December 4, 2010

If there’s a band that can be blamed for the thousands upon thousands of half-arsed emo groups that constantly try to add you on MySpace (if anyone still uses that website), it’s probably Jimmy Eat World. Not that you can stay too mad at them, as they count as one of the most respectable and consistent American alternative rock bands of the last two decades. Their 1999 album Clarity counts as one of the two most influential pillars of emo, along with Weezer’s rediscovered classic Pinkerton. From their post-hardcore beginnings and the often experimental textures of Clarity, the band went on to unprecedented success at the dawn of the millennium, with Bleed American and Futures soundtracking endless college parties and teen movies.

But while their evergreen popularity and perpetually teenage fanbase might suggest a lack of depth to the band, they’ve always proven critics wrong. While their albums have invariably been buoyed by punchy singles like ‘The Middle’ or ‘Sweetness’, they balance out the pop-punk saccharine with plenty of brooding, orchestrated slow-burners, such as the swooning ‘Just Watch The Fireworks’. Currently touring on the back of seventh opus Invented, I caught up with the band at their Leeds Academy date, after a Spinal Tap-esque journey through the maze-like venue to their dressing room.

They first off explain their somewhat bizarre moniker with a story about a fight between guitarist Tom Linton’s siblings Jim and Ed resulting in a picture being drawn by Ed of Jim eating the world. Taking inspiration from pictures still seems to be a trait, as many of the songs written for the new record were instigated by singer Jim Adkins’ interest in the photographs of Cindy Sherman. ‘They’re nondescript photos’, he says, ‘they look kind of like they’re a still from a movie, so you don’t really know where the subject’s coming from or where they’re going, or why they have that expression on their face or what’s really happening, so it creates all these questions. Your mind naturally wants to answer those questions. So I’d use that as a jumping off point for sketching out my answers for what questions arose when I looked at them. So as time went on ideas from those writing exercises would creep into the lyrics’.

Another inspiration for the new album seems to be the recent 10th Anniversary Tour of their classic Clarity. Along with producer (and Drive Like Jehu drummer) Mark Trombino being back on board, this is the first record since Clarity on which Tom has sung lead on a song (‘Action Needs an Audience’), having originally provided vocals for their first two records, before nobly handing over to Jim. Drummer Zach Lind explains the initial shift in duties; ‘It’s strange because probably, from the outside, it would look like someone at some point made a conscious decision, like ‘Ok, Tom’s not gonna sing much anymore’, but it really wasn’t like that. I think at the time, from Static Prevails to Clarity, Jim just clearly had more to offer, in terms of what he wanted to do with the songs. It’s not so much a demotion of Tom, it’s just a question of Jim writing more. And I think Tom was comfortable with that.’

Bassist Rick Burch chimes in, ‘It was really cool to get Tom singing on the new record, because I think we’ve done some great songs in the past with his vocals, and he does have a lot to offer.’ But did airing the old songs on the Clarity Anniversary Tour draw these elements back into Invented? ‘I don’t think it was a conscious thing. It could have been a subconscious thing’ suggests Zach. Rick admits ‘To do that tour, we were playing songs off Clarity which we had never done live before. So we had to go back and listen to the record quite deeply and put together the songs in a live form, so just re-visiting it and having it fresh in our mind may well have subconsciously carried over into the new songs’.

Songs on Invented drift to the more progressive lengths of Clarity, with a few 6-7 minute pieces a welcome change from the sometimes a little too precise, punky bursts of the last two albums. It seems that on this new release, the band have found time to breathe, and are all the better for it. Zach agrees, ‘I think you’re right, on Chase This Light and Futures, all the song arrangements are pretty concise and to the point, but on this record we felt like…’ Rick interrupts, ‘…it was kind of like, what was right for those songs. We weren’t checking ourselves and saying, ok, we’ve gotta keep them all around 3-4 minutes. We let the songs dictate where they’d go’. Maybe this is a result of playing the 16 minute epic ‘Goodbye Sky Harbour’, based on John Irving novel ‘A Prayer for Owen Meany‘, live.

‘Originally when we wrote ‘…Sky Harbour’, there was a version of it that we did that we would play as a band all the time. And then when we went into the studio, we took the song and made a concept out of the song and changed it from how we originally played it. Then whenever we would play it live, we’d play it the way we originally wrote it. So we never really did the long version. And then, for the Clarity tour, we thought, let’s try to pull off a version of it that’s a full representation of what happens. Kind of an abridged long version’. Later that night, the band will play this sprawling, sweetly melodic epic to a rapturous audience in stunned silence. The return to the Clarity material also seems to have changed the band’s minds when selecting what went on Invented.

While for Chase This Light the band dropped songs they liked to make the album more unified, they felt at more liberty with Invented. ‘We’ve never really been big on making a record where all the songs need to fit together in a certain way. When we’re putting together a record, our criteria is, take what we think are the best songs and put them on the album. In the past, on Chase This Light, I think it’s maybe the one record where we’d go back and change it because I don’t think we put all the best songs on it for the sake of cohesion. It’s not that making an album with a theme or vibe is wrong, it’s just that in our experience you might undercut yourself and not put the best songs on the record, and end up regretting it’. This new-found relaxed attitude has resulted in a much more organic and heartfelt record, with its extra warmth perhaps a consequence of jamming together away from record companies and management in their own rehearsal space. ‘It’s a rehearsal space-studio we have, kind of in a warehouse by where we live. We recorded the last two records there. It really frees us up to work on our own. It’s like a glorified garage’.

It seems that in the eleven years since they broke with Clarity, Jimmy Eat World have managed to somehow stay the same regular dudes they always were. Still rocking like kids in their practice space despite being the headliners for festivals like Soundwave, the band, like their music, have always seemed grounded, and it’s probably for this reason that they still haven’t slipped up despite being seven albums down the line. Jim, who still seems like an awkward teenager at a school disco onstage, maintains, appropriately considering our location, that ‘all of my guitar lines are ripped off from David Gedge of The Wedding Present’, while the band’s music tastes seem to have differed very little. Zach protests, ‘They’ve changed a little bit…’ …but also stayed the same’, interjects Rick; ‘just last night we were listening to Drive Like Jehu. We still listen to the bands we listened to 15 years ago. But we’ve got new things on our radar. Yesterday Jim was looking up old videos of… who was that?’ ‘No idea, I put my headphones on at that point’ grumbles Zach. ‘Who did that song Come To Daddy?’ Aphex Twin? ‘Yeah’.

It’s a bit of a surprise that Jim likes psychedelic techno, and it would be difficult to find a song where that influence is apparent. But now, as older statesmen of emo, Jimmy Eat World seem happy and creative, and what’s more, have a 15 year catalogue to pick songs from when playing live. The Clarity tour seems to have reminded them of their past, more progressive elements, and the freedom of their position as scene godfathers has allowed them to create a mature, refreshed new record. ‘We definitely realise we’ve been doing this for while, and we’re still so glad that we’re able to do this after all these years,’ Zach smiles. Judging by an ecstatic sold-out crowd in the Academy, and their impressive set-list which marries a host of classics to new songs which fans can already recite, they’ll be pulling on our heart-strings for at least another 15 years with any luck.

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November 25, 2010

After Tom’s feature on his seven Herculean labels of the music industry, I thought it’s time us mortals got up close to these gold-producing demi-gods. This is the first of our Label Spotlight, beginning with Finders Keepers Records:

Persian Psych, Hungarian Funk, Welsh Folk, French Prog: this is one record label that can justify its diversity claim. Finders Keepers is a fitting ethos for this rarities discovering label, these guys are the Indiana Joneses of the record world, uncovering lost treasures and releasing them because ‘they belong in a record shop’. I spoke to Doug Shipton, co-founder of the label along with Andy Votel and Dominic Thomas, about what they do.

Can you explain what makes Finders Keepers unique, for those who might not have come across it?

We don’t prescribe to any one genre, there’s no linearity between any of the releases that we work on. It’s almost a selfish pursuit. Essentially, we’re music lovers, record buyers and we work on releases that we like and we think other people may like. There’s not really any kind of financial drive here, it’s more just working with our heroes and doing what we love.

How did the label start? Did you think you could survive financially?

That was never really at the front of our minds. Andy Votel has certain pedigree as a DJ and as the co-founder of Twisted nerve records with Badly Drawn Boy. My background is that I did some work with Andy when I was in university around Manchester and then in London at a record label called Cherry Red Records that specialised in re-issues. So Andy came to me with the idea of doing some compilations, one of which was Folk is Not a Four Letter Word, we did that and it went quite well. But a few years previously Andy had done a compilation for Fat City records called Finders Keepers, and it was a compilation of psych, folk and prog. And he came to me with the idea of setting up a label called Finders Keepers with a close friend of his Dom Thomas that was heavily involved with the B-Music scene he had set with him in Manchester.

How do you go about choosing what to do a compilation on?

Well it depends, for a general compilation, it’s more of a snapshot of what we are all up to, you’ll hear tracks by the likes of Dave Holmes, Gruff Rhys from The Super Furry Animals and everybody whose involved in our particular scene. In terms of the artist or genre specific, like for example the Iranian compilation [Pomegranates: Persian Pop, Funk And Psych Of The 60s And 70s], those do have a theme as such. There’s also label specific compilations, we’ve just done a compilation from a 60s Spanish label [Absolute Belter], we’ve done Well Hung [Funk Rock Eruptions From Beneath Communist Hungary] which is a state-run Hungarian label and also a Welsh label compilation [Welsh Rare Beat] . And then there are the artist specific ones, which we take bits of their catalogue that we like, and we think people may like. Some may say they’re technically ‘bests of’, but we don’t like to think that way because it’s a very subjective notion, we put forward what we consider to be our favourite compilation; it’s not necessarily a definitive snapshot of their career or their music.

Listen:

With the foreign compilations like the Hungarian and Persian, how do you go about finding records like that?

There’s a lot of detective work, it’s like following a bread crumb trail, but that’s probably the most fun part of what we do, as music lovers and record collectors, it goes hand in hand with finding records. You have to look in all the nooks and crannies and read the sleeves cover to cover. It’s a process that could take a couples of days, couple of weeks, or even a couple of years, it takes a lot of phone calls, a lot of emails, talking to some of the musicians involved, talking with some of the producers involved. Sometimes we work with artists, particularly with the French artists we work, because it was quite close thing back in the day, they often give us leads to other chaps we’re after. There’s never one route we always use, it’s something different for every release, that’s what keeps in kind of fresh, keeps you on your toes.

What kind of response do you get from the artists? Are some of them surprised to be hearing from you?

Again it’s a very mixed bag, I think more often than not, particularly with the foreign artists, who never really got a foothold in the English music scene, I think they do find it quite surprising. And we’ve had instances in the past, where we’ve been on the phone to Turkey trying to track down an artist and getting faxes back from them saying “Oh no, the artist is dead”, and it turns out that it’s artist we were after who was sending us the faxes. Other artists will object to us re-issuing music from the 60s 70s when they’re still quite pro-active, they’d rather us put their new albums. They don’t necessarily understand what we’re about, and why we’re re-issuing.

Faking death to avoid a compilation that’s crazy, do you often get hostile reactions?

I think it’s a very large scale of reactions we do get. Because the re-issue market is fairly thriving, some of these characters and have been in the business for a very long and are constantly licensing out their music for films or adverts and for samples, for some it comes very natural, to others it makes them a bit wary. They’ve gone through the rigmarole of the music industry in the 60s and 70s and may have had some bad experiences so when someone out the blue phones up and says we want to put this back out, and we want to sell it to kids all over the UK and American who DJ these records in clubs and what not, they are a bit wary. But with any kind of relationship you have to build on and work it.

Listen:

You describe yourself as “an accidental world music label”; do you not consider what you do to be world music?

Well no, by saying that you’re kind of pigeon-holing what we do, and what we’re about. The music we listen to isn’t necessarily good or bad by conventional standards, because we’re sort of working outside a traditional vision of what music is. To us, say if you have a Turkish funk record, it may have all of the elements as a well-known popular British or American funk record, but the fact that it’s sung in Turkish doesn’t mean it’s not as good yet it’s not as popular here because being an Island race, we are very good at rejecting what we don’t like and acquiring what we do like. If you look at people like Serge Gainsbourg or Jean-Claude Vanier they never made it to England from France because English people don’t want to listen to French lyrics, but that does mean it isn’t great music. Just because it’s from far-away countries, for example we’re working on compilations from Indonesian, Indian, Pakistan, doesn’t mean it’s necessarily world music if it’s still got the same sound as your average Seattle psych-pop band, it’s the fact that it’s from another country that makes it so weird.

Completely, a lot of the compilations have an odd familiarity with British and American records. Do you think that’s part of their appeal?

Very much so, I think that’s why we do as well as we do. People can understand where we’re coming from; it’s not necessarily about presenting people with new music that they may not have heard. It’s about trying to fill a lot of gaps and draw a lot of lines between what they have heard. If someone says they are a massive fan of Rolling Stones or Led Zeppelin then why shouldn’t they like this music just because it’s sung in another language or is from another country doesn’t mean it isn’t as good. Andy coined a phrase that it’s ‘second-class sounds’, basically it could be a record that costs 50p, it could be a record that costs a thousand pounds, if it sounds good, if has all the right sounds why shouldn’t it be as good.

Is there one record that you could pin down as being the most bizarre or strange in your time at Finders Keepers?

This year’s been particular exciting for us; we’re in the stage now I think that we’re releasing a lot more records that are a bit truer to what we are about. We’re five years old this year and we are able to be a bit more adventurous, not that we haven’t been already, but if you take L’Etrange Mr Whinster: Horrific Child, which is an album made by Jean-Pierre Massiera who we recently did a compilation with as well. It’s just a total headfuck. We used to call records like these Non-Girlfriend-Friendly-Records, because they are these crazy collages of psych, rock and prog. Andy coined the phrase that he is the French Joe Meek; you’d be very hard-pressed to pigeon-hole him to anyone sound. To me that [record] is a good indicator of the label, we try to be free and easy-going; I would hate to be tied down.

Listen:

What does the future hold? What do you think will be the next untapped source for undiscovered music?

Well that’s hard to say, there’s a wealth of music all over the U.K, America all over Europe that has yet to be discovered. I couldn’t really say, I think the Pakistani stuff we’re working on and the Iranian one, everyone in the States is going mad for that. We’ve got our toes in lots of ponds in the moment; we’re working on Russian, Indonesian, and Tamil compilations. There’s enough music out there to keep us going for a while, but only time will tell what will be big, what people will respond too. We’re always got so much going, it’s just waiting for deals to be signed, some of the Indonesian stuff I’ve been on case on for two years now, but you can’t lose sight of the prize.

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November 24, 2010

Snuggly fit into the Leeds Student Union, Constellations is yet another multi-venued Leeds festival, much like the annual Live at Leeds and British Wildlife festivals. For those York students familiar with our humble student union, visiting the Leeds counterpart is like visiting a rich successful uncle’s country mansion, and wishing you’d been born to a different father.

Housed in an endlessly deep complex are three venues of varying size: the Refectory, Stylus and Mine. Each venue is idiot-proof sign-posted and all are roughly within 5 minutes away of each other. This is a total godsend, as multi-venue festivals usually take the form of some nightmarish navigational sport with cross-city treks to outskirt pubs and frenetic time-management of band schedules. It is hugely comforting to be able to stroll calmly from one band to another without leaving the building, making you wonder why it never occurred to anyone before.

Leeds has many home-grown bands that are affectionately supported, but none quite as much as Sky Larkin. Pleasantly popish but rousingly soaring, they play a set mixed with old favourites and tracks from new album Kaleide. Whenever Sky Larkin play a Leeds tour date it feels to an outsider like intruding on a gig for friends and family of the band. Naturally it gets a bit soppy towards the end when lead-singer Katie Harkin gets all sentimental and reels out the “a village makes a child, and you are that village” line.

Heading off towards Gold Panda, I am fully prepared to counter ex-editor and musical-sage Tom Killingbeck labelling the Essex producer as “hip chill-dub-twat-step”. But struggling through the mass of people it becomes rather clear this is the “hype act” of the evening. Unsurprising given his debut Lucky Shiner is an understated Oriental electronic treat, and has naturally drawn a crowd from its Pitchfork blessing. However, so many one (or two) man electronic projects are crippled by boring knob-twiddling, button wanking, laptop-cowering live sets. Gold Panda is sadly no different, the experience is akin to watching a band you really like play their album to you on CD while bobbing slightly on stage. It is a pity, because Caribou showed us this year that one man’s electronic fiddling can be transformed into a surprisingly good live act.

Viciously good: Liars at Constellation Festival

Thankfully Liars are there to fill the uninteresting void, with their always changing, always brilliant experimental rock. In person the band are an intimidating bunch, drummer Julian Gross has two ponytails fashioned out of his mullet and lead singer Angus Andrew has a Kurt Combain-styled mop that together makes them reminiscent of a trio of absconded prisoners from Alabama. Even their set sounds like the work of an escaped schizophrenic patient, switching between acoustic slower pieces such as ‘The Other Side of Mt. Heart Attack’ and the unhinged aggressive riffs of tracks like ‘Scarecrows On A Killer Slant’ with its chant of “AND THEN KILL THEM ALL!” Somehow they make it all seem natural, both beautiful and unsettling.

(Words fail to describe Les Savy Fav’s subsequent performance, but I attempt to describe nonetheless.)

Blacked-robed, bearded and topped with a mortar board, Tim Harrington emerges on stage dressed as a University Dean. He proceeds to make a mock Dean’s graduation speech in which he narrates some prostitute-related indiscretion for which his wife apparently has left him, before ripping off the robe and bursting into song. As the set unfolds, it is difficult to quite comprehend what is happening at most times. Harrington runs straight through the crowd where he finds an unsuspecting male victim who he kisses and then dry humps while some hilariously well-timed technician shines a spotlight on the whole assault. Another crowd-surfer becomes Harrington’s next victim, as he overrules the security team and keeps the poor guy on stage to first torture him with some humping and then to pleasure him with a foot massage. It must have been a nightmare for the sound technicians as well as security: at one point Harrington throws his mic lead round the lighting rig several times to make an impromptu rope and swings around George of the Jungle style. Somehow he is surprisingly agile for a man of not insubstantial size, climbing onto a balcony and lying precariously on its edge (eventually falling from some height) while making various erotic poses for the surrounding photographers. Now obviously the havoc comes at the cost of the music being less than a canny resemblance to its original, but it doesn’t seem to matter with everyone’s interest more than kept by the crazed on-goings. Through the range of emotions the set produces, the least likely one to end on is guilt, but somehow Harrington’s t-shirt, made by his four year-old son, has gone missing and everyone leaves feeling collectively ashamed.

Indie super-group and headliners Broken Social Scene do a Guns N’ Roses and come on late, either succumbing to delays or misplacing one of their many members. From the first two songs it seems like they might be taking this comparison too far by also playing entirely from their new, and not as great, record. So to avoid potential disappointment, I leave to sample blog-favourites Sleigh Bells in the lower recess of the Union’s smallest venue, Mine.

Brutally Pop: Sleigh Bells at Constellations Festival

For the benefit of those without an unhealthy obsession for internet music trends, Sleigh Bells are “a duo comprised of Derek Miller from post-hardcore nutters Poison The Well and pop chanteuse Alexis Krauss”. Their set begins with a clip of Fleetwood Mac’s ‘Everywhere’ before abruptly cutting to a hardcore track from Miller’s previous band; an introduction that nicely sums up the sugary yet tinnitus-inducing bass of their sound. Somehow, perhaps due sound-restrictions and what not, it just isn’t loud enough. I was expecting the anatomy of my inner ear to be blown inside-out and left hanging like some gory jewellery. As much as I hate fuelling these type of accusations, I am sure that most of set was actually a backing track with Miller fake-strumming. Even Krauss was more rapping than singing over her background vocals; the whole thing felt a bit hip-hop, whereas I was hoping for more resemblance to a hardcore gig. That said it was still a great set, with Krauss urging everyone to mimic her high-frequency screeching in ‘A/B Machines’, but it left me unusually unsatisfied by the lack of ringing in my ears.

There was no doubt that Constellations would be a triumph just from looking at its impressive line-up of legendary acts and popular emerging artists, all perfectly combined within the setting of Leed’s Student Union. Sure some were more hit and miss than others, but the concept fits together so well it leaves you questioning why hiking across the whole city was ever an acceptable practice.

Photo credit: Leah-Jade Connolly

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November 10, 2010

Leeds has already been fairly generous with its smaller festivals this year; Live at Leeds and the British Wildlife Festival were both over-egged puddings with so many crucial acts squeezed into such cosy events that clashes occurred with pretty much any band you saw. Constellations, a new get-together at the Leeds University Union on Sunday, is a fresh one-dayer that forms a kind of Triforce with the aforementioned. The University Union, if you haven’t been, is the perfect venue for small festivals, with its underground network of different stages providing an entertaining assault course when running from band to band. I last went along when it hosted the Damnation metal showcase two years ago, and, although there will be doubtless a wider range of colour on the garments of this crowd; it should have the same fantastic atmosphere.

Fingers crossed Constellations will also make up for this year’s Damnation having a line-up that made me want to vomit – in a bad way. The roster of artists would certainly suggest so, with 26 selections from the indie/post-punk/electro side of things collected for your pleasure. If you want legends you’ve got revered stalwarts Broken Social Scene, while if you want to get your indie mosh on there’s Los Campesinos!. If a shot into the pants of the trendy is what you’re after, suffer through some hip chill-dub-twat-step with Gold Panda, or alternatively give up and be pleasantly surprised by local talent like Sky Larkin and iLIKETRAINS. But rather than running around like a headless Chickenhawk have a look at these recommendations; five sets it’s utterly critical you are present for. Granted, due to horrible clashing you may require teleportation powers to see them all, in which case go for a jog round Chernobyl and hope some X-Men or Street Sharks mutation goes down. Because if you miss any of these you’ll be crying on your pillow until the next time they’re in town:

Les Savy Fav

If ever there was a band that makes me want to decapitate a reindeer, wear its head as a hat and charge through a bunch of cardigan-wearing kids whilst screaming maniacally then this is it. Singer Tim Harrington is everything Pink Eyes from Fucked Up wants to be; prominently bearded, hirsute, sweaty, on the verge of nudity and wildly entertaining. A friend was recently telling me how he managed to get a bite out of a bread hat that the man was wearing last time he saw them – it is for reasons like this that this band is frankly unmissable. Aside from yeasty follicle-hiding goodies, the band offers some of the weirdest and most strangely affecting US indie rock you’re likely to hear, with the same smirking sense of humour as mclusky offsetting textures similar to that of The Dismemberment Plan. Basically, this is just great punk spirited fun that’ll make you shit a cake.

Key Tune: ‘The Equestrian’ used to be accompanied by Tim saddling up a member of the audience and using them as a steed. On Sunday, it could be you.

Sleigh Bells

Currently setting the blogosphere alight (probably), I got slightly obsessed by Sleigh Bells’ record ‘Treats’ over the summer. They’re a summery band; big, hard-hitting R&B rhythms and cute vocals superbly accompanying any trip to the beach. That’s not to say they’re easy listening, as the guitars scree like freshly-amputated banshees and everything is turned up to 11. You can almost feel your eardrums rebelling against you when you test their resilience by playing this on headphones; it’s LOUD. They’re a duo, Derek Miller from post-hardcore nutters Poison The Well and pop chanteuse Alexis Krauss, whose mother suggested her for the project. Their differing musical backgrounds create an unusual dynamic. ‘Rill Rill’ is the potential cross-over hit, soaring pop melodies raised ever higher by pulsating percussive violence, while other tracks like ‘Crown On The Ground’ will make the venue collapse in on itself with their crunk low-end bounce. You’ll still be smiling under the rubble.

Key Tune: I guess if you’ve just got back from those student protests ‘Riot Rhythm’ is the one.

Four Tet

It’s worth navigating the inevitable rush of ‘the fashionable’ towards the stage for Four Tet. Tarnished with the IDM brush, he mixes a palette of hip-hop, electronic, techno and folk elements into an intriguing new hue. Since 1998 (yes, it really has been that long) Kieran Hebden has charmed the muso world with seven singular LPs and a host of remixes for artists as diverse as Bloc Party, Juana Molina and Black Sabbath. Collaborations with untouchable jazz percussionist Steve Reid (Miles Davis, James Brown and Sun Ra, oh yes) as well as that paragon of London dubstep, the clandestine Burial, have cemented him as a musician’s favourite if not a smash commercially. Expect to be confused and challenged but also to end up lost in the rhythms – Four Tet is a question of freeing your mind so that your ass will follow.

Key Tune: ‘Love Cry’ from the new record will send you spiralling off into a trance.

Divorce

If you’ve spent the day getting comfy with moustachioed tweeness from the likes of Local Natives, I demand you correct yourself with a dose of Divorce. If you’ve ever heard No Wave bands like Teenage Jesus and the Jerks or freak-punks like Flipper you might get an idea of what to expect, this is all screeching riot grrl vocals with spine-twisting guitar work and gnarled, perverted bass work. That flat out face-punch rhythm section reminds me of early Swans, their detuned, precise assault worryingly calculated. This is definitely the most upsetting band on the line-up, crawling like a napalmed cripple from the detritus of the Glasgow noise scene, having released an EP on Optimo and a collaboration with Comanechi on Merok. Let them scorch your face off, they’ll burn your old soul and dance on its grave.

Key Tune: ‘Early Christianity’ is 4.22 of abrasive confrontation, more punk than anything that has ever been on the Warped Tour.

Liars

Back in May, I witnessed Liars destroy a stage at one in the morning at ATP Minehead. I’ve never really recovered. Vocalist Angus Andrew was one of the most intense frontmen I’ve witnessed, on the wrong end of a bad trip, stalking the stage like an evil dude in a Death Row solitary confinement booth. The band have recently moved on yet further from their art-punk origins, with new record ‘Sisterworld’ proving to be one of their best yet, songs like ‘Scissor’ displaying a verve for dynamics and real psychological horror that was hinted at but never fully explored on earlier tracks. This Heat, Gang of Four and Swell Maps are all clearly influences, but Liars’ post-punk textures, brain-kicking bass and ghastly, bleak rhythms strike industrial fear into audiences’ hearts far deeper than those they are in thrall to ever did. Having been charmed with everything from slow-burning chants to motorik trances to all-out assaults on the senses, you’ll be emotionally exhausted by the time this eclectic, vehement band have stumbled offstage.

Key Tune: When the band begins the heartbreakingly powerful ‘The Other Side of Mt. Heart Attack’ you won’t hear a pin drop. After aural damage from some of their other songs you won’t hear a pin drop again for a good few weeks.

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August 20, 2010

So you’ve got into York. You probably got lots of As. Nice one. Be happy – it’s a respectable university, despite its duck shit and dystopian architecture that calls to mind low-budget 60’s sci-fi rather than a seat of learning. It might not be Oxbridge, but it’s sometimes in the Top Ten. York itself, unlike the campus, is aesthetically very much in keeping with the antiquated idea of university life; a quiet, pretty little town brimming with museums, history, pubs and boutiques. It’s a bit like a real life Hogsmeade, and if you squint it could be Cambridge. Not the sort of place you’d imagine to be constantly alight with flaming guitar licks, all day/all night parties, pumping bass, leather trousers or any sort of vibrant music scene. And it isn’t. Really. It’s telling that the two biggest bands to emerge from the town are dire – Emma Watson-romancers One Night Only and T4 Unsigned winners, the upsettingly mediocre Hijack Oscar. But, while York’s music scene has been much lambasted over the years, if you know where to go or when things are happening, it can be very rewarding indeed. It just takes, as Gary Barlow once tenderly sang, a little patience. Before you prance off in search of the aural delights of York, it’s important to make some acquaintances with whom to prance with. No-one wants to be seen standing alone at a gig, pathetically pretending to text to make it look like they have friends to other members of the audience.

The best opportunity to meet some similarly musically-minded individuals will come at the end of the daunting, cringeworthy, inebriated, degrading assault on the senses that is Fresher’s Week. You younglings will be ushered into a mighty hall in the Physics building to choose some societies to join, many of which will rob you of the sweet pennies of your student loan and give you little in return. There are several music-based societies from which to assemble a motley crew, all varying drastically in quality. It all depends on your tastes really, although the options are slightly limited. The biggest music society on campus is Breakz, a dj collective who fundamentally cater to the drum & bass, dubstep (wub) techno and electro markets. York surprisingly has a fantastic electronic music scene, and Breakz are one of the principle reasons for this. As well as ushering top artists like Benga, Scratch Perverts, Chase & Status and Skream into York with their neon tractor beam, they throw the ‘best raves in town and on campus’ with their gang of resident djs. Student-organised clubnights like Idioteque, which hauled Joy Orbison into York this year, as well as sterling local artists such as Chalices of the Past solidify the university’s electronic reputation.

However, if you dislike the bitter taste of horse tranquilizers and waking up with your lips chewed off, there are alternatives. Indie Soc happily doesn’t focus on mainstream Kooks-Wombats twattishness – iconic ex-Chairs Eddie and Morten steered the society last year towards encompassing all elements of independent culture, from film to art – and the group generally have some of the broadest tastes on campus. Head towards their tepee at Fresher’s Fair to get the chance to be a part of a long promised Indie Rock Roller Disco (which I’m pencilled in to perform a dj set of pure warp-speed 80’s hardcore at). Fringe Soc is the closest thing the university has to a ‘Rock Soc’ – but focuses more on the metal side of things with its Asylum clubnight on a Tuesday. I like metal as much as the next longhair but I will state a warning. If you define metal as semi-operatic keyboard driven drivel a la Nightwish, or folk-influenced re-enactment Viking lols then this is the society for you. If, like me, you dig early Celtic Frost and Electric Wizard you might want to take your headbanging elsewhere. This is truly the domain of the full-length Neo trenchcoat and twelve sided dice. Band Soc draws a similar crowd, while Nouse legend Jim Bulley’s dastardly attempt to make York’s music scene even more cheesy – Cheesy Pop Soc – has, over the past year, rendered this writer gibbering and lactose intolerant. There are of course, plenty of orchestras and classical/jazz groups to get involved with, a Rockabilly group, Samba and Big Band, as well as the somewhat eccentric activities of the cultish Wholly Folk and Revolutionary Society – who may end up burning you in a Wicker Man should you deign to join.

Even if you’re allergic to nightclubs, you’ll soon be in one upon arrival to York, herded in by those shepherds of alcohol poisoning – the STYCs. While my dismay at the York club scene is well documented, it’s definitely worth a few nights of rolling in your own and others’ filth – what better way to break the (Smirnoff) ice with the flatmates? Clubs Salvation, Gallery, Tokyo and Ziggy’s are the four horsemen of the nightclub apocalypse. Salvation is probably the best (cheap drinks, unpretentious, karaoke on a Thursday), but it is more an educational experience than anything, a place where I have gently comforted a shellsuited stranger who had got a girl pregnant, and made great friends with a depressed taxi driver called Ian and his ketamine-addled 17 year old daughter. Beware though, if you value your sexual health, avoid Ziggy’s like the literal plague. That said, its dubstep and d&b nights are fairly savage, but possibly not quite savage enough to balance out the inevitable gonorrhoea. York’s most famous, hallowed hall of partying is no doubt the Willow. It is to clubbing what the Rocky Horror Show is to theatre. A cheese-fest disco in a decrepit Chinese restaurant, which doesn’t seem to have a food licence, it is without doubt one of the most ridiculous places available to humanity. A club where a bouncer won’t bat an eyelid at a crowdsurf, or a turd on the floor. A club in which prawn crackers are available for munching on the dancefloor. With its own merchandise range and a cult following, it’s the place to be after everywhere else has shut. A visit there cannot fail to end in broken glass, Bryan Adams, and tears of laughter.

For those into ‘serious’ clubbing, Leeds is twenty minutes and seven pounds away on the train. Big nights out aren’t its forte, but York does have a selection of underrated smaller clubnights. Regular nights are held at the two main venues, The Duchess and Fibbers. These range from legendary indie rock & roll hangout Up The Racket to new drum & bass/dubstep night Hit & Run. Being a garage freak, the acclaimed Revolutionary Freaked Out Fuzz Club is a joy to have on the doorstep. In various venues they put on psychedelic freakbeat nights of a quality rarely seen outside of London. The City Screen Basement and Dusk bar are often occupied with odd clubnights of myriad genres, from dub and reggae to gabba and happy hardcore. Look hard enough on Dusk’s poster-strewn walls and you’re sure find something to tickle your fancy, and you can quaff down on of their tasty Milkybar Kid cocktails while you’re at it. There’s a selection of other musically-minded bars – Stone Roses is constantly stuck in the mid-90s Britpop craze, while Stereo is home to a constant stream of clubnights and bands. Stereo pretty much personifies the York gig scene: hard-working, strangely busy and getting in the odd diamond act. Glasvegas, Times New Viking and Grammatics have all recently played, and, while it’s a tiny venue, it has the best atmosphere and friendliest staff in York. The Duchess and Fibbers are the two ‘big’ venues for gigs – inverted commas because by a normal city’s standards they’d be squats. Fibbers is currently having a lavish 250k refurb though, and both, for all their infinite supplies of tribute bands, every now and then get in someone like Foals, or (in decades past) Oasis.

You’ll probably want to calm down and relax after having your mind blitzed by the host of new friends, hangouts, venues and experiences that York provides. In this case head off to Evil Eye Lounge for an exotic Thai dish or a stinging cocktail. The bar is one of the hippest dens in town, with a tropical interior and intriguing clientele. Most importantly, it plays the best tunes in town while you eat and drink. Another way to wind down might be to pootle off into the cobbled streets and search out some records. For those seeking more adventurous climes than the air-conditioned consumer nightmare of HMV, head to one of York’s hard-to-find but rewarding record shops. While Rebound on Gillygate has a good selection and The Duchess often holds great record fairs, there’s two main options if you’re hankering for some vinyl. Attic Records is hidden away up a few flights of stairs near the market. As well as selling tickets to local gigs, it has eclectic, varied stock and a dedicated, ‘High Fidelity’ vibe. Around the corner on a Saturday and Sunday hunt out ‘Vinyl’ Phil on the market, who wields a rainbow of good-condition acetate with the option to part-exchange. Students often forget that the Minster holds a great deal of first-rate choral concerts and recitals, and what better way is there to soothe a hangover than to lie back against some cold stone to the soaring strains of ‘Miserere Mei Deus’? With such a concentration of religious buildings, it seems silly, even for heathens like myself, to ignore the banquet of devotional music provided. If – to the consternation of those around you – you harbour a love of musicals, you can check out the Theatre Royal or the Grand Opera House for the odd song and dance rolling through town. Lastly, the town plays host to a variety of small, quirky festivals throughout the year. The NCEM puts on the York Early Music Festival annually, a rare opportunity to investigate the more obscure music of the past, focusing on pre-18th century classical works. The DV8 festival also darkens York, a retro goth event that sells out the town’s hairspray, Snakebite and patchouli oil. After all, the place is a bit of a goth-spot with its gargoyles, graveyards, dungeons and ghosts, and The Sisters Of Mercy played their first gig in Vanbrugh College. The York Spring Festival of New Music is another classical showcase, while rather obviously the Leeds Festival is just down the road in August.

York, then, is a mixed bag for music fans. If it’s an epic, widescreen night out you’re after, you’ll want to invest in a railcard. Or just get a dozen pills off the bloke down the Stonebow car park and head to Reflex, an 80’s theme bar with a revolving dancefloor. Similarly, The Rolling Stones, Bruce Springsteen and Stevie Wonder seem to leave the town off the tour map, so if you want huge names don’t get your hopes up. Happily, Leeds has, in my opinion, the best music scene in the North, and is constantly awash with brilliant acts. It also feels great to experience the bright lights and then return home from its grimy alleys to cosiness and small town comfort. York will stop you hopping on that train a lot of the time, though, with its broad selection of bustling smaller venues and bars, where a preposterously friendly bunch of people work tirelessly to keep the tunes pumping. The scene is so tight that you’ll soon get to know loads of like-minded folks, and the university’s multifarious societies provide all the support you’ll need should you want to get involved, book a band or even cook up your own clubnight. For all the thrills and spills of bigger cities, nothing quite beats being down at the shithole that is Ziggy’s, jumping up and down in a sweaty crowd made up of all your friends, to an improbably great act someone’s booked who for all intents and purposes should be somewhere far cooler.

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August 13, 2010

When it comes to festivals I keep my expectations low. I fully expect to spend a weekend semi-homeless in an oversized plastic-bag coffin lacking any form of hygiene; a personal hell only transcended by the occasional live performance and temporary alcoholism. Hence discovering that The Big Chill offers every modern convenience was akin to a child from a deprived-upbringing being welcomed into a (really middle class) foster home. Everything is just so pleasant. Parents actually feel comfortable enough to take their babies around in prams here. There are krazzy arty-installations everywhere, a Guardian stand, herbal tea tent, hell even restaurants. Things get more ridiculous the further you care to explore, there’s a “Body & Soul” area complete with sauna, hair treatments and massages all contrary to my impressions that mud-drenching, rain-soaking and faecal aromas were the only treatments you could receive at your run-of-the-mill English festival.

Anyway festival vibes aside, first act that I see is Little Dragon in a tent exotically named Paradiso with a stage décor of sequin flamingos, giant cocktails and pink hearts that looks like the spawn of Dame Edna and Graham Norton. Most people will know lead singer Yukimi Nagano from her guest appearance on two of the best tracks from this year’s Gorrilaz album; and generally there seems to be very few people who look like they’ve heard a Little Dragon song before. But that doesn’t stop them dragging some songs on for several minutes long with unnecessary dance “re-interpretations”. Escaping through one I make my way to the main stage for Explosions in the Sky, for which most of crowd is scattered around the stage napping, occasionally being awoken by a sudden violent instrumental climax. With the sun setting while they play, Big Chill management deserve commendation for excellent unintentional scheduling.

Little Dragon on the exotic Paradiso Stage

Next is the headline act of the day, well I know Massive Attack are technically but clearly everyone has come to see Thom Yorke in the hope he might play ‘Karma Police’ so we can have a right long sing-a-long of “FOOOOORRRRAMINAAAAATEILOSTMASELF”. But this is not Radiohead or even Atoms For Peace, just Thom Yorke on the most understated black-curtained stage with only a piano, a guitar and some delay pedals. Though the set is mostly songs from his solo album The Eraser with a few lesser-known Radiohead songs the crowd lap it up, getting slightly hysterical at every opening chord, breakdown and at one point when Yorke just looks up from his piano. Rather odd giving the minimal electronic beats and soft vocals of Yorke’s performance. Ending without a Radiohead big-hitter everyone dispersers a little disappointed.

Having ditched Massive Attack on the main stage for Mystery Jets on brightly-coloured cartoon pirate-ship Clash stage that looks like something out of Super Mario, I find it’s already packed out with hundreds of kids and teenagers. Now this shouldn’t come as a surprise given that the oldies have been filtered off by Massive Attack but it still makes me feel old overhearing lots of kids complaining ‘OMG HOW DEPRESSING WAS THOM YORKE’. After Mystery Jets give us one 80s inspired pop-gem after another I can kind appreciate the contrast, because is it a darn good fun end to the first day. Parents and children seem to immediately disappear at this point as all the late-night dance areas open up with terrible names like CHILL-X and even more awful DJs.

Mystery Jets headline the Clash Stage on Friday

Next morning it seems that the leafy middle-class village-fete setting of the arena has fallen victim to someone graffiting “SONY” everywhere. Spend the rest of day overhearing guys make the same–“HOW DESPERATE FOR ADVERSING CAN YOU GET”–joke to their girlfriends; but then actually start wondering if it is some sort of viral marketing campaign.

Having run in the rain to see Ganglians open the Clash stage, I’m disappointed to find that a band called Midi Midis have replaced them that proudly explain they use actual retro videogame sounds in their music that rouses a similar feeling of pity to not wanting to dampen your parents discovery of social networking. Feeling rather damp myself I stride over to the main stage awaiting to be dazzled by Chrome Hoof who draw a crowd simply by their uh-mazing sequined cyber-monk cloaks as well as their many instruments. As ever trying to explain Chrome Hoof to anyone leaves me spouting a chain of silly made-up adjectives like cyber-funk or galactic doom metal, genres which all sound fucking awesome anyway; and indeed they were, everything after them sounded a bit tame, bland and um antiquated.

Chrome Hoof blow upstaging everyone

On seeing Metronomy for maybe the fifth time now I found out that you can definitely see a band too many times. Everything seemed so predictable right down to every one of their well-rehearsed hand gestures; this pre-third album period is making them as uncomfortable to bump into as an ex-girlfriend before you’ve started seeing someone new. Thankful I pick-up Caribou who is cruising on the Clash stage: Dr Daniel Snaith PhD in electronic wizardry, has clearly done his equations right for track ‘Sun’ from new album Swim as he teases it out just long enough before the bit where it drops “4 real” and everyone dances.

After being undecided whether to see: Kelis, Liars or Patrick Wolf I somehow end up seeing Patrick on the main stage. While a big Patrick Wolf sign is being hoisted, a woman comes up to me asking “Never heard of this Patrick guy, can you tell what he’s like?” flustered that I might actually have try come up with descriptive words I start waffling something about instruments, synths and an eccentric singer-songwriter, but I can clearly see I’m losing her so desperately end with “…a bit like Laura Marling”. She walks to her friends and says “A bit like Laura Marling”, “Oh fuck that” replies the lad of group and they walk off. Cringing internally I promise to never make recommendations again. When Patrick comes on he’s wearing both a polka-dot catsuit and dinner jacket and yet it seems a slightly toned-down outfit for him: somehow tassels, shiny material and hair extensions are lacking. Patrick seems to do the festival thing effortlessly, working everyone up to a partner-hugging mess with a ‘Magic Position’ finale. Next up is M.I.A. so drink is a necessary preparation.

Beam of light: Caribou performing 'Sun' on the Clash Stage

I hardly expected subtle from M.I.A. but everything about her headline set is ridiculously overblown. All the massive LEDs screens are lit up with epilepsy-inducing, nauseating, abrasive images of the “art direction” that has come to define her. Bass levels have been yanked up to the point of rattling vocal chords. All this is somehow excusable, even welcomed: being aurally and visually overloaded is all part of her attraction. Less welcome are her irritating American entourage, with some squeaky X-Factor rejects addressing the crowd as “LONDON” and shouting incomprehensively to a crowd baffled by what response exactly is expected of them. Even the songs are difficult to make out, call me old man Bychawski, but it would have been nice to hear some vocals between all that bass. That said it wouldn’t be M.I.A. without the IN YOUR FACENESS of everything. At one point everyone goes off stage while some boxes are dragged on with bottles on top that leaves me wondering if this is magic routine section of the performance. All is slightly-explained by M.I.A. returning to play ‘Teqkilla’, and then asking for volunteers. A few eager fans seize the opportunity but look somewhere between confused and petrified on stage, like contestants in some surreal live game show. Before anyone can figure out what the rules are to the official M.I.A. drinking game, Maya launches into ‘Paper Planes’ and suddenly everyone wants in on being on stage. People start pouring on, oddly enough all the security team must be off watching Mount Kimbie instead, and it becomes a game of ‘Where’s Maya?’ trying to spot her in the huge crowd now on stage. Being in the spotlight naturally brings out the attention-grabbing dick in everyone and by time the stage is cleared it’s all over. Somehow it’s a fitting over-the-top finale to an over-the-top performance.

M.I.A. gets blown out of proportion after a crowd storm on-stage

On the 7th day Big Chill gave up a bit and rested, as someone spread the good acts a bit thin over the last day. They probably thought everyone would be too knackered to notice come Sunday and slapped Lily Allen on the end of the bill hoping for a few extra ticket sales. Still at least there’s Villagers to hear perform from their Mercury nominated album Becoming A Jackal. Sadly there aren’t many people around to hear Conor J. O’Brien howl his dark poetic musings.

A late festival highlight comes courtesy of DåM-FunK, who might well have a slightly awful name but never ever would I admit this to him in person. Swaggering on stage with a low-slung keytar this man is a living natural reserve of coolness. Smooth 80s funk cut after another follows with Damon Riddick, accompanied by Master-Blazter drumming, sweeping up and down his instrument so effortlessly that it could well have adjoined from birth. Not able to stomach the Magic Numbers, Newton Faulkner and Lily Allen I make a hasty exit, feeling comfortable chilled by some funky vibes.

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August 3, 2010

Earlier this week York’s dear Club Salvation, the pubescent hub of the University’s nightlife, fell victim to what the hilarious scallywags of the Westboro Baptist Church might term a ‘God Smack’, as fire sent from the heavens enveloped its upper floors. That or it was a savvy inside insurance job. Either way, the image of the club being gutted by malicious flames seemed to affect students deeply, as Facebook alighted with a mixture of condolences and lols. To me, it seemed this was an omen, heralding that clubbing in York has finally become so reprehensible that natural forces are intervening. It all happened so quickly.

I came to York two years ago a country bumpkin, unaware of the emphasis that would be put on ‘clubbing’ at the institution. Back then, ‘clubbing’ was, to me, the faintly unpleasant practice of bludgeoning cute baby seals in Canada. I was unused to the concept of heading to a nightclub for entertainment: fun back home in East Anglia would invariably be centred around firing catapults at gypsies or prodding corpses in the local stream with a pointed stick. My clubbing virginity was lost amidst the tasteless décor and pederast-baiting smells of Tru, on the first Tuesday of Freshers’ week. Little did I know then that this heady pit of teenage lust, awful music and laughable ‘DJs’ would be a centre-point of the next year of my life. Fuelled by a burning stomach of nail-vanish-remover-level alcohol, it seemed like the best school disco I’d ever been too; lots of disturbingly over-friendly people, lashings of booze, and cheesy songs I hadn’t heard since the school run in 1994 flooding back to me in a wave of comforting nostalgia. As my time at York went on, the club repeated the same cheap thrills of that night, my motives shifting from meeting new friends to celebrating birthdays to cutting loose after an essay deadline.

These were innocent, golden times. Gallery seemed so classy, Ziggy’s was like some sort of dark, ecstatic bacchanal. In the Willow I felt the rapture of the end scene of Dirty Dancing every night. When I came home for summer my friends could scarcely believe I was such an enthusiastic ‘clubber’. But little did I know, my love for nightclubbing was soon to change tide. I think it must have been the time I went to Ziggy’s sober on a whim. Things I hadn’t noticed while dribbling VKs began to reveal themselves. The queue seemed to last an eternity, made worse by being shunted like a battery hen alongside moronic, sozzled Tory boys abusing ‘minging’ girls with extraordinarily weak ‘banter’. The urine soaking through my boots was so much warmer, the rugby boys’ cocks flashing outside were so much smaller. The club itself wasn’t the edgy joint I’d remembered from Term One, it seemed to be some sort of decrepit squat. Walking in on a girl taking a poo on some vomit in the gents’ forced me into a reluctant Ziggy’s exile. Where I used to find how depressing it all was funny, now I just found it depressing. Around the same time, a good friend was dragged out of The Duchess up the steps on his face by roid raging bouncers after a minor scuffle at the bar. Blood streaming down his face, it was later that he ascertained that they had broken his nose.

Growing less and less enthusiastic about York’s nightlife, I was thrown out of Gallery’s VIP lounge for mockingly playing their shit white piano, and, with the benefit of sober eyes, realised that the class I had once drunkenly perceived in the club was actually an optical illusion caused by balconies, and its comparison to Tru. After queuing for about two hours at the beginning of term, at the front, to get into what can only be described as an unappealing faux-boudoir, only to be told that we wouldn’t get in due to fast-tracking, I gave up on Gallery as well. Even the Willow had sold out, with merchandise t-shirts and entrance fees. The cheek, of asking an entrance fee into what is essentially a rave for those listed on criminal registers in an illegal Chinese loft. Another problem was my attitude to dancing. Honed through a childhood of rock gigs, my over-excited high-kicking, knee-sliding, Kevin-Bacon-in-Footloose aping moves were ill suited to the clubbing environment, where restricted, faintly embarrassed white-boy R&B shapes and finger-pointing Dad-at-a-wedding jiving are the norm. My wild flailing resulted in slicing my foot open on broken glass to Queen’s ‘Under Pressure’, and spraining my ankle star-jumping onto a Swede. Battered and bruised, I had fallen out of love with it all.

Then, as Salvation was announced as the new haven for the ailing York clubber, my hopes rose. In that den of iniquity I had spent many a night revelling in a half-empty club while people queued round the block in vain for Gallery. I liked its pure, unadulterated shittiness. It didn’t try hard like Gazza. It didn’t smell as bad as Tru. Its bouncers weren’t ex-SS like in The Duchess. The air of violence kept you on your toes, while the drinks were at black-market prices. There was plenty of space to dance. But it was too late, the clubber inside of me had died. Looking around at the end of last term I felt an all-consuming emptiness at the nightclub experience. Very few people seemed to be dancing for the love of dancing. Everyone seemed to be posing and taking photos of each other; their whole night just an album shoot for Facebook. There must be better ways for the attention-seeker to prove how ‘awesome’ their ‘uni life’ and ‘friends’ are than putting up pictures of themselves all sweaty and grim in Salvation. Why do people bring cameras to clubs anyway? Why would anyone want to document this fraught descent into shameful low-budget debauchery?

The same fucking songs drilled my head, leaving me wishing that Merzbow or Lou Reed’s Metal Machine Music would come on and clear the air. I wondered to myself if the real reason for all this clubbing was sex; if these strange, awkward jiggles were all mating rituals. Most of the clientele had clearly spent way too long on their appearance, orange tans, constricting dresses and clown makeup screaming ‘I have no self esteem, I am a slave to my own conceptions of what others think of me’ in my face. Why go to all this bother for a couple of minutes of fumbling, impersonal, forgettable coitus? Anyway, could there be a worse place to find a partner than Club Salvo? Maybe a EDL demonstration or that paedo-jail that Louis Theroux went to. Or Reflex. Staring blankly at the dry ice wafting over the throng of zombies, I pondered how I could ever have found nightclubbing in any way fun or interesting, even in the so-bad-it’s-good way I did.

The most obvious explanation for joining the hordes of supposedly intellectual individuals throwing themselves so wholeheartedly into this whirlpool of piss and cheese was, of course, substance abuse. I had confused my love of clubbing with a love of getting completely off my face. My ‘clubbing phase’ was also, I later realised, a necessary evil brought on by the harsh constructs of the pre-determined lifestyle of the ‘fresher’ – I couldn’t just sit back at halls, not knowing anyone. Students had carefully set up this culture of clubbing over the decades to act as some intense, horrible bonding experience. After a year of clubbing in York you forge similar relationships to those between close friends made after Vietnam or the Somme. At least there’s something positive. Maybe I’m getting cynical, maybe I’m getting old. Maybe I’ve lost my mojo. But I think that this fiery vengeance on Salvation is a sign. My clubbing days are over.

I don’t want to preach, or party poop and become henceforth known as Tom Killing-buzz, I’m just sharing my experience to warn others. And I’m sure it’s possible that some sort of bearable nightclub exists outside of York. I’m also sure I’ll be dragged out again sooner or later. But from now on, I’ll be attempting to keep my partying to gigs. And house parties. And raves. And weddings. And drinking in the bath. Just as long as there’s no queues, no expensive booze, no bodily fluids (other than my own), no DJs telling me they’re about to ‘press the button’, no STIs, no foam, no people off Hollyoaks, no tacky interiors, no shitty garish posters that assume I’m excited by unaccompanied live percussion, no sports socs, no bouncers, and no VIP lounges. And most importantly of all, no girls pooing in vomit. That very near made me cut my cock off.

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July 12, 2010

Ah Reading and Leeds festival. You are the obnoxious, pubescent, lairy younger brother to Glastonbury. You are the crèche for so many first-time teenage festival goers. You are our closest insight into what a self-contained post-apocalyptic “society” would look like. You are near impossible to wax lyrically about in the same way as your middle-class sister festivals; I’m talking about you Latitude, and your poncy “Literary Arena”. And yet you predictably sell out, year after year.

For those who have been going year after year to Reading and Leeds festival you might well wonder if they noticed that music changed at all in last decade and a bit. Guns n Roses, Blink-182, Limp Bizkit, Cypress Hill, Weezer, the Libertines…all that’s missing in this afterlife reunion is Everett True pushing in Nirvana frontman Kurt Cobain on a wheelchair FROM THE GRAVE. I don’t know what convinced organisers Festival Republic that now in 2010, at the start of new decade, was the time for a eulogy for our yet un-departed beloved 90s bands. Maybe now’s a good time before the health scares a la Bono. Strangely enough, it’s oddly refreshing to see one major festival line-up not derived from the zeitgeist of bands doing the festival circuit. I’d even go as far as to say it is their most interesting line-up in years. There’s still plenty of interesting alternatives for those nauseated by the MTV-glazed nostalgia of the main stage line-up. So here are a few of the acts across all the stages that you shouldn’t miss.

#1 Arcade Fire
When the 2010 headliners were announced, it was something of a surprise to many that Arcade Fire topped the bill amongst Guns n Roses and Blink-182. As huge as they might be in alternative music circles, they don’t quite command the notoriety of their fellow headline acts; hence poorly spelt indignant Facebook groups such as “Wait who the fukk are Arcade Fire [sic]?” Well hopeful it should be a long-awaited return from one of the bands that defined the noughties. With their third album released this August and Reading and Leeds their only UK summer tour date, it is well-recommended that you formally introduce yourself to their Friday/Saturday night performance.

#2 Modest Mouse
I’m going to just come out and say it: Modest Mouse are the greatest late 90s/early 00s band playing on bill – sorry Weezer, but you’ve been nose-diving since 1996’s Pinkerton. Modest Mouse picked off where the Pixies left off with their jagged abrupt guitar sound but made it their own with Issac Brock’s lisping existential lyrics. These are the guys partially responsible for bringing Indie rock to masses with 2000’s Good News For People Who Like Bad News and 2007’s We Were Dead Before The Ship Even Sank. But before you find a suitable rock to throw as thanks, I’m talking Indie bands like Arcade Fire, Clap Your Hands Say Yeah and The Shins. That’s okay, you can thank them personally.

#3 Paramore
Say what you want about Paramore being a guilty pleasure or what not, but they do what they do very well. And if Hayley Williams twittering her nipples gets them some wider attention then that’s great, not that nudity was really required. While headliners Blink-182 have been not-so-busy monopolising the teen movie soundtrack business for years, Paramore have been churning out post-punk hit after hit. Latest album Brand New Eyes is their best yet, a darn great pop album. Sure you might have to stand far away from the crowd to avoid a fray of jailbait teenage girls, but there’s no shame in appreciating it.

#4 Phoenix
Phoenix might have been making great albums for years now, but 2009’s Wolfgang Amadeus Phoenix propelled them deservingly into mainstream success. With a lengthy back catalogue of pop hits, Phoenix is one of the few bands to master the guitar and synth arrangement; perhaps inspired by long-term friends: synth-masters Daft Punk and label-mates Air. Live they combine their lovable French charm and carefully choreographed lightshow into an unmissable performance.

#5 Caribou
Somehow Caribou has been snuck onto the bill in a rather innocuous slot on the Festival Republic stage. Thankfully Daniel Snaith is under no shortage of recognition elsewhere with this year’s critically acclaimed album Swim being nominated for Canada’s prestigious Polaris Prize. Rightly so given the array of electronic brilliance present in Swim; every song is constantly morphing, never ending quite how you might have expected. Snaith manages to create tracks that sound almost like dancefloor music without ever compromising his deep sense of electronic experimentation.

#6 Four Tet
Inevitably drawing comparisons with Daniel Snaith, Kieran Hebden has been experimenting with electronic sounds and live instrumentations for many years under the name Four Tet. Despite having also released a critically acclaimed album this year, There Is Love In You Yet, his sound is more reminiscent of schoolmate William Bevin, or Burial to you and me. Clipped female vocals, long building drum samples and jittery synths place him closer to the dubstep scene, but there’s still plenty of experimentation that earned him his early label as “folktronica”. One of the most varied and complex albums of this year that should make for an unusual dance stage performance.

#7 Crystal Castles
Crystal Castles’ live performance is a bit like watching a sugar-rush-induced toddler rampage. Singer Alice Glass launches hysterically from one frenetic barely -recognisable song rendition to the next, all while scaling any stage obstacle in site. Often more than not festival organisers have been less than pleased with this display, cutting her and beat-maker Ethan Kath off mid-set, like disciplinarian parents. That said Glass might have toned things down if the new album, originally named Crystal Castles II, is anything to go by. With the new album, Kath has ditched the furious Atari riot electronica for glacial undulating synths and airy-yet-dark vocals, which should provide something of a relief to their exhausting to watch stage act.

#8 LCD Soundsystem
“It smells like human pooooo” sung James Murphy in falsetto at LCD Soundsystem’s Glastonbury appearance, at Wireless festival he threatened anonymous bottle-throwers that he would “kick your face in…and then pay your medical bill”. With all this British festival experience is there any man more qualified to manage the crowd at the NME tent headline slot then James Murphy. Having released their supposedly last album This Is Happening earlier this year, this may well be one of the last few UK appearances that LCD Soundsystem makes for a while. So trust me, this performance will be far more exciting than the aging one-manned un-union tour on the main stage.

#9 Health
In HEALTH’s music video for their single ‘Die Slow’, the band play in some sort of harem to a crowd of writhing bodies covered in blood. While I’m not sure their Reading and Leeds performance will exactly replicate that, it will probably be almost as intense. In a way the video is strangely illustrative of HEALTH’s sound, with Jake Duzsik’s wispy sensual voice overlaying an unsettling undercurrent of violent electronica that threatens to burst out at any minute. Expect nothing less than a ferocious set for their pedal-strewn, feedback-blaring appearance on the dance stage.

#10 Mystery Jets
“Have you heard the birds and bees / Have all got STDs?” croons Blaine Harrison on new album Serotonin, evoking memories of the 80s AIDs epidemic. Well memories I don’t have, but even I can hear this record is drenched in the 80s with its not-so-subtly-metaphorical lyrics about ecstasy highs, promiscuity, and naïve idealism. Feigned nostalgia aside, what I am distinctly sure about is that this is Mystery Jet’s third album, and all three are near-filled with irresistible pop hits; the likes of which makes them the best 80s band actually from the noughties on the bill. That makes sense, right?

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June 21, 2010

At the end of this week, as is tradition, a lucky few York students will be migrating to the Glastonbury Festival of Contemporary Performing Arts to be caked in mud and faeces quasi-ritualistically, probably as part of a post-finals bacchanal. The experience is an essential summertime rite for tens of thousands, as the summer solstice seems to call out to some deep-seated druidic essence in our bones that wills us all to cut loose and party in a field. The UK’s most famous festival, held under the imposing and iconic Pyramid Stage, will struggle for dominance with the World Cup on our TV screens, as viewers up and down the country will be watching whilst wishing they’d been able to grab one of those much-prized tickets, sitting on armchairs far from the stench of mud, incense and three day old booze. This year marks the 40th Anniversary of the festival, going stronger than ever since it began humbly in 1970, the day after Jimi Hendrix died. Long-time organiser Michael Eavis has put together another sterling line-up, and, with the weather forecast set to be fine (although the Met Office is admittedly akin to astrology) everything is set for one of the best weekends of the year. The old faithful probably aren’t reading this, they’re already camping out at Stonehenge to soak up some ancient festival vibes in preparation. But if you’re a Glasto virgin, before you jog off with your Cath Kidston tent and limited edition Louis Vuitton wellies, please remember that it’s not all hobnobbing with minor celebrities and getting on the TV. There are also quite a few bands playing, so here are some recommendations from the insanely diverse line-up. Ten of the best acts to catch in order to convert your festival experience from being a case of ‘Eavis and Butthead’ to a worthy (farm) experience…

#1 Gorillaz

The Dad Rock Army was probably out on the march when U2 were announced as headliners in November, but thankfully they’ve pulled out, replaced with one of the most interesting acts to grace the top slot in years. Damon Albarn’s no stranger to ginormous arena gigs, but Gorillaz really aren’t a live group – a kind of meta-band peddling numerous collaborations and Jamie Hewlett’s arresting cartoon aesthetic. It’s hard to visualise what the band can do with a headline slot – expect a real feast for the eyes. As a replacement they couldn’t be more different from U2’s middle-aged, middle-of-the-road mediocrity. Straddling a variety of genres – dance, electronica, dub, hip-hop, pop and rock – their music is truly original, truly contemporary and, most importantly, truly allied to the all-encompassing spirit of Glastonbury.

Key Tune: Expect ‘DARE’ to be the perfect crowd shaker late on Friday night.

#2 The Flaming Lips

One of the most underrated bands of the 90’s, setting brains aflame with their mind-corroding trio of records ‘In A Priest Driven Ambulance’, ‘Hit To Death In The Future Head’ and ‘Clouds Taste Metallic’, the Oklahoman psych-Lords finally achieved fame with 1999’s ‘The Soft Bulletin’. They’ve just released a remake of ‘Dark Side of the Moon’ with Henry Rollins and Peaches, and created sprawling acid epic ‘Embryonic’ last year. On this sort of eyeball-licking form, the band is sure to be a psychedelic source of wonderment at the festival. Expect giant inflatables, animal costumes, fake blood, dozens of onstage dancers and, if you’ve indulged in the usual festival diet of mushrooms and lysergic acid diethylamide, a brain haemorrhage.

Key Tune: It’s their big calling card (now the official rock song of Oklahoma) but you can’t deny the unifying power of ‘Do You Realize??’.

#3 Shakira

Last year Lady Gaga was a surprise triumph, rocking the site to the bones with a set that silenced any disbelief in her live credentials and the power of pop in a festival environment. This year let’s hope that Shakira can do the same. The Colombian she-wolf has prowled the charts for years, and her sterling collection of tunes could charm even the most po-faced music fan. How could you resist such lyrics as ‘Lucky that my breasts are small and humble / So you don’t confuse them with mountains’? As well as bringing a refreshing burst of Latino pop perfection to the festival, seeing her is worth it for her bizarrely robotic ‘erotic’ body contortions alone.

Key Tune: ‘Hips Don’t Lie’ is 100% pure Colombian high-grade R&B.

#4 Dirty Projectors

Nestled away on the Park Stage, Dirty Projectors are one of the superior indie bands on the line-up, and their performances are far less ubiquitous than other peers on the line-up such as MGMT, LCD Soundsystem and Grizzly Bear. Latest LP ‘Bitte Orca’ was widely hailed as one of the best records of 2009, with its incredibly distinctive, almost indescribably new sound. With acrobatic guitars playing blue-note melodies strangely out-of-kilter, led by David Longstreth’s soaring voice, the band are the most singular and uncompromising experimental pop band in operation, defying categorisation and comparable to Animal Collective in their potential to shift from the left-field into the public consciousness.

Key Tune: ‘Stillness is the Move’ will clear your head with its crystal vocal heroics.

#5 George Clinton with Parliament-Funkadelic

Stevie Wonder’s headlining on the main stage, but if you want some real funk like it should be played – hard and raw – George Clinton’s intergalactic freak show is touching down on the West Holts on Saturday. The rainbow-dreadlocked mad professor and his twin motherships of superfreaky groove are a perfect Glasto proposition – they’re pretty much a carnival in their own right. They’ve been going for about as long as the festival itself, and, like the festival, are still crazy as ever. Expect superhuman bass virtuosity, out-of-this-world costuming and, most importantly, to free your mind. Your ass will follow.

Key Tune: ‘Not Just Knee Deep’ is guaranteed to turn you into dance jelly.

#6 Holy Fuck

Canadian motorik-electronics supernerds Holy Fuck seem to be named after the average reaction to their performance. Comprised of one of the tightest live rhythm sections you’ll ever see and two of the most manic electro-manipulators on the planet, they’re one of the most visually involving dance acts around. Bringing the energy of a rock show to electronic music isn’t easy, but their pummelling rhythms will shake you while their shimmering synths elate you, their sound achieved staggeringly with live instrumentation. Brian Borcherdt and Graham Walsh, the aforementioned twin programmers pull apart toy guns, miniature keyboards and all manner of sequencers and synthesizers to create their universe of noises. By trying to avoid digital looping and splicing, their performance is one of the most uniquely physical you’re likely to see in the electronic field.

Key Tune: ‘Lovely Allen’ is a euphoric dance track in the best sort of way.

#7 Mos Def

If you’re after hip-hop, you won’t find anything much better than Mos Def on the bill. UK pop shite like Chipmunk and N-Dubz sadly clouds the dance stage, but sometime actor Mos Def flies the flag for real rap on West Holts. ‘The Ecstatic’, his new album, was produced by such golden boys as J Dilla, Mr. Flash, Madlib, and The Neptunes, and was critically lauded as one of the great socially conscious, musically literate and comprehensive hip-hop records of the last decade. With his kaleidoscopic preponderance of obscure afrobeat, funk, jazz and soul samples combined with his slightly slurred, distinctively relaxed flow, he’s one of the warmest hip-hop performers around, harking back to the Golden Age. Featuring on two tracks from Gorillaz’ newbie ‘Plastic Beach’, you can also perhaps expect him to hit the Main Stage for their headline slot…

Key Tune: ‘Supermagic’ will get the party started on Friday Night.

#8 Christy Moore

Christy Moore isn’t really a household name, but he’s got almost Dylanesque status among fans of Irish folk. In 2007 he was named Ireland’s greatest musician – see, you didn’t need that nonce Bono headlining after all. His wise, hushed folk songs will be perfect for either people looking for a quiet comedown or watching with a frothy pint of Guinness. A legendary Glastonbury performer, he’s almost a manifestation of the old spirit of the festival; a sage, lifetime-long musician, traditional, politically dissident, and a lover of drink. If you’re not up for the bizarrely successful semi-orchestrated sexless space-geek dramatics of Muse on the Main Stage, go and check out Christy to see a true lifetimer.

Key Tune: You won’t hear anything more hauntingly beautiful as ‘Ride On’ on the acoustic stage.

#9 The xx

The hype-machine got pretty randy for The xx last year, and, despite losing a member, they’ve come on in leaps and bounds live, evolving into an outfit that can truly live up to expectations. Their tranquilized, chic indie rock is characterised by a curious 90’s R&B influence to their vocal lines, creating a mesmeric and enchanting sound, perfect for soundtracking a slow dance with a love interest. They sound like a boy and girl gently covering TLC in a dream-pop style, pre-coitus in a bedroom. Sounds awful on paper, but works a dream. Catch them late and intimate at the Park Stage rather than earlier on at the John Peel Stage. With their sultry night-time vibes they’ll sound much better under the stars. Their effortlessly cool, gently sexy anthems will hopefully make you feel a bit svelter, despite the fact that at this stage you’ll probably be extremely whiffy and head to toe in the excrement of others…

Key Tune: The dreamy ‘Heart Skips A Beat’ has the atmosphere and effect of a first kiss.

#10 Mr B The Gentleman Rhymer

Lastly, it’s essential to have a bit of light relief. It was hard choosing between Mr B, the legendary Rolf Harris, and the Lightning Seeds. Rolf Harris would be a laugh but you’d hardly be able to spot him and his wobbleboard – he’s on the Pyramid Stage. The Lightning Seeds would be a definite if we’re still in the World Cup and they play ‘Three Lions’, but that’s a very heavy gamble. Mr B, a faux-upper class hip-hopper from the Home Counties mixes classic gangsta with preposterous lyrics about cricket, pipe-smoking, fox hunting and the like. He has also recently brought out a novelty football song, ten times more English than ‘Three Lions’. Claiming his sound is like ‘Noel Coward and Afrika Bambaataa enjoying a sweet sherry at a party held at Mansion House’, his banjo-accompanied verse is both lyrically nifty and hilarious. The originator of ‘chap-hop’ he’s been acclaimed for preserving the village green mentality whilst re-imagining rap. Screw Skinnyman and Jehst, this is true UK hip-hop.

Key Tune: ‘Straight Out Of Surrey’ is, rather obviously, a relocation of NWA’s ‘Straight Outta Compton’ to a more fitting ‘chap-hop’ area.

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June 8, 2010

Born as a promoter out of frustration with the London music scene in 2003, Upset the Rhythm has since gained a well-founded reputation for supporting the most exciting underground acts around. It was only natural for them to branch out into a record label in 2005, putting out releases from now established acts such No Age, Xiu Xiu, and Parenthetical Girls. I spoke to founder Christopher Tipton as Upset the Rhythm celebrates flying its heart-diagrammed banner for their 300th show.

Abe Vigoda at Upset the Rhythm

How did you get started? What was the first artist you put on as a promoter?
It was Deerhoof, they were touring the UK and we wanted to see them play London but I read on an internet message board that the guy booking the tour couldn’t find anyone in London who wanted to do it. So we got in touch with him and tried to make it happen. We never expected UTR to be anything more than that first party, but so many people were supportive and appreciative at that one show that we kept going.

In the Upset the Rhythm ‘about me’ section, you say that part of your motivation for starting up was being alienated by the past music scene.
What were you alienated by: the lack of an ‘underground’ music scene, or perhaps most promoters looking out for profit rather than putting on interesting artists?
From a number of perspectives. We had travelled a bit in the US and seen how shows were more varied, and audiences less static, and shows were generally more fun. We wanted to bring this idea to London. London has always been a difficult place to put on shows, not many venues, heavy noise restrictions etc and we thought we could have a go at making shows more interesting. We also have really strongly believed in supporting people at the start of their careers, or when they haven’t got support from anyone else, or who are doing things that aren’t necessarily fashionable, and putting their music on a platform regardless of whether a show is going to make money or whatever.

Do you think any of the above problems still exist in the music scene today?
I can only really talk about our experience in London. There are some really creative small promoters in London that didn’t exist five years ago, which is fantastic. The recession has meant that property prices have been coming down and as a result more venues are opening up, which should open things out a bit more and which will hopefully mean that such promoters can take risks. There are still loads of people putting on shows to look cool, or to make money, and ticket prices for some shows are getting ridiculous, but these are problems inherent to the music scene generally! I think that life is getting harder for musicians, particularly from overseas, due to the economic situation and the difficulty of making a living from your work. There is still the need for people to put on shows in London that are enjoyable for musicians and respectful of their work and that are fun and memorable for the audience.

Omar Souleyman at Upset the Rhythm

Is there one gig that you could pick out as your favourite, or has there been someone you always wanted to see that you managed convinced to do an Upset the Rhythm show?
There are too many amazing shows that we’ve seen to pick favourites! Even picking out highlights is difficult! There are so many experiences that have been incredible, last month’s Omar Souleyman show where the audience went wild at the sight of him, being freaked out by Lexie Mountain Boys performance on top of a medieval tower in Hackney, seeing Trash Kit perform to hundreds of singing and dancing friends and supporters at their album launch in a scout hut. Just too many examples and lots of incredible memories.

What artist would you love to do an Upset the Rhythm show with that you haven’t already?
We were completely gutted that we couldn’t do the Amps for Christ show earlier this year happen as a result of the ash cloud debacle. So he would be first on the list.

At what point did you decide to make the transition from promoter to label, and why did you?
We were given a Death Sentence: Panda CD by Kim West at a show for her other band Crack: We Are Rock. We loved it and asked if we could put it out. We wanted to do something constructive with the energy we had from our early shows and releasing the DSP record was the obvious thing for us to do.

Trash Kit – Cadets from Upset The Rhythm on Vimeo.

How do you go about finding artists for the label? A lot of the artists you sign seem to have a similar DIY ethic, is that something you look for? Do you have a specific idea of the kind of artist you want?
There are similar DIY ethics held by the artists we work with, though you’d struggle to tell that the Gay Against You record is on the same label as the Trash Kit record, and we’re not interested in having a signature label sound. Some people have pointed out that we gravitate to the noisy, lo-fi end of the spectrum, but it doesn’t hold true across the board. At the moment we are excited by how fertile the UK underground is, and we are working hard to document that, with records by The Sticks, Gentle Friendly, Trash Kit, Cold Pumas, Gay Against You, Chops and Helhesten already committed to wax, and records by Cleckhuddersfax, Drum Eyes, Peepholes, Apatt, Plug, Please in the pipeline.

What new artist and/or release are you particularly excited to have signed/released?
We are excited about a compilation to celebrate our 300th show that will be out this summer. It’s a past, present, future release with highlights from our roster, exclusive tracks from people we’ve done shows with but not necessarily released records by, and some sneak previews of the new records that are coming out in the next year. I never thought we’d have such an awesome body of work behind us or that we’d still be doing this!

What upcoming gig are you particularly excited about putting on?
I get excited about all the shows we do! I am really looking forward to seeing Oneohtrix Point Never. His last show for us was totally immense and we’ve been listening to the record all the time.

Dan Deacon at Upset the Rhythm

Trash Kit’s self-titled debut is out now on none other than Upset the Rhythm

This is the second of our label spotlight series, our first being an interview with rarities label Finders Keepers.

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May 27, 2010

Rock & roll has always gone hand in hand with criminality. From Jailhouse Rock to Gangsta Rap, the lure of breakin’ the law has been overwhelming for countless tunesmiths. Recently, the siren call of the prison bars has become even louder in the pop universe. World-munching sex diva Lady Gaga’s glorious Jonas Åkerlund-directed ‘Telephone’ video squeezes as much fetishism as possible from the jail environment, while the commercial hip-hop/R&B dominion has taken its overarching obsession with lawlessness further towards mainstream acceptance. For hip-hop gangstas like 50 Cent, an inglorious past as a street-dwelling hood is indispensable in terms of credibility, while similarly shock-rockers like Mötley Crüe and Marilyn Manson get off on the integrity that a mugshot will bring to their bad-boy images. But pop crime isn’t always as glamorous as it’s cracked up to be. Criminal infamy seems to be a double-edged sword; you might get away from it with some mystery and danger added to your reputation, but more often than not you’re going to be the laughing stock of the world. Even back in rock & roll’s early days dancing with crime wasn’t always beneficial to your image; for example Chuck Berry was arrested for ferrying underage girls across state borders to shag them legally. Not cool. The modern music world doesn’t seem to learn from its forbears’ embarrassing mishaps, sadly. Some of the most famous musicians in the world today are also its most famous criminals, and not in an attractive or alluring way, as these jailbirds will testify:

We can’t discuss the various strains of pop prison-dwelling without good old Michael Jackson (God rest his soul). Jackson wasn’t the first pop paedo – that title could be handed to the aforementioned Chuck ‘What the Fuck?’ Berry or Daily Mail favourite Gary Glitter. He was, however, the highest profile. Though never convicted, much of Jackson’s fame after releasing several scintillating records in the late Eighties was derived from his troubles with the law over molestation charges. There’s not much I can add to the subject really – either you think he was a fallen angel whose childlike, innocent friendships with kids were twisted by evil lawyers, or you think he was a pasty-faced pill-popping psycho with a penchant for pyjama parties who peddled Richie Rich sex fantasies that Macaulay Culkin bore the brunt of.

Another high profile Hollywood case was that of the legendary ‘Wall of Sound’ producer Phil Spector. I’m an undying fan of his work with The Ronettes and The Crystals, but even I was embarrassed to be spinning his records after he was jailed for shooting Lana Clarkson. Mainly because of her starring role in one of my favourite B-Movies, hack & slash epic ‘Barbarian Queen’. What a waste of talent. We all, including poor Lana, should have seen it coming though, with Spector having threatened everyone from The Ramones to Leonard Cohen with his impressive collection of firearms. I just hope the cops checked that hair for hidden guns before he went to the pen.

Ozzy Osbourne’s career was built on being a giant nobhead. Half his fame stems from his antics rather than his music. Having morphed from being the charismatic singer of Black Sabbath into a bloated cartoon by the Eighties, the Brummie nutcase set about becoming the court jester of rock & roll, beating other clowns such as drum-wielding Pammy-humper Tommy Lee and rootin’ tootin’ Pammy-humper Kid Rock to the title. Among his many legendary arrests he can count pissing on the Alamo in a dress and shooting the family cats with a shotgun, amongst other celebrated party pieces such as snorting ants and decapitating doves and bats with his teeth. Ozzy’s most notable criminal charge was not as hilarious or surreal, however. He was arrested in 1989 for drunkenly attempting to strangle his wife Sharon. To be honest, who can blame him – I’d probably be forced to violence fifteen minutes into living with her.

Taking punk rock to its illogical extreme, GG Allin is one of rock & roll’s great failures. He couldn’t sing, couldn’t write, and couldn’t play. Judging by his lyrics, he could barely even think. Beloved by mentally slow teen rebels as well as (probably) jazz professors, Allin carved a niche for himself as he ‘brilliantly’ merged Jeremy Kyle subject matter with punk. Performing naked and attempting to fight, rape, and shit on anyone who came near him at gigs, he basically ended up looking like a fat guy with a bad moustache having a serious seizure caused by A.D.H.D. He even sucked at dying – rather than follow up on his claim that he’d expire onstage, he perished ignobly after a massive drug binge all alone. Rather than drugs, I think he might have needed a prescription of hugs.

Does anyone actually care about Peter Doherty any more? The Libertines reformed for Reading/Leeds this year to a chorus of ‘Whatever’. But my teens were blighted by this one-man fauxhemian Byronic cabaret. Graciously giving the world crack ‘n roll acolytes The View, The Others, and horse-faced horse-tranquilizer lover Amy Winehouse (along with her jockey Blake Fielder-Civil), he conquered London in the mid-Noughties. The odious hipness of the Camden set is thankfully fading, thanks in part to Doherty’s precocious attendance of court hearings balanced by his distinct lack of tunes. Perhaps this re-union will yield yet more half-arsed, vaguely criminal self-mythologizing. Or even better, someone will pop a cap in his ass and give him what he’s always wanted – rock & roll immortality.

Akon’s crimes, including somehow turning domestic abuse into sexy floor-filling material with ‘Smack That’, are more extensive than just the jail time that inspired his hit ‘Locked Up’. Akon, full name Aliaune Damala Bouga Time Puru Nacka Lu Lu Lu Badara Akon Thiam, has, among other mishaps, simulated sex onstage with a preacher’s daughter who was aged 15 at the time. Cool. He’s also claimed to be part of an auto-theft ring back in the day. Aside from music he has many business ventures, his most unpleasant being his diamond mine in Sierra Leone. As he has stated, ‘I don’t believe in conflict diamonds. That’s just a movie.’ Much of his criminal past seems to have been embellished, however; his claim to have spent three years in prison was challenged with court records and detectives involved in his case. There’s nothing cooler than a rampant misogynist trying to look street and badass with a fictionalised lowlife criminal past whilst enslaving people from his impoverished homeland to collect diamonds for him. Think about that next time you’re making out to his slick tunes at SNG.

Another smoother-than-silk hip-hopper who somehow remains ‘cool’ despite clearly being a gaping asshole is Chris Brown. While Akon merely sang about how awesome domestic abuse is, ol’ Chrissy went and did it for real. What’s worse, it wasn’t as if he was beating up someone who had it coming, like Lil’ Kim or Pink – it was the gorgeous and talented Rihanna. This was no push or shove either, it was proper down-the-stairs aggravated assault. Maybe he chose Rihanna because she’s quite an easy takedown; smacking up Queen Latifah or Miss E. Elliott would have been a more impressive feat. Still, how the little shit’s managed to bounce back from that incident and remains a club staple is beyond me.

To finish with, someone who knows just how to pull off rock & roll criminal style. If you’re going to get in trouble, at least look good while you’re at it. David Bowie’s arrest on a drug charge was pretty standard, but observe the ice-cool mugshot. No-one looks that good in prison, not even Gaga. History has taught us that there are a couple of ways to get away with being a real rock & roll criminal. It’s obvious that drugs busts and troubled pasts are all well and good, and committing homicide and burning churches worked great for the Norwegian Black Metal scene’s international reputation. Suicide did wonders for Kurt Cobain and Jeff Buckley’s legacy, while puking to death thanks to drink and narcotics was the key to Keith Moon, Jim Morrison and Billie Holiday’s immortalisation. There’s nothing like a bit of darkness to enhance a rock & roll image. Just don’t get in trouble via molestation, child enslavement, audience raping, animal abuse, or wife beating like the crazy cats above. For some reason it just doesn’t go down as well.

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May 13, 2010

The ‘All Tomorrow’s Parties’ series has become notorious – a crazy diamond in the crown of British festivals. Its celebrity-curated events produce some of the most personal, individual and diverse line-ups around. Past events have been curated by such disparate parties as Shellac (who put on acts like Cheap Trick and Mission of Burma), Autechre (Kool Keith and Aphex Twin) as well as actor Vincent Gallo (PJ Harvey, Suicide and Merzbow). With such a banquet of left-field music across the spectrum integrating, as a festival it’s pretty unique. Especially when you consider that it’s held in Butlins; perhaps the most incongruous location possible for a meeting of countless rockers, beard-strokers, hipsters, riot grrls, musos and psychedelic druids. Last week’s ATP, curated by ‘The Simpsons’ creator Matt Groening, collected maybe the most prismatic line-up yet. It’s bewildering yet beautiful to attend a festival which transports you from the worlds of primitive electronics to Mali blues to Japanese noise rock, all on one stage. The line-up was far too extensive to catalogue in detail here, but I’ve selected some highlights – the three most essential performances from each day – to narrate just how important it is that you make the hellish journey from York to Minehead as soon as the next ATP comes around (coincidentally it’s next weekend). If you feel it’s time to open your eyes and mind to the possibilities of music, here’s your best opportunity festival-wise to destroy the stereotypes that abound in the sonic world, and revel in a bacchanal of aural ecstasy. Oh, and get really fucking wasted in a Butlins chalet.

Day 1: Friday 7th May

Having just about survived a journey which raped us with such occurrences as a Megabus trip, the drinking of two bottles of whiskey, one of our party losing all the train tickets and festival passes on the tube, and a heinous election result we collapsed into the welcoming fresh linen of our chalet. The first band of the day was also one of the best; Broadcast are surely one of the most underrated groups from the UK. Hailing from the midland wastes, the duo peddle earthly, hallucinogenic electronics with dreamy, wraithlike vocals. Their primordial percussive sounds bring to mind Silver Apples; while Trish Keenan’s lost wailings recall Grouper or a more heathen Cocteau Twins. A pleasingly psychedelic projection silhouetted them, the gig having the feel of a secret ritual in the night-woods. Their retro-futuristic rumblings deserve the same acclaim as less out-there bands of their ilk such as Beach House or Stereolab. Toumani Diabaté is one of the highest profile names here, but sadly the Western musical iron curtain means he’s not even playing the big stage. It’s truly an honour to witness the 21-string kora player at such close quarters; his band telepathically tight, the whole audience, whether old hands or uninitiated exploding into a cooking-pot of dancing. The festival hosts two more acts from the African continent – thumb-piano wielding trance-makers Konono No. 1 and the pop stylings of Amadou and Mariam – but of these exports Diabaté is truthfully in a class of his own. Striking the perfect balance between virtuoso classicism and down-to-earth funk, the band counts as both one of the most technically impressive and enjoyable I’ve ever had the pleasure of witnessing. And holy hell can the man on the marimba play. My favourite punk rock record of all time is Iggy and the Stooges ‘Raw Power’, so this next little review might be a wee bit biased. But it doesn’t matter if you’re a neophyte or a hater, you can’t deny that the band is firing on all cylinders today. Having bolstered the line-up after the great Ron Asheton’s death with the legendary James Williamson (who, rather than the gaunt vampire staring from old photographs now resembles my uncle) the seismic guitar tone that aggrandised the band’s sound on that record is grimly resurrected. Iggy is topless in seconds, looking surprisingly youthful and moving like a zombie Jagger on steroids. The erstwhile insurance salesman injects as much life into ‘Search and Destroy’, ‘Cock in my Pocket’ and ‘Death Trip’ as he ever did, the crowd blown into an apocalyptic frenzy which sees me crowd-surf five times, losing half my bodyweight in sweat and saving about seven people from being crushed. Tired, aching but euphoric, we return to our chalet to get some rest before Liars hit the stage at an ungodly hour.

Day 2: Saturday 8th May

Deerhunter are one of the more fresh-faced additions to the line-up, but their intense and odd guitar-heavy indie is precociously impressive in comparison to many of the veteran acts on the bill. Singer Bradford Cox (who one of my companions was excited to urinate next to earlier in the day) is a gawky presence onstage, his geeky chat and awkward rocking-out at odds with the band’s powerful sound and his own soaring vocals. Shifting through noise-rock, arty-shoegazing and clean pop throughout the set, the band peaks late on as they lock into a krautrock-groove and send the audience into a comfortably numb reverie. One of the bands I never thought I’d see live was reclusive and mystifying art-weirdoes The Residents. Yet Matt Groening is a fan, and here they are amidst a strange 50’s style living room set, the singer in a grandpa mask, flanked by two alien Rastafarians spookily outlined by astral projections. The current stage show revolves around storytelling, interspersed with ghostly Americana compositions, bringing to mind a possessed Ry Cooder playing on methadone with Tom Waits’ insane cousin on vocals. The stories, including blackly comic tales of ‘the mirror people’ get the audience laughing, while sudden tempo shifts and clangings cause individuals around me to recoil and jump. The Residents still have the power to shock, confuse and entertain. The crowd swells for the 1am performance of Noah Lennox, aka Panda Bear, head honcho of Animal Collective. The mind-melting ambience of the day’s music continues as disorientating visuals combine with soaring Beach Boys-meets-Timothy Leary melodies. Lennox is fairly static, operating like a mad professor behind a heady stack of synthesizers and keyboards, but the music itself infectiously fills you up with the need to get extremely physical, even after witching hour. On record, Lennox’s music is sunny and palatable, but live he seems to vent his more avant-garde tendencies. Before Animal Collective were critical darlings they weren’t afraid to drone out a heavy set. As their performances have become more song-based and traditional, Panda Bear seems to have inherited this bad acid, as monstrously psychedelic utterances reel from the stage, an audience divided into indie kids faintly worried by the onstage mutation and converted heads getting dance busy. Drained, we soldier on through the night, ending up playing limbo with a load of hairy Glaswegians on LSD and ruining a cyber-goth party with a commercial R ‘n B playlist.

Day 3: Sunday 9th May

Waking up with a head like a hole is never a good time to see the Boredoms. But it’s a very rare opportunity, and minutes after getting up ninja-style and brushing my teeth like a samurai I’m at the front of the crowd for their extraordinary performance of ‘Boadrum’. If you’re not familiar, Boredoms are an experimental Japanoise band, famed for their off-the-wall live experiences and manic frontman Yamantaka Eye, who has collaborated with Mike Patton and Sonic Youth. ‘Boadrum’ is a drum-based composition which in the past has featured 77 and 88 drummers, including Andrew WK, Joe Plummer and Gang Gang Dance. Here the ‘Boadrum’ is performed on a smaller scale, with 7 drummers, but is still incredibly effective. The drums are arranged in formation around Eye, who stands commandingly in front of a tall stack of guitars and synthesizers, which he hits with a drumstick to produce otherworldly effects. Minutes after they begin, Zach Hill of Hella is carried in whilst playing his kit viciously atop a palanquin, moving slowly above the audience’s heads in a ceremonial fashion, a fantastic spectacle. The performance is far more listenable than a lot of the band’s 80’s output, and it almost feels like we’re watching a kind of interstellar orchestra at some points. The surf guitars, shimmering waves of cymbals, vehement passages of powerfully physical drumming and psychotic noises emitted from Eye’s trachea create undoubtedly the defining experience of the festival. Matt Groening himself comes on to introduce The Tiger Lillies, and oddly enough he isn’t severely jaundiced and missing two fingers. It’s easy to see why he describes them as his ‘favourite’ band playing – they’re an absolute national treasure. A Brechtian trio playing gruesome freakshow cabaret, they are the only band I’ve ever seen live that has made me both cry laughing at what they’re playing and at the beauty of what they’re playing. I’m in stitches during ‘Bangin’ in the Nails’, which features mad accordion and fervent martial drumming atop such lyrics as ‘I’m crucifying Jesus, bangin’ in the nails / And I am so happy, because old Jesus failed / I’m crucifying Jesus, nail him to the cross / The poor old bastard bleeds to death and I don’t give a toss.’ But then the audience goes quiet as a cemetery as Martyn Jacques sings a ballad in his queer falsetto croon and Adrian Stout bows his musical saw, the most mournful and melodramatic sound in the universe. Ending on a raucous gypsy-tinged ‘Heroin and Cocaine’ involving a Theremin assaulted with a double bass, the set is a triumph, and hopefully their inclusion in the festival has given them more of the exposure and acclaim they deserve. Joanna Newsom provides the finale, her swooning, Appalachian faerie folk a perfect accompaniment to the inevitable comedown. Beginning the set alone with her harp, you could hear a pin drop as we collectively hang on to her every note and phrase. Joined by the band, their music warmly fills the room, modernist and complex yet welcoming all the same. Material from ‘Have One On Me’ goes down as well as anything from ‘Ys’, the new record signalling a change from her polyrhythmic, progressive beginnings to more plaintive material. Her beaming presence and astonishing musical literacy provide the quintessential ATP curtain call. The festival’s music has been in turns virtuoso, base, mad, calm, experimental, minimal, populist and aggressive. Few experiences reinforce your faith in music quite so robustly, and few festivals transcend genres, categorisation and scenes with such aplomb. Who would have thought the man who created ‘The Simpsons’ would have such wide-ranging and impeccable taste? Thank God this wasn’t a retread of the ‘Homerpalooza’ episode and that The Smashing Pumpkins, Cypress Hill and Peter Frampton weren’t headlining…

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May 3, 2010

The Norwegian Black Metal scene counts as one of the few localized happenings in music history to truly infiltrate the international consciousness; like DC hardcore, Detroit techno, or Jamaican reggae, it was a case of a few influencing many. But no scene was ever as otherworldly, intense and downright misanthropic as that of Black Metal. Who would have thought that twenty years down the line, the pagan terrorism, Nietzschean philosophy and buzz-saw guitars that made the scene so infamous and at the time seemed so utterly rejecting would come to inform music, fashion and art so distinctly? Film-makers Aaron Aites and Audrey Ewell’s 2008 documentary ‘Until The Light Takes Us’, which Empire called “an expertly made, gripping, disturbing and fascinating film”, is the first to truly deal with the genre in a non-sensationalist way. Living in Norway for several years, the American couple gained unprecedented access to key figures in the original scene, most notably Gylve Nagell (‘Fenriz’ of Darkthrone) and Varg Vikernes (‘Count Grishnakh’ of Burzum). The film is especially notable for Vikernes’ participation. Perhaps the most notorious musician in the scene, in 1994 he was convicted of the murder of his Mayhem bandmate Øystein Aarseth, better known as Euronymous. Vikernes was convicted of four counts of arson after burning several historic churches, and was sentenced to 21 years in prison. Notoriously hermetic, he has just released new material for the first time in a decade under the Burzum moniker (new LP ‘Belus’), so their interview has even more resonance, especially thanks to his recent release on parole. I talked to Aaron and Audrey about their film, as well as the modern perception of Black Metal, its relevance, and their filmmaking experience in Norway:

NOUSE: The film doesn’t seem to give a judgement on the Norwegian black metal movement. Did you approach the subject as outsiders or from within the scene?

Aaron: No, we don’t pass judgement on it. It’s a little bit frustrating that in this day an age, the documentary film world is so completely dominated by Michael Moore and issues-based docs with clear editorial agendas, or docs that actually focus on the filmmakers themselves, that the entire idea of a documentary that doesn’t pass judgement on its subjects is baffling to a lot of people. Don’t get me wrong, I love Michael Moore and Audrey and I both are cut from the same political cloth that he is, but we are influenced as filmmakers by people like Chris Marker more than Michael Moore. We are trying to provoke thought, rather than guide opinions.

Audrey: I’d add that in addition to Marker, our influences run more to narrative filmmakers and style than documentarians. Antonioni, Von Trier, Kaurismaki, and several other narrative filmmakers have made much bigger impressions on us and on our style, so I think that our approach with this film was more influenced by a narrative sensibility. And a somewhat dark and oblique one at that, since that is what we like. We don’t shy away from dark subjects, nor do we pass judgement. Our film is a portrait, from and of, a secluded but very real world, not a treatise on whether or not it should exist.

Aaron: And we approached the story very much from the inside. Neither of us are what you’d call metal heads, but we lived there for two years and one of the goals of the film was to have the story told by the musicians themselves. Not by us, or by outsiders, or by “experts.”

NOUSE: Count Grishnakh of Burzum, real name Varg Vikernes, is almost a Charles Manson-type figure in Norway. How did you go about securing the interview and what was it like?

Aaron: It was difficult. We made the decision that Gylve and Varg had to be the central characters of the film before we even made our first trip to Norway. There’s simply no way around it. In our minds, a film about this subject that didn’t include the two of them wouldn’t be worth making and we were unwilling to make it without both of them. We wrote back and forth with him for about 8 months while we were in Norway filming (knowing that we were going to scrap the project and head home if we failed to secure his participation), and his response was that even if we made exactly the film that he himself would make, he still wouldn’t participate. But we kept writing, and eventually he agreed to meet with me so I flew to Trondheim and met with him. Once we were able to sit down together and I could answer all of his questions directly and explain what the film was going to be like, he agreed to participate. And once he did agree, he really threw himself into the project. I think you can tell from watching the film that he was very open. It wasn’t just one interview though. We filmed about 40 hours with Varg over the course of a year.

NOUSE: Fenriz of Darkthrone is perhaps the most ubiquitous person in the black metal world when it comes to talking about the actual music. What was his input into the film and did he seem to be in a different mindset to other characters in the scene, as he often interacts with the media in a more open way that black metal musicians are wont to do…

Aaron: Well, he has become fairly ubiquitous hasn’t he? Still, he’s a very private person, and he has never agreed to a project of this kind before. Gylve was fantastic to work with. Once he agreed to do the project, he told us to film whatever we wanted to and not to be afraid to put whatever we needed to up on the screen as he was never going to watch the film. We have tried to get him to watch it since it’s been released, but he still refuses. The people in the film are all individuals and are have very different mind sets. Although he is a central character of the film and of the scene, he didn’t really have any input on the film other than to let us film him. Nobody had any input on the film other than Audrey and I.

NOUSE: The film is much more focused on the landscape and culture of Norway than you would expect from a metal documentary, and your aesthetic choice was very different from the endless shots of headbanging we’ve come to expect from docs like ‘Heavy Metal Parking Lot’ and ‘Metal: A Headbanger’s Journey’…

Audrey: Well, that didn’t really come into it for us. We don’t really watch films like that. It’s not really part of our vocabulary. I mean, we saw HMPL, and it’s good, but it’s really just a different kind of movie altogether.

Aaron: We don’t consider the film to be a “metal documentary” or a “rockumentary.” It is a documentary film with one particular group of people as its focus.

Audrey: A portrait, in many ways. A portrait from the inside looking out. We wanted to reflect the world as seen through their eyes, because that’s a much more compelling vantage point. And so we needed to construct their world, and establishing the tone of it was so important. That’s why things like having Boards of Canada in the soundtrack works. Because it has that icy, displaced vibe.

NOUSE: You seem to focus more on the idea of black metal as an art form rather than its modern sensationalized manifestation. How has this point of view been accepted by the fans, a lot of whom seem to be more traditionally ‘heavy metal’ in outlook?

Audrey: Actually, that is not quite right. We focus on the ways in which the original scene has been recontextualized and changed through a process of mediation. First the newspapers reported on it as a Satanic movement, then kids read those reports and took it at face value and created that reality by forming “satanic black metal bands” and burning down churches “for Satan,” and then artists were inspired by that and did gallery and museum exhibits that brought it further into the unrecognizable. It’s really about the process of simulation and simulacra. Stop me if you’ve fallen asleep, but the idea of simulation and simulacra is a tenet of postmodern theory that says that if a thing is copied enough times and disseminated widely enough, the degraded and unrecognizable copy supplants the original and becomes the thing in question. And that is what we focus on. Because that is what see happening in the world, in all sorts of unexpected places. This was one very strong example of the process.

NOUSE: Did you ever sense that the counterculture in Norway still has the potential to ignite a similar chain of incidents when shooting the documentary?

Audrey: Definitely not. This movement started at a very specific time, at a time when globalization was really hitting Norway, with mostly American culture (if that’s what we’re calling McDonalds today) moving in and replacing indigenous culture. Some of the people in this scene equated this with cultural imperialism of Christianity coming in and destroying pagan sites and putting their churches on top of these holy sites. Now that globalization has come so far, it’s unlikely that this would happen again. It was a very specific confluence of the new world economy meeting an anti-commercial music scene that counted among its members anti-social people who took a historical perspective, in a fairly isolated nation that has a strong sense of national pride and a culture that includes concepts and artists like Kittelsen who work within the framework of “national romance.”

NOUSE: Why has it taken so long for the film to get the proper screening treatment in England?

Aaron: It has been a bit of a struggle for us to secure release of the film around the world because, despite mountains of evidence to the contrary, film distribution companies don’t think people want to see the film. I think many of them were expecting (or wanting) the film to be a shocking expose or something that focused on us.

Audrey: Well, it’s also the state of the industry since the Bush economic collapse. Distributors are being very cautious about which films they take, and a film about supposedly Satanic musicians burning down churches and yet still being co-opted by the mainstream apparently isn’t a safe bet.

Aaron: This is mostly because we didn’t make it salacious enough, and the conventional wisdom says that it must be, in order to sell. The conventional wisdom is also that film audiences are stupid and need to be titillated by exploitation content, whilst being told exactly what to think. We disagree.

Audrey: The film industry is not in a good way right now. Within the industry the alert level is at RED RED RED and the old guard are panicking. The new guard? Not so much. It takes a lot of work, that’s all. The film will now see a theatrical release in six territories around the world, plus many more that will get DVD only, so… it’s been tremendous work, but that’s what it takes. The film industry is basically one giant torture chamber that people are fighting tooth and nail to get into. I don’t know what to tell you.

NOUSE: This was your debut feature film as directors; why the subject of black metal in particular?

Aaron: We simply wanted to see it. We were actually developing a narrative film when the idea to do it came up. Audrey and I were both into Norwegian black metal, and we assumed there already was a film about it out there, and we just wanted to watch it. Audrey tried to find one, but when we realized that there wasn’t a proper film about Norwegian black metal, that was when the idea of making it first came up.

NOUSE: Do you think the ideology and shock value of extreme metal is still as potent or relevant twenty years down the line? Jonas Åkerlund is now directing Lady Gaga videos after all…

Aaron: I don’t really think that there is shock value to extreme metal. At all. Although conservatives in the past may have been “shocked” by Ozzy Osbourne biting the heads off of plastic bats or perhaps a Slayer album would shock a vicar if he sat down and read the lyrics, extreme metal is a musical style. Most of the people listening to it are people who know what to expect from it. People may be shocked by some of the things in our film, but the people who did those things were individuals making their own decisions. I think the global society that they were reacting against still has the ability to inspire artists and individuals to shock people with the depth of their disdain for it, but I’m not sure that metal itself truly shocks anyone, or ever has. Alice Cooper inspired a lot of controversy in his day, but he performed on the Muppet Show. As for Lady Gaga, I haven’t been keeping up on her videos, but I’m not sure that she’s all that different than Alice Cooper, when it gets right down to it.

NOUSE: Have you got any more film projects in the works?

Aaron: Absolutely. We have several projects in the works for film as well as television. In fact, we may be talking to British broadcasters about one of the television projects.

Audrey: I’d like to add to this that we actually love good television and we’re very unhappy that BBC cancelled Survivors, and I urge all of your readers to fill out a complaint form with them, please. I’d really like to see what happens next and I think that Max Beesley is a fantastic actor in a fantastic role and I’d like to see more. Thanks.

Until The Light Takes Us plays at the Hyde Park Picture House in Leeds, beginning May 8th. Go watch the movie, tear your shirt off, and go running with the wolves in the woods.

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April 30, 2010

Leeds is the place to be this weekend, as it gets taken over by over 150 bands across 13 venues for the annual Live at Leeds festival. If you’re going, check out our tips on what not to miss and if you’re not hurry up and grabs some tickets, real sharpish like.


Japanese Voyeurs:
Sure you’ll feel like you’re watching a pastiche of 90s MTV2 grunge rock, but when it’s this fun, who cares about influences?

Rolo Tomassi:
Their hardcore-come-prog sound might not be for everyone, it’s certainly a little alienating on record, but once you see them live it’ll all make sense, trust me.

Male Bonding:
You don’t have to be a male to enjoy Male Bonding’s punchy lo-fi pop songs, and with their debut album out soon, now’s your chance to catch a preview.

Fool’s Gold:
With eleven members covering a number of instruments and their Afro-pop sound, it might look like Notting Hill carnival went slightly off course. But you’d be real fool to miss their set.

Wolf Gang:
Wolf Gang aka, Max Elliogott’s love-tortured echoey vocals are beautifully atmospheric, while sounding suspiciously like daytime radio pop with its big uplifting simple choruses. If you can leg it over from Fool’s gold, it’ll be totally worth it.

Gold Panda:
That 9pm slot is a total nightmare, it gets real ugly from here deciding between some great acts, so be sure to tell us who you’re seeing down below, but for me it’s got to be Gold Panda. Who knows exactly how to define this London-based producer, with his startling range of samples from chopped up ragas to sombre floating piano and Dilla-styled beats. See what you want, but there’s nothing quite like Gold Panda.

Hurts:
They look like they’ve escaped from a GQ covershoot, if you can see past the slick hair and tailoring they’re actually pretty decent synth-pop.

Well that’s my few tips, but obviously there’s a hell lot more going on; so what am I missing out? What’s your most anticipated act? Holla down the comments box, people.

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April 24, 2010

Recently, album art standards seem to have reached an all-time low. I mean, a lot of record cover artwork has always been utterly shit, but usually in an ironic, hilarious or decade-definingly nostalgic way. Take for example the Ritchie Family’s ‘Bad Reputation’ below. It is, indubitably, an awful record cover. Dated when it appeared, featuring grimly varnished pecs and displaying a queasy combination of postman black leather and a Doberman, it simultaneously demands attention and makes you want to look away:

Upsettingly, bad record covers nowadays don’t hold the same appeal. The 21st Century has heralded the dawn of genuinely eye-raping graphic design, as the limitless possibilities of Photoshop lead over-excited designers to create utterly vomit-inducing work. First up let’s look at the cover for Lil Wayne’s biggest selling, Grammy winning album ‘Tha Carter III’. You’d expect an album heralded as one of the greatest hip-hop achievements of the decade to have some artistic dignity on its front. But no. Instead, we have a baby looking upset because it’s been made to pose in a tiny suit, with Lil Wayne’s tattoos badly photoshopped onto its head and hands:

I guess it’s the gangsta rap equivalent of Nirvana’s ‘Nevermind’. That other titan of the hip-hop game, egotistic psychological nightmare Kanye West prides himself on his music videos and style. Despite this, his most recent effort is no better. In fact, it’s worse. With its horrific title formatting, which obviously hasn’t been through spell-check, cast in a sickening shade of pink set against a purple sky, the result is the visual equivalent of eating too much pick n’ mix too quickly:

It makes you wonder how Kanye could have possibly given the go-ahead when his design team pitched the idea – “Um, a cartoon bear in a college jersey being fired out of a manga Nintendo monster with a coliseum on its head sound good, Mr. West?” I haven’t seen anything so repellently shit since John Travolta in ‘Battlefield Earth’. Kanye, I’m a let you finish but Chris Brown had one of the worst album covers OF ALL TIME:

Why the fuck does this Matrix wank-fantasy/All Saints catalogue entry have a collection of cartoon beasties in the corner? Why is Chris Brown wearing a man-corset around his groin? Why is he wearing sunglasses inside? And what’s he doing with that guitar, when he doesn’t play one? Perhaps he’s going to use it as a makeshift club to finish Rihanna off with. Sometimes I wish Rihanna had just manned up and tore off his balls with her claw-like 80’s hooker nails.

The front cover of heroically rubbish post-Libertines crackhead wannabes The View’s ‘Hats Off To The Buskers’ is symptomatic of the decline of the album cover. Such a cheap, tacky, knocked-up-in-a-day Photoshop image clearly is purely designed for the scaled-down plastic case of the compact disc. Post-1980s, cover designers started to think of album art in 4.75″ x 4.75″ frames, meaning that the expansive, detailed wonder of the vinyl era’s art was on a grand scale diminished into shitty little half-thought-out covers like this. When an album cover makes you think of the Woolworths bargain bin (especially since Woolworths is no longer with us), you know something’s gone wrong.

Similarly, the onset of the 2000’s and the digital age of music heralded another nail in the coffin of album art. Who gives a flying fuck about what’s on the front of a record when all the people who download it are barely going to see it anyway? Might as well just draw a rubbish smiley face doodle with some arrows and download a ‘punk rock’ font from any random site on t’internet, slop some blue and purple on a white background in MSPaint and we’re done. Sad thing is; I’ve seen kids with this artistic abortion tattooed onto their arms. That’s almost as bad as tattooing the 2012 Olympic logo on your FACE.

Not content with simply ruining soul music, Joss Stone continues to will me to assassinate her with this contribution to the cover art cesspit. A mash up of her face and limbs in black & white, half coloured in (again with MSPaint), merged with a colouring pencil, a prison, and text covering the entire mess in a barely readable fashion. If only I could reach inside this cover, take that pencil and, rather than ‘Colour Her Free’, use it to brutalise her vocal chords so viciously that she’ll never squawk again.

I always thought MSTRKRFT were supposed to be a ‘cool’, ‘electro’ band, the sort of thing to pose to at Melt! or claim to listen to when chatting up hot hip chicks with choppy hair. Perhaps their album art should have been like their sound – sleek, dark, and electronic. It is electronically manipulated I suppose – a selection of CGI bums and legs turned into a fist. Perhaps they’re trying to suggest that listening to the album will be like taking a fist of shit to the face. They’d be correct.

Sadly, bands I dearly love also fall into the shit art trap. MGMT, my (and everyone else’s) favourite feel-good synthedelica band of 2008 have lately released their sophomore effort ‘Congratulations’. The cover is gobsmackingly bollocks, featuring, as you can see, a Looney Tunes’ Taz style diorama including a cat-wave and chequered purple sky. It looks not unlike Lilo and Stitch surfing during a meth-induced seizure.

It’s not just the mainstream that has been affected by this art attack, sadly. The disease has sunk into the noble veins of the underground too. Here’s twee “I only listen to them ‘cos my girlfriend does” cult heroes CocoRosie’s ‘Noah’s Ark’. Its ‘Labyrinth’ style 80’s fantasy font fails to complement the poorly painted panorama. The scene in question, a unicorn-zebra nosebleed-rainbow ménage-a-trois, is something that accurately summarises the CocoRosie mission statement and sound. Coincidentally, it’s also something I recently spotted on chatroulette.com.

In any case, the above examples prove that for too long big, mainstream artists have been getting away with awful ‘art’. Surely if you’re selling a million plus records you wouldn’t want your record cover to be as aesthetically and visually vile as those posted above. Where are the days of inspired artwork, of cover artists like Mati Klarwein (Miles Davis’ Bitches Brew) or Ethan A. Russell (The Who’s ‘Who’s Next)? Where are album art collectives like 70’s gurus Hipgnosis, who created ‘Dark Side of the Moon’s iconic prism? When will artists stop relying on manga purple and Photoshop to create piss-poor semi-cyber cartoon lameness? Why isn’t everything on vinyl so we can actually see the cover artwork? Why am I so angry? What’s missing from my life so much that has led me too write this apoplectic rant? Where are my pills, nurse?! I think I’ve overdone it again. I guess I just wish all album art could be more like this:

Guys with feathered hair offing dragons with fiery guitars. That’s art.

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