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.
Tuesday, 17 June 2008
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.
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