamic and also kind of conga-recalling. It’s bitter and ferocious and has a lot to give - but it also contains a huge sense of grief. These two songs hit home as if two completely distinct entities within their own mindspace.
Yet his album makes up a massively coherent whole. It’s conclusive, open, abstract and pinpointing. It's everything, the whole works. And Islands have set the standard damn high for so many of their counterparts. Why? Because it’s got one underlying theme – pain. Is that all? No, it’s of course the way they attack their focus. Be it ‘Pieces Of You’, based on a series of brutal murders that occurred at Diamonds’ school, or the way the closing eleven-minute opus ‘Vertigo (If It’s A Crime)’ retreats and recoils within itself until it dies a minimal, dark death.
The one semi-weak moment is ‘Kids Don’t Know Shit’ which offers much promise with its Aztec Camera opening, but ends up feeling almost too extravagant despite the astounding vocal work contained within it. It’s more than made up for by the broad-spanning ‘We Swim’ and the refreshing jam in ‘To A Bond’. The foreboding, skeletal funk of ‘Creeper’ ain’t half brilliant too. This album’s heart is seeping blood and descending deeper and deeper into itself. It’s bold, striking and without apology – a draining symphony which requires persistence to untangle. Just hold on in there and it’ll reveal itself, all on its own.
Canada, home of many brilliant things: maple syrup, Spencer Krug, that almost British wryness, and, er, Conrad Black, Celine Dion and Avril Lavigne. But of course, Islands are the most relevant right now. Just over two years ago they released their debut LP, ‘Return To The Sea’ – it was full of a strangely quaint grandeur. Infectious, broadly influenced, rich, melodic and dead-on smart too. It’s not to be forgotten also that Islands formed from the ashes of The Unicorns, but it’s increasingly irrelevant now as original Unicorn/Islands co-founder Jamie Thompson (aka J’aime Tambeur) has departed. Confused much? Nah. The fact is thus: the darkness has been honed in on here to the point of no return, and the vague tweeness has been viciously disposed of in Islands’ ambitious quest towards a journeying masterpiece of a second album.
Where previous takes like ‘Don’t Call Me Whitney, Bobby’ held their genius in how gathered their wit was, this album is stark in comparison. It’s a larger-scale mess of noise with more strings, higher emotions than ever, and frequently epic and persisting mood swings. Opener ‘The Arm’ is dark and broody, with a stunning vocal performance – it’s far from surprising that it was written after Nick Diamonds got caught up in a thunderstorm. It’s got more menace than anything they’ve done before and sets up Arm’s Way just perfectly.
‘Abominable Snow’, on the other hand, is the band’s most tender moment yet with massive orchestration and the sense of brooding that many can only strive towards. But the fact that this is placed directly after ‘J’aime Vous Voir Quitter’ is a statement in itself – ‘Jaime…’ is Ted Leo-ish, open-sounding punk. It’s alliterative, dynamic and also kind of conga-recalling. It’s bitter and ferocious and has a lot to give - but it also contains a huge sense of grief. These two songs hit home as if two completely distinct entities within their own mindspace.
Yet his album makes up a massively coherent whole. It’s conclusive, open, abstract and pinpointing. It's everything, the whole works. And Islands have set the standard damn high for so many of their counterparts. Why? Because it’s got one underlying theme – pain. Is that all? No, it’s of course the way they attack their focus. Be it ‘Pieces Of You’, based on a series of brutal murders that occurred at Diamonds’ school, or the way the closing eleven-minute opus ‘Vertigo (If It’s A Crime)’ retreats and recoils within itself until it dies a minimal, dark death.
The one semi-weak moment is ‘Kids Don’t Know Shit’ which offers much promise with its Aztec Camera opening, but ends up feeling almost too extravagant despite the astounding vocal work contained within it. It’s more than made up for by the broad-spanning ‘We Swim’ and the refreshing jam in ‘To A Bond’. The foreboding, skeletal funk of ‘Creeper’ ain’t half brilliant too. This album’s heart is seeping blood and descending deeper and deeper into itself. It’s bold, striking and without apology – a draining symphony which requires persistence to untangle. Just hold on in there and it’ll reveal itself, all on its own.
Thursday, 15 May 2008
Yeasayer at ULU
http://drownedinsound.com/articles/3305009
Once upon a time (only a nano-second before this here summation made it to the pages of DiS), searching Google for “Yeasayer + ‘tribal psychedelic folk’” returned nothing. But it’s so damn obvious – the four-piece project it, ooze it, live it. Whilst I’m here, I might as well add ‘tribal psyche folk’, ‘tribal psycho folk’ and ‘tribeadelic folk’ to the mix, just for the sake of semantics. But that’s beside the point – seeing their material expedite live is like simultaneously existing in a state of zen at one end and manically free love at the other. All Hour Cymbals (review) in your eyeballs as well as your eardrums is an astonishing prospect - it made me want to instigate a larger scale, even more extended and pluralistic Peter Gabriel/Kate Bush embrace. On a trampoline the size of Brooklyn, or something.
Though your being here reading this partially disqualifies the need to go on, I’ll carry on mostly unabashedly. The fact is thus: no amount of nauseating graphics can take away from just how involved Anand Wilder, Chris Keating, Ira Wolf Tuton and Luke Fasano are in their own right as well as as part of a conjoined entity. The ethos is akin to that of a call to arms - an immersing, convulsing, intricate yet still loose sense of desperation. And when Yeasayer take to the stage, aural gravity is defied.
Unlike the album’s psyched-up/head-first/spaced-out ordering, the live performance re-jigs the tempo and dynamic in the only way it sees fit. Which almost inevitably shows up just what makes Yeasayer so marvellous. Disjointed? Yes. A shambles? Far from it. ‘Forgiveness’ comes directly after ‘2080’, turning the album’s vigour on its head. The sense of invigoration runs clear throughout but it’s more than that, far more. There’re imperfections, sure – like how invisible Ira Wolf Tuton’s bass feels quite a lot of the time. And just how much reverb the sound engineers splice ‘Red Cave’ with, or equally how little is made of those haunting lower synth drones on ‘No Need To Worry’. But the flaws are exactly what makes this performance so special – the flaws and the dichotomies. The lyrics dance the fine line between icily pragmatic and warmly embracing; the visual clash between Chris Keating’s tic-infested, almost collapsing performance and Luke Fasano’s Tarzan-evoking drumming should be too polarising. But the crucial fact is that it’s exhausting rather than exhaustive, a jubilant aural collision.
In terms of where they sit amidst the currently mindblowing Brooklyn output, Yeasayer are less all-out than MGMT (an oxymoron of sorts, if I’m preaching to the converted) and denser, warmer than Vampire Weekend. In terms of aural counterparts, they lie somewhere between Panda Bear, The Incredible String Band, Fleetwood Mac, Talk Talk, TV On The Radio and Pink Floyd. Isn’t that enough? No? Well here’s yet another crux – the songs are very together and oh-so-separate at the same time. Like the best football teams. They stop, start, stop, briefly regain focus, start, talk only on a rare occasion and end. Both within themselves and within the set, if you get the drift.
You know what else is even more exciting? The fact that this is only an album’s worth of gig. At the risk of not accepting things for what they are, it’s got to be acknowledged that in a few years time, Yeasayer are going to be boundlessly prolific. I reckon what they mean by 2080 may just be brought forward a few years if they have anything to do with it – it’s their future and we’ve been born into it. Don’t sleep, savour the marvel.
Once upon a time (only a nano-second before this here summation made it to the pages of DiS), searching Google for “Yeasayer + ‘tribal psychedelic folk’” returned nothing. But it’s so damn obvious – the four-piece project it, ooze it, live it. Whilst I’m here, I might as well add ‘tribal psyche folk’, ‘tribal psycho folk’ and ‘tribeadelic folk’ to the mix, just for the sake of semantics. But that’s beside the point – seeing their material expedite live is like simultaneously existing in a state of zen at one end and manically free love at the other. All Hour Cymbals (review) in your eyeballs as well as your eardrums is an astonishing prospect - it made me want to instigate a larger scale, even more extended and pluralistic Peter Gabriel/Kate Bush embrace. On a trampoline the size of Brooklyn, or something.
Though your being here reading this partially disqualifies the need to go on, I’ll carry on mostly unabashedly. The fact is thus: no amount of nauseating graphics can take away from just how involved Anand Wilder, Chris Keating, Ira Wolf Tuton and Luke Fasano are in their own right as well as as part of a conjoined entity. The ethos is akin to that of a call to arms - an immersing, convulsing, intricate yet still loose sense of desperation. And when Yeasayer take to the stage, aural gravity is defied.
Unlike the album’s psyched-up/head-first/spaced-out ordering, the live performance re-jigs the tempo and dynamic in the only way it sees fit. Which almost inevitably shows up just what makes Yeasayer so marvellous. Disjointed? Yes. A shambles? Far from it. ‘Forgiveness’ comes directly after ‘2080’, turning the album’s vigour on its head. The sense of invigoration runs clear throughout but it’s more than that, far more. There’re imperfections, sure – like how invisible Ira Wolf Tuton’s bass feels quite a lot of the time. And just how much reverb the sound engineers splice ‘Red Cave’ with, or equally how little is made of those haunting lower synth drones on ‘No Need To Worry’. But the flaws are exactly what makes this performance so special – the flaws and the dichotomies. The lyrics dance the fine line between icily pragmatic and warmly embracing; the visual clash between Chris Keating’s tic-infested, almost collapsing performance and Luke Fasano’s Tarzan-evoking drumming should be too polarising. But the crucial fact is that it’s exhausting rather than exhaustive, a jubilant aural collision.
In terms of where they sit amidst the currently mindblowing Brooklyn output, Yeasayer are less all-out than MGMT (an oxymoron of sorts, if I’m preaching to the converted) and denser, warmer than Vampire Weekend. In terms of aural counterparts, they lie somewhere between Panda Bear, The Incredible String Band, Fleetwood Mac, Talk Talk, TV On The Radio and Pink Floyd. Isn’t that enough? No? Well here’s yet another crux – the songs are very together and oh-so-separate at the same time. Like the best football teams. They stop, start, stop, briefly regain focus, start, talk only on a rare occasion and end. Both within themselves and within the set, if you get the drift.
You know what else is even more exciting? The fact that this is only an album’s worth of gig. At the risk of not accepting things for what they are, it’s got to be acknowledged that in a few years time, Yeasayer are going to be boundlessly prolific. I reckon what they mean by 2080 may just be brought forward a few years if they have anything to do with it – it’s their future and we’ve been born into it. Don’t sleep, savour the marvel.
Friday, 9 May 2008
Pet Hate #1
Perhaps the first in a series, perhaps not. I don't need to tie myself down but at least I'll know I've set up a place to express stuff that ain't that great, not that the world around me stops me doing that or fails to find a natural compartment for it to reside in.
So - number one. It's not in order of importance, or chronology, or all that much. And it's not soap operas, in spite of my initial leanings. The moniker for this blog is purely circumstantial/parodical/necessary (delete as appropriate).
What is it then? Why of course, the live recording. The infamous holy moly inhabitant of the end of the CD, the B-side, the special edition digipak or whatever.
If I want to see the artist live, then I will; if I want to remember what they were like, I'll use my memory; if I want to listen to other people getting excited I'll , er... ok pass, maybe I'll just not really want to do that.
The purpose of issuing a live recording? Dunno. For completion's sake, perhaps - but B-sides/demos/remixes (dependingly) seem so much more productive. I'm on auto-pilot to skip the live recordings on any 'bonus edition' type thing, it's an auto-synapse of sorts.
Maybe it's because I want to get involved - not many people seem to agree with me, so does that mean they're happy not even being there? I don't want to get involved enough to be on the stage myself. Well, at least not on their stage (fuck, this is circular).
Ok. Take five.
"I don't like live recordings, they make me wince/I need to know if that is just... arrogance" So there.
So - number one. It's not in order of importance, or chronology, or all that much. And it's not soap operas, in spite of my initial leanings. The moniker for this blog is purely circumstantial/parodical/necessary (delete as appropriate).
What is it then? Why of course, the live recording. The infamous holy moly inhabitant of the end of the CD, the B-side, the special edition digipak or whatever.
If I want to see the artist live, then I will; if I want to remember what they were like, I'll use my memory; if I want to listen to other people getting excited I'll , er... ok pass, maybe I'll just not really want to do that.
The purpose of issuing a live recording? Dunno. For completion's sake, perhaps - but B-sides/demos/remixes (dependingly) seem so much more productive. I'm on auto-pilot to skip the live recordings on any 'bonus edition' type thing, it's an auto-synapse of sorts.
Maybe it's because I want to get involved - not many people seem to agree with me, so does that mean they're happy not even being there? I don't want to get involved enough to be on the stage myself. Well, at least not on their stage (fuck, this is circular).
Ok. Take five.
"I don't like live recordings, they make me wince/I need to know if that is just... arrogance" So there.
Thursday, 8 May 2008
Envy and Other Sins interview
http://www.clickmusic.com/articles/8013/Interview-Envy--Other-Sins.html
Envy & Other Sins, then - remind us again why exactly it is that they're not all over the radio, billboards, the charts, medium-sized venues, your minds, your eardrums. Their music is infiltrating hooks warped to within an inch of their lives. Downright brilliant lyricism is their thing – on '(It Gets Harder To Be A) Martyr' they muse like they're at some midpoint between C.S. Lewis and Gruff Rhys.
So why is it then that they're going by mostly unnoticed? Maybe it's something to do with the preconceptions people have from the fact that they won a T4 talent contest to get their record deal. Just maybe. But with four years of gigs and demos behind them, it's somewhat of a false lead. In a recent interview the band revealed their discontent at the poor scheduling of their releases, the lack of press and where the '£1 million deal' seems to have disappeared to.
So here's an insight into the world of Victorian grandeur and discontent – a catch up backstage at Bush Hall with Ali (vocals, guitar), Jarvey (keyboards, vocals), Mark (bass, vocals) and Jim (drums), and a chance to delve into the minds of a band that the masses should be all over by now.
So the studio stuff's been done - what happens after the tour's over?
Jarvey: It's not over yet, so we're really just enjoying it - it's going great. And beyond that, we'll release more singles and get back in the studio. We're planning a load of YouTube films, that's what we’re gonna do.
Is that your own idea?
Jarvey: Er, yeah. [mass laughter]
Well that was a way of evading 'did the label encourage you with that'!
Jarvey: We've got a video camera on the road with us.
Ali: We're gearing up little bits of video promo to support the music we've been recording. We're planning for the next single even if we haven't had it confirmed. [cue mass deep inhalation of air]
Let's talk about the lack of radio airplay 'Highness' got. Is that a major thing to you?
Ali: Jo Whiley [one of the three judges on T4 MobileAct Unsigned] played it once.
Jarvey: She doesn't get a lot of choice on what gets played on her show, not a lot of them do on Radio 1.
Mark: You have to be their favourite band of the year to get played.
Ali: They're not playing as many bands recently just generally, and our back story didn't help. But at the same time it's very hard to get on the radio anyway. We're not that kind of band at the moment.
Do you think that's one of the reasons why the single didn't do as well as it should have done?Jarvey: It's funny because the goalposts have moved hugely. We were planning our own releases before we got involved in all the TV stuff and we were only going to do 1000 copies. We didn't expect to sell 1000 in a week! And by the sounds of it we did 2500 - nearly 3000 - which is amazing. For us. But if you're a major label band, then...
How do you feel about your album 'We Leave At Dawn'?
Jarvey: Making the album's probably the biggest buzz out of the whole thing. We got to make the album we've been working towards for four years. And we got to make it as well as we could possibly make it in a beautiful studio, with a really good producer [Danton Supple] and we just went for it. So we're all pretty proud of what we've done.
Ali: For ages, we primarily gigged. We rehearsed material because we couldn't afford to fund a release. We were bemoaning the fact that we couldn't get our music to people. Now, we're doing gigs where people have got the album and they come in and sing the words back - it's great.
Mark: Friends have been texting us saying "wow - we thought you were alright but we didn't expect you to make an album that sounds this consistent or as good as this". People are remarking on how they really like every song.
Next up, I'm going to quote Jarvey, the last time I interviewed you guys.
Jarvey: Oh dear.
"B-sides are a bit of a funny one at the moment because we haven't got any time to do anything new so we're just using our own recordings and stuff like that". And then you had to record the theme tune to the V show, 'You've Got Something'?
Jarvey: We did, yes.
Jim: It took about twenty minutes!
Ali: We did it once in the studio initially. We did a reggae version with Mark doing the lead vocal, but we did alter the lyrics ever so slightly so that it wasn't a song about winning against the odds. It was more a song about having something in the first place. They weren't too keen on that! We had to do it again and they sent us all the lyrics.
Jarvey: Anyway, that particular B-side is hidden away on a vinyl. It's not so painful that way.
Mark: How many did we do? There were three B-sides weren't there... And considering the song, Ali did a wicked job on it!
Jarvey: It's the second track on the B-side! Unless you're a really committed fan, you probably don't know what the B-sides are anyway. I remember when I was a teenager I'd buy every single release by a band I like just so I could have all of the B-sides. I hope that in the future we'll be able to put all of the B-sides together in a collection.
Jim: That'll be the title track for the B-sides collection - 'We've Got Something'.
So, what would make you happier – loads of bad press or none at all?
Mark: Depends how aggressive it'd get.
Jim: You're always told not to read it anyway. Bad press is good press.
Ali: I think you've misinterpreted that a little bit!Jarvey: He means any press is good press!Mark: Or good press is good press?
Ali: It's probably better to be in the public eye in some form than not at all, I guess. If you could go back a year, knowing what you know now, would you have still entered the competition?
All: Yes!
Ali: We're certainly in a better position now than we were a year ago, so I think so.
Jim: When we sit down for five seconds we realise that this is our job now – when you put it in perspective it's a really positive thing that's happened, it's just a very odd thing that's happened as well.
Mark: If we're gonna drive the band forward as we were going to before, then we're now in a better position to launch it from than we were a few months ago. You can't really argue with that.
Ali: As long as we get time to carry on writing and getting new stuff through. We've given up our day jobs, but our days a filled with loads of other things now, especially because we do so much ourselves. As long as we get time to write, rehearse and get in the studio then we'll be happy.
Do you think you'd have dealt with the show any differently? You seemed to have been cautious anyway with the contract and the formalities.
Jim: There were things we didn't have a choice with. And if we did it again, we still wouldn't have a choice. At every stage of the competition, we did what we thought was the right thing to do.
Jarvey: On the contrary to what people might think, because we're a poppy sort of band, we're quite principled. When we did the TV show, like you say, we didn't really do anything that was too grating for us.
Ali: That's probably the reason they booted us off in the first place.
Jarvey: There's been a couple of things since that we haven't been very keen on, but we've made it as clear as we can. We're pretty honest and people know that.
Is your patience going to run out?
Jarvey: We can't really answer that.
Ali: Whatever happens, it'd be really nice to find a way into the studio again before next year. Jarvey: We haven't really been able to sit down with anyone and have an interview, and just talk about music. And that's the thing we're most passionate about. That's why we're in a band. We love music, we love making it. As long as we get to carry on making music, one way or another – and we will find a way to do that whatever happens – we'll be planning on doing our own thing and there'll be more music coming out. However it happens to come out.
Going back again, in spite of what you've just said, do you find it difficult responding to these type of questions without sounding hard done by?
Ali: Definitely, because we're not - we've got a record deal, we're not going to work tomorrow because we've got another gig, and that's what we want.
Mark: It is very difficult to talk about it without sounding hard done by.
Ali: At the end of the day, that's the stuff that people want to talk to you about. There are a lot of positives – we're doing a tour, we're playing to loads of people, we've got our album out... going back to our old demos, the old recordings don't capture the songs the way the new ones do. It's so much better now.
On a lighter note, if you could structure your own interviews, what would you want to be asked instead of all this?
Jarvey: Cookery, Maths.
Jim: I'd talk about physics all day.
Mark: We'd all talk about what Jim wears.
Ali: Jim's tie collection.
And in the longer term, where would you wake up in a year?
Jim: We'd have a second album, people'd be buying our first album in droves and go "what the hell were we thinking – they're musical genii".
Ali: A Mercury Music Prize for the first album so the label keeps us on, invests more money and everything's hunky dory. That'd be good.
Jarvey: Realistic goals. Hopefully people will listen to the album and then all of this other stuff will fall behind. Because that's what it’s all about. We just need to keep going, keep playing to people, make sure that people are still listening to the record - and it'll spread. Because we know we've made a good record.
Envy & Other Sins, then - remind us again why exactly it is that they're not all over the radio, billboards, the charts, medium-sized venues, your minds, your eardrums. Their music is infiltrating hooks warped to within an inch of their lives. Downright brilliant lyricism is their thing – on '(It Gets Harder To Be A) Martyr' they muse like they're at some midpoint between C.S. Lewis and Gruff Rhys.
So why is it then that they're going by mostly unnoticed? Maybe it's something to do with the preconceptions people have from the fact that they won a T4 talent contest to get their record deal. Just maybe. But with four years of gigs and demos behind them, it's somewhat of a false lead. In a recent interview the band revealed their discontent at the poor scheduling of their releases, the lack of press and where the '£1 million deal' seems to have disappeared to.
So here's an insight into the world of Victorian grandeur and discontent – a catch up backstage at Bush Hall with Ali (vocals, guitar), Jarvey (keyboards, vocals), Mark (bass, vocals) and Jim (drums), and a chance to delve into the minds of a band that the masses should be all over by now.
So the studio stuff's been done - what happens after the tour's over?
Jarvey: It's not over yet, so we're really just enjoying it - it's going great. And beyond that, we'll release more singles and get back in the studio. We're planning a load of YouTube films, that's what we’re gonna do.
Is that your own idea?
Jarvey: Er, yeah. [mass laughter]
Well that was a way of evading 'did the label encourage you with that'!
Jarvey: We've got a video camera on the road with us.
Ali: We're gearing up little bits of video promo to support the music we've been recording. We're planning for the next single even if we haven't had it confirmed. [cue mass deep inhalation of air]
Let's talk about the lack of radio airplay 'Highness' got. Is that a major thing to you?
Ali: Jo Whiley [one of the three judges on T4 MobileAct Unsigned] played it once.
Jarvey: She doesn't get a lot of choice on what gets played on her show, not a lot of them do on Radio 1.
Mark: You have to be their favourite band of the year to get played.
Ali: They're not playing as many bands recently just generally, and our back story didn't help. But at the same time it's very hard to get on the radio anyway. We're not that kind of band at the moment.
Do you think that's one of the reasons why the single didn't do as well as it should have done?Jarvey: It's funny because the goalposts have moved hugely. We were planning our own releases before we got involved in all the TV stuff and we were only going to do 1000 copies. We didn't expect to sell 1000 in a week! And by the sounds of it we did 2500 - nearly 3000 - which is amazing. For us. But if you're a major label band, then...
How do you feel about your album 'We Leave At Dawn'?
Jarvey: Making the album's probably the biggest buzz out of the whole thing. We got to make the album we've been working towards for four years. And we got to make it as well as we could possibly make it in a beautiful studio, with a really good producer [Danton Supple] and we just went for it. So we're all pretty proud of what we've done.
Ali: For ages, we primarily gigged. We rehearsed material because we couldn't afford to fund a release. We were bemoaning the fact that we couldn't get our music to people. Now, we're doing gigs where people have got the album and they come in and sing the words back - it's great.
Mark: Friends have been texting us saying "wow - we thought you were alright but we didn't expect you to make an album that sounds this consistent or as good as this". People are remarking on how they really like every song.
Next up, I'm going to quote Jarvey, the last time I interviewed you guys.
Jarvey: Oh dear.
"B-sides are a bit of a funny one at the moment because we haven't got any time to do anything new so we're just using our own recordings and stuff like that". And then you had to record the theme tune to the V show, 'You've Got Something'?
Jarvey: We did, yes.
Jim: It took about twenty minutes!
Ali: We did it once in the studio initially. We did a reggae version with Mark doing the lead vocal, but we did alter the lyrics ever so slightly so that it wasn't a song about winning against the odds. It was more a song about having something in the first place. They weren't too keen on that! We had to do it again and they sent us all the lyrics.
Jarvey: Anyway, that particular B-side is hidden away on a vinyl. It's not so painful that way.
Mark: How many did we do? There were three B-sides weren't there... And considering the song, Ali did a wicked job on it!
Jarvey: It's the second track on the B-side! Unless you're a really committed fan, you probably don't know what the B-sides are anyway. I remember when I was a teenager I'd buy every single release by a band I like just so I could have all of the B-sides. I hope that in the future we'll be able to put all of the B-sides together in a collection.
Jim: That'll be the title track for the B-sides collection - 'We've Got Something'.
So, what would make you happier – loads of bad press or none at all?
Mark: Depends how aggressive it'd get.
Jim: You're always told not to read it anyway. Bad press is good press.
Ali: I think you've misinterpreted that a little bit!Jarvey: He means any press is good press!Mark: Or good press is good press?
Ali: It's probably better to be in the public eye in some form than not at all, I guess. If you could go back a year, knowing what you know now, would you have still entered the competition?
All: Yes!
Ali: We're certainly in a better position now than we were a year ago, so I think so.
Jim: When we sit down for five seconds we realise that this is our job now – when you put it in perspective it's a really positive thing that's happened, it's just a very odd thing that's happened as well.
Mark: If we're gonna drive the band forward as we were going to before, then we're now in a better position to launch it from than we were a few months ago. You can't really argue with that.
Ali: As long as we get time to carry on writing and getting new stuff through. We've given up our day jobs, but our days a filled with loads of other things now, especially because we do so much ourselves. As long as we get time to write, rehearse and get in the studio then we'll be happy.
Do you think you'd have dealt with the show any differently? You seemed to have been cautious anyway with the contract and the formalities.
Jim: There were things we didn't have a choice with. And if we did it again, we still wouldn't have a choice. At every stage of the competition, we did what we thought was the right thing to do.
Jarvey: On the contrary to what people might think, because we're a poppy sort of band, we're quite principled. When we did the TV show, like you say, we didn't really do anything that was too grating for us.
Ali: That's probably the reason they booted us off in the first place.
Jarvey: There's been a couple of things since that we haven't been very keen on, but we've made it as clear as we can. We're pretty honest and people know that.
Is your patience going to run out?
Jarvey: We can't really answer that.
Ali: Whatever happens, it'd be really nice to find a way into the studio again before next year. Jarvey: We haven't really been able to sit down with anyone and have an interview, and just talk about music. And that's the thing we're most passionate about. That's why we're in a band. We love music, we love making it. As long as we get to carry on making music, one way or another – and we will find a way to do that whatever happens – we'll be planning on doing our own thing and there'll be more music coming out. However it happens to come out.
Going back again, in spite of what you've just said, do you find it difficult responding to these type of questions without sounding hard done by?
Ali: Definitely, because we're not - we've got a record deal, we're not going to work tomorrow because we've got another gig, and that's what we want.
Mark: It is very difficult to talk about it without sounding hard done by.
Ali: At the end of the day, that's the stuff that people want to talk to you about. There are a lot of positives – we're doing a tour, we're playing to loads of people, we've got our album out... going back to our old demos, the old recordings don't capture the songs the way the new ones do. It's so much better now.
On a lighter note, if you could structure your own interviews, what would you want to be asked instead of all this?
Jarvey: Cookery, Maths.
Jim: I'd talk about physics all day.
Mark: We'd all talk about what Jim wears.
Ali: Jim's tie collection.
And in the longer term, where would you wake up in a year?
Jim: We'd have a second album, people'd be buying our first album in droves and go "what the hell were we thinking – they're musical genii".
Ali: A Mercury Music Prize for the first album so the label keeps us on, invests more money and everything's hunky dory. That'd be good.
Jarvey: Realistic goals. Hopefully people will listen to the album and then all of this other stuff will fall behind. Because that's what it’s all about. We just need to keep going, keep playing to people, make sure that people are still listening to the record - and it'll spread. Because we know we've made a good record.
Tuesday, 6 May 2008
Metronomy, Junior Boys, Kelley Polar, Prinzhorn Dance School at IndigO2
http://drownedinsound.com/event/view/35237
Eat Your Own Ears has taken over future spatial zeitgeist of a venue IndigO2 for a night of flailing arms and neon/neo-techery – and the damn fine soundsystem is a point to note for the cynical traditionalists out there. It’s shameful that the London masses haven’t been whipped into a sell-out, but hey ho, all the more room for dancing.
Opening is DFA’s Prinzhorn Dance School - take a lucky dip in the following melting pot for an accurate description of the by-product: fourth-rate Kills, static, lacklustre, asymmetrical, soulless, unvaried, incomprehensible, unmelodic, sack of shit. Nice try at the polar opposites of precocious and unaffected, then.
Restoring faith in humanity is Kelley Polar (pictured), who morphs pseudo-trippy loops into ‘70s funk on opener ‘A Feeling of The All Thing’ which is as much Autechre as it is Shostakovich. ‘Entropy Reigns (In the Celestial City)’ takes the disco superscriptions a step further and ‘Chrysanthemum’ gives little choice but to stare at the ceiling and wonder where all of these conflicting, intricate, breathy sounds are coming from. Theatrical falsetto punctuates driving beats, isolated timbres and detached, sporadic strings into a tumbling blend of verdant self-assertion. Not to mention Polar’s frankly creepy fixed gaze. This is the sound of an alternate universe, and dare we say innovation. Natch. Now go and buy the album.
Next up is Canadian ice-kings, Junior Boys, who unfortunately prove visually and aurally stagnant. Cuts from Last Exit and So This Is Goodbye fail to kick themselves onto the forefront of their own accord, and Jeremy Greenspan’s dancing on the fine line between aloof and a whisper drags the whole affair into stoicism. The jarring goes down a treat with the majority nonetheless, but for this writer, it feels oomph-less. Timbrally tense, lyrically inviting and well-enunciated on record, it may have been an off night but the overriding feeling is one of routine – even on finer moments like ‘Birthday’.
The night starts all over again when Devonshire whiz-kid Joseph Mount, a.k.a. Metronomy, takes to the stage. The live show is abstractly euphoric with synchronised salutes and the customary black t-shirt/£1 push-light ‘uniforms’. ‘Radio Ladio’ is the most pared down example of Metronomy’s bleepy goodness, which says it all really – clinical through headphones but never more involved in person. The in-between song banter’s as twee as the fans’ groundings, but it’s all superlative as the music is candidly muddled, developed and efficient. With Oscar Cash and Gabriel Lebbing on the periphery, it’s one of the most spectacular live shows going, chomping away at the doubters and luring them into the cataclysm of ‘My Heart Rate Rapid’ - a dizzy, fizzy take on four to the floor. All in all, it’s what Devo would sound like in the current clime wearing trousers three sizes too small. Sublime.
Prinzhorn Dance School - 3/10
Kelley Polar - 9/10
Junior Boys - 5/10
Metronomy - 9/10
Eat Your Own Ears has taken over future spatial zeitgeist of a venue IndigO2 for a night of flailing arms and neon/neo-techery – and the damn fine soundsystem is a point to note for the cynical traditionalists out there. It’s shameful that the London masses haven’t been whipped into a sell-out, but hey ho, all the more room for dancing.
Opening is DFA’s Prinzhorn Dance School - take a lucky dip in the following melting pot for an accurate description of the by-product: fourth-rate Kills, static, lacklustre, asymmetrical, soulless, unvaried, incomprehensible, unmelodic, sack of shit. Nice try at the polar opposites of precocious and unaffected, then.
Restoring faith in humanity is Kelley Polar (pictured), who morphs pseudo-trippy loops into ‘70s funk on opener ‘A Feeling of The All Thing’ which is as much Autechre as it is Shostakovich. ‘Entropy Reigns (In the Celestial City)’ takes the disco superscriptions a step further and ‘Chrysanthemum’ gives little choice but to stare at the ceiling and wonder where all of these conflicting, intricate, breathy sounds are coming from. Theatrical falsetto punctuates driving beats, isolated timbres and detached, sporadic strings into a tumbling blend of verdant self-assertion. Not to mention Polar’s frankly creepy fixed gaze. This is the sound of an alternate universe, and dare we say innovation. Natch. Now go and buy the album.
Next up is Canadian ice-kings, Junior Boys, who unfortunately prove visually and aurally stagnant. Cuts from Last Exit and So This Is Goodbye fail to kick themselves onto the forefront of their own accord, and Jeremy Greenspan’s dancing on the fine line between aloof and a whisper drags the whole affair into stoicism. The jarring goes down a treat with the majority nonetheless, but for this writer, it feels oomph-less. Timbrally tense, lyrically inviting and well-enunciated on record, it may have been an off night but the overriding feeling is one of routine – even on finer moments like ‘Birthday’.
The night starts all over again when Devonshire whiz-kid Joseph Mount, a.k.a. Metronomy, takes to the stage. The live show is abstractly euphoric with synchronised salutes and the customary black t-shirt/£1 push-light ‘uniforms’. ‘Radio Ladio’ is the most pared down example of Metronomy’s bleepy goodness, which says it all really – clinical through headphones but never more involved in person. The in-between song banter’s as twee as the fans’ groundings, but it’s all superlative as the music is candidly muddled, developed and efficient. With Oscar Cash and Gabriel Lebbing on the periphery, it’s one of the most spectacular live shows going, chomping away at the doubters and luring them into the cataclysm of ‘My Heart Rate Rapid’ - a dizzy, fizzy take on four to the floor. All in all, it’s what Devo would sound like in the current clime wearing trousers three sizes too small. Sublime.
Prinzhorn Dance School - 3/10
Kelley Polar - 9/10
Junior Boys - 5/10
Metronomy - 9/10
Tuesday, 29 April 2008
Mystery Jets at Scala
http://www.gigwise.com/reviews/live/42709/mystery-jetsscala-london
It’s one thing noting the wonder of Mystery Jets’ second album through headphones; dazzlingly immediate choruses, complex arrangements and some damn fine lyricism. That’s not to say the hotchpotch eclecticism of 'Making Dens' has been lost, it’s just grounded itself a mite. At the sold-out Scala tonight, the band play a ‘Twenty One’ heavy set with niche zeitgeist Henry Harrison making an appearance in the encore to rapturous applause. Chants for ‘Zoo Time’ materialise sporadically – but the second album is a far more exciting prospect live even for the band’s undying hardcore, meaning that even when the chants are met it doesn’t feel like the end.
Let’s start from the beginning - the four/five-piece are fresh, uplifting and a joy to the ears if not necessarily the eyes. They open with ‘Hideaway’, contented grins and knowing nods abound. It’s the higher octane tracks like this that transfer best. The Aztec Camera pop of ‘Young Love’ without Laura Marling feels depleted, but the chugging drums predictably salvage the song from timbral repetition. They strive for Masters of the Slow-Build on ‘Behind The Bunhouse’ and ‘Veiled In Grey’ but the tenderer moments don’t quite carry through live. It’s difficult to pin down why this is the case - other than that the lack of less sparseness shows up just how Blaine’s vocals waver towards a whine (especially on the verses of ‘Hand Me Down’ live), and their use of the sampler isn’t quite on tip top form enough to meet the expectations of the new album.
As much as ‘The Boy Who Ran Away’ contains itself to the summer of a couple of years ago, it still has the unsullied energy it invoked upon first listen. And it feels so much sweeter aside Suede-gone-stadium anthem ‘Flakes’ and the glittering 80s ransack masterpiece ‘Two Doors Down’. On the latter, Mystery Jets encounter a few technical difficulties, false starts and a loss of momentum – which is just about overcome by the song rather than the band. But can the two be separated? It’s difficult but this seems to be the crux of reflection - the songs are joyous, undying, and never a truer purveyor of eclecticism. The atmosphere is buzzing; a saxophonist makes a cameo to prove it. But it feels like the band are playing catch-up with their boundless creativity, never quite running at the same speed. Perhaps if it was any other way they’d be needing tranquilisers, and it’s far from a disappointment, just a case where the criteria don’t lead up the result expected.
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