This was going to be about the Kings Of Leon concert we just went to at Hyde Park, but all I can say is the following, and I apologise for the lack of descriptive adjectives. Oh, and everyone was wearing a tedious uniform of either Bench or A&F / Hollister t-shirts and Ray Ban's.
The Features were great, and that band should be far more successful than they've been.
The Whigs were also great and we'll definitely be investigating their back catalogue.
The Drums, whose album I wrote about last week, were also great. I especially liked the way singer Jonathan Pierce disdainfully left the stage, flinging his mic away as he did so.
The Black Keys were, you guessed it, great. Effortlessly cool, the anguished drummer in this heavy fuzzed-up blues duo looks like he's in pain every time he hits a drum. He also looks a little like Philip Glass.
And Kings Of Leon were great too. The new songs were great. The Pixies cover was great. The old songs were great. 'Sex On Fire' was horrible, but the A&F / Hollister t-shirts and Ray Ban's-wearing fourth-album fans loved it.
So, in summary, it was great.
Wednesday 30 June 2010
Tuesday 22 June 2010
Audio Journal : 21/06/2010
I didn't want to like The Drums, I really didn't. The band, residents of trendy Brooklyn and forming part of the rich, unending seam of bands emerging thence, sounded to me like a pick 'n mix blend of the Eighties bands I remember. On the first two songs I heard – 'I Felt Stupid' and 'Best Friend' – I thought I heard a vocalist, Jonathan Pierce, doing a sterling Marc Almond impression while duetting with New Order's backing tapes. The prevalence of high bass melodies just made the New Order comparisons even more obvious. Why, I thought to myself, would I want to listen to this, when I could just dust down my Soft Cell and New Order CDs instead?
Then I saw them performing a version of 'Best Friend' on the insipid Friday Night With Jonathan Ross show, and they were all big quiffs, turn-ups and irony, Pierce's vocal setting being notched up to 'camp', and I thought they were taking the piss. Even the line 'You're my best friend / But then you died' seemed to lose some of its Morrissey-esque drama. And the band name? Surely a joke given that drums are the one element hardly prominent in their sound.
But the 'idea', or the concept of The Drums as a great band remained, not least because I tend to be a sucker for most NY-area bands. And so, when I found out they'd be supporting Kings Of Leon when we see them at Hyde Park next week, and with their début album just released, I thought I'd give them a second chance. I'm glad I did.
The Drums is a polished début (but then again, these days, all débuts are pretty well polished) and the poppy New Wave style is carried well across the album's thirteen tracks. Ignoring 'Best Friend', which, although a good song, is a bit too instant, the album is uniformly perfect; a perfect, summery vibe which can only come from the States – our dour British electro and post-punk indie bands rarely sound this joyous – and the mood only drops with the curiously Killers-esque ballad 'Down By The Water' (by way of a reminder, I don't like The Killers; sorry). 'We Tried' has a bassline just a few notes short of Joy Division's motorik 'Digital'. There's a song about surfing (ahem, 'Let's Go Surfing') which appears to include the lines 'Obama / I wanna go surfing' complete with Beach Boys-style harmonies, natch. There's songs about walking round New York ('I Need Fun In My Life') which will always get a thumbs up from me, and a plaintive, poppy, piece about mismatched expectations ('Book Of Stories'). As débuts go, its remarkably self-assured, straddling a sonic rawness with confident yet subtly-deployed electronic embellishments. And it may sound it, but it's not throwaway; beneath a sheen of apparent optimism, most songs seem to contain disappointment, self-doubt and negativity in spades.
Comparisons are the lowest form of review, and I should know because I do it all the time, but if you contrast The Drums with say, The Bravery – who also purportedly wore the Brit / synth influence with pride until they were rumbled as pretenders – they do seem a whole lot more authentic and earnest than some of the other bands emerging today. I stand wholly corrected.
Then I saw them performing a version of 'Best Friend' on the insipid Friday Night With Jonathan Ross show, and they were all big quiffs, turn-ups and irony, Pierce's vocal setting being notched up to 'camp', and I thought they were taking the piss. Even the line 'You're my best friend / But then you died' seemed to lose some of its Morrissey-esque drama. And the band name? Surely a joke given that drums are the one element hardly prominent in their sound.
But the 'idea', or the concept of The Drums as a great band remained, not least because I tend to be a sucker for most NY-area bands. And so, when I found out they'd be supporting Kings Of Leon when we see them at Hyde Park next week, and with their début album just released, I thought I'd give them a second chance. I'm glad I did.
The Drums is a polished début (but then again, these days, all débuts are pretty well polished) and the poppy New Wave style is carried well across the album's thirteen tracks. Ignoring 'Best Friend', which, although a good song, is a bit too instant, the album is uniformly perfect; a perfect, summery vibe which can only come from the States – our dour British electro and post-punk indie bands rarely sound this joyous – and the mood only drops with the curiously Killers-esque ballad 'Down By The Water' (by way of a reminder, I don't like The Killers; sorry). 'We Tried' has a bassline just a few notes short of Joy Division's motorik 'Digital'. There's a song about surfing (ahem, 'Let's Go Surfing') which appears to include the lines 'Obama / I wanna go surfing' complete with Beach Boys-style harmonies, natch. There's songs about walking round New York ('I Need Fun In My Life') which will always get a thumbs up from me, and a plaintive, poppy, piece about mismatched expectations ('Book Of Stories'). As débuts go, its remarkably self-assured, straddling a sonic rawness with confident yet subtly-deployed electronic embellishments. And it may sound it, but it's not throwaway; beneath a sheen of apparent optimism, most songs seem to contain disappointment, self-doubt and negativity in spades.
Comparisons are the lowest form of review, and I should know because I do it all the time, but if you contrast The Drums with say, The Bravery – who also purportedly wore the Brit / synth influence with pride until they were rumbled as pretenders – they do seem a whole lot more authentic and earnest than some of the other bands emerging today. I stand wholly corrected.
Friday 18 June 2010
Audio Journal : 14/06/2010
This is the first in a series of reviews of what I like to call 'summer albums', albums which evoke – for me at least – the warmth and optimism of the summer months.
New Order's Technique is one such album. Generally regarded as being among the seminal Manchester band's best albums, Technique was recorded in the acid haze of the nascent Balearic sound; always comfortable with hedonism, the eclectic Balearic mix of pre-baggy indie, electro-infused rock and early acid house which was played in Ibizan nightclubs provided the inspiration for Technique.
Not that you'd know it. Aside from a general sunny vibe (mostly) evident across the album, Technique is actually one of New Order's most 'rock' albums since Movement, their confused post-Ian Curtis debut. One exception is the opener, 'Fine Time', which nicks a jacking acid house rhythm and throws the sonic kitchen sink at it – computerised voices, Hooky's bass melodies, tinkly xylophone riffs and even bleating sheep noises right at the end; it has Hooky intoning scarily that the object of the song is 'too young' and that said person has 'love technique'. It's positively pervy if you ask me, and overall the track - like many at the time - has too many disparate ideas running through it. I sometimes skip it to be honest. Far better is the late-Eighties club-friendly sound and endearing melancholia of 'Mr Disco' (so long as you can stomach Pet Shop Boys-style orchestral stabs).
Elsewhere, jangly guitar riffs, classic Hooky bass melodies and some of Bernard Sumner's best heartfelt lyrics abound. The best tracks, for me, would be the guitar pop of 'All The Way', 'Love Less' and 'Run'. For many years my personal favourite was 'Vanishing Point', an austere electronic pop gem infused with a thudding 4/4 beat.
Technique brings to mind some strong memories for me – listening to the album in my friend Steve's red Polo with another friend, Jon, on the way to work social events during the particularly sticky summer of 1993; sticking the CD on ahead of going to Clacton for a boozy day with Neil after we'd finished the slog of our second year exams at Essex University in 1996. It's just one of those albums, and it will always get heavy play by me during the summer months.
New Order's Technique is one such album. Generally regarded as being among the seminal Manchester band's best albums, Technique was recorded in the acid haze of the nascent Balearic sound; always comfortable with hedonism, the eclectic Balearic mix of pre-baggy indie, electro-infused rock and early acid house which was played in Ibizan nightclubs provided the inspiration for Technique.
Not that you'd know it. Aside from a general sunny vibe (mostly) evident across the album, Technique is actually one of New Order's most 'rock' albums since Movement, their confused post-Ian Curtis debut. One exception is the opener, 'Fine Time', which nicks a jacking acid house rhythm and throws the sonic kitchen sink at it – computerised voices, Hooky's bass melodies, tinkly xylophone riffs and even bleating sheep noises right at the end; it has Hooky intoning scarily that the object of the song is 'too young' and that said person has 'love technique'. It's positively pervy if you ask me, and overall the track - like many at the time - has too many disparate ideas running through it. I sometimes skip it to be honest. Far better is the late-Eighties club-friendly sound and endearing melancholia of 'Mr Disco' (so long as you can stomach Pet Shop Boys-style orchestral stabs).
Elsewhere, jangly guitar riffs, classic Hooky bass melodies and some of Bernard Sumner's best heartfelt lyrics abound. The best tracks, for me, would be the guitar pop of 'All The Way', 'Love Less' and 'Run'. For many years my personal favourite was 'Vanishing Point', an austere electronic pop gem infused with a thudding 4/4 beat.
Technique brings to mind some strong memories for me – listening to the album in my friend Steve's red Polo with another friend, Jon, on the way to work social events during the particularly sticky summer of 1993; sticking the CD on ahead of going to Clacton for a boozy day with Neil after we'd finished the slog of our second year exams at Essex University in 1996. It's just one of those albums, and it will always get heavy play by me during the summer months.
Saturday 12 June 2010
Audio Journal : 07/06/2010
Last year I offered a brief review of Alistair Crosbie's The Last Days Of Summer, describing it as being 'quite honestly one of the most serenely beautiful pieces of music I've ever heard. Constructed entirely of heavily-processed layers of guitars recalling Robert Fripp's Soundscapes series or Stars Of The Lid, the track approaches a kind of icy classicism whilst maintaining an air of ethereal stasis. Anyone interested in hearing how guitars can be made to sound is urged to get their ears around this release.' High praise indeed.
This week I completed a major interview with Crosbie, an experimental musician based in Glasgow, whose works are released as CD-Rs in beautiful, hand-made sleeves, via his own Lefthand Pressings imprint.
In April, Crosbie released no less than four new albums – musicforawakening, Scarlett Dies, All Suns Must Set (Prelude To Wanderlight Falls) and a collection of previously unreleased works melded together across two discs, Cinders. The music contained in these four hand-crafted and beautifully-packaged releases range from the ethereal and uplifting processed guitar of Scarlett Dies, the deep bass tones of All Suns Must Set, to the eclectic Cinders, containing fragments of everything from icy piano works to spoken word passages to poetry to pulsing electronica.
The interview can be found over at my Documentary Evidence website. Some excerpts of Crosbie's work, as well as some exclusive downloads can be found at his Bandcamp page.
Wednesday 2 June 2010
Audio Journal : 31/05/2010
Work from home playlist
Two unusual things about today – one, I worked from home and two, I had the house to myself. Here was today's work from home playlist, three albums selected at random to help me concentrate and be more productive.
The Orb Live '93
I first got into The Orb about a year after they released U.F.Orb. Before that I didn't really get the point of ambient music and I also thought The Orb in particular were just a huge joke. Their 'performance' of a hugely compressed single version of 'Blue Room' on Top Of The Pops saw the duo of Dr. Alex Paterson and Kris 'Thrash' Weston sitting either side of a chess board bathed in blue light, and I just didn't get it. Later I realised that there was humour inherent in their chill out music – that's what happens when you work with Jimmy Cauty from The KLF – but it wasn't meant to be a joke.
By 1993 however, I'd just finished my GCSEs, a lot of family stuff was kicking off, mild teenage angst was developing and I needed to find some way of calming down. U.F.Orb was the antidote. I bought it on cassette the day before my father went into hospital for an operation, and spent the entire length of his op sat in the family car listening to the album. It spawned an ongoing love of textural ambient music, but nothing – even some of The Orb's later output – ever came close to hearing that album for the first time.
The only thing that topped that album was seeing The Orb live at Warwick Arts Centre in 1995 with a school friend. It was an incredible evening, though possibly not as incredible as the people stoned out of their nuts found it. I genuinely regarded that concert as my musical coming of age, much more affecting in many ways than any of the usual landmark life events that ensued.
The problem is that I don't remember much about that night beyond the fact that in the post-concert DJ set I shook Dr. Alex Paterson's hand and gave him a massive thumbs up. The closest I can get is this 1993 live compilation which draws together tracks from various performances, including a seminal 'Tower Of Dub' – ex-PiL bassist Jah Wobble's low-slung dub rhythm pushed to levels that I recollect when played 'live' (by way of a sampled loop) back at Warwick Arts Centre made me think my chest was going to cave in.
Aphex Twin Selected Ambient Works 85 – 92
Hooked on ambient music as I became in 1993 after purchasing U.F.Orb, it didn't take long before this album fell into my mits. Aphex Twin, by the time of this collection on the Belgian R&S label, was already established as a electronica enigma, a musical auteur who claimed not to have heard any of the music that his music was compared to; he made music in his shed, in Cornwall which at the time wasn't exactly regarded as a techno centre.
Richard D James, Aphex's given name, had a particularly unique take on the ambient genre. In few cases on Selected Ambient Works do you find the wispy, pulsing electronica which characterised vast swathes of this particular substrata of electronic music. Instead you get heavily reverb-ed slowed-down 'ardcore beats, icy synth lines and Willy Wonka samples. It prefaces the Warp label's fascination with clanging distorted beats and provides the bridge between the likes of Autechre with the industrial music of Cabaret Voltaire; not that James would have claimed to have consciously known this.
Warp released Selected Ambient Works II a few years later; it had no track names, just images reflecting each of the tracks. I borrowed it from the library the same day as I borrowed Brian Eno's The Shutov Assembly. I remember thinking that both albums sounded pretty much the same.
David Bowie Christiane F. - Wir Kinder vom Bahnhof Zoo
I had never considered buying Bowie until I read Christopher Sandford's Loving The Alien biography at University in the mid-Nineties. I don't think I've ever elected to read about an artist before actually having any of their music, but something about the book in the campus's branch of Waterstone's caught my eye and I decided I'd give it a go.
What emerged was an attraction to Bowie's 'Berlin' period – the trio of albums Low, Heroes and Lodger – which were produced by Bowie and Eno while the erstwhile David Jones was a resident in the city. I think it was an interest in Berlin as a cultural influence, and the influence of Low on Joy Division, more so than Eno's engagement, that hooked me in to that trio of albums. I bought the trio of albums over a period of a couple of years after reading that book and initially found them confusing, challenging listening experiences. In a bizarre way I didn't feel like I was entitled to listen to Bowie; I didn't understand his vernacular.
Since then I've moved either side of the Berlin period, specifically the Velvets-influenced Ziggy albums, but it's to the Berlin albums that I always return. This soundtrack album effectively works as a greatest hits of the period, drawing together album tracks and sundry oddities; the best of these is '“Helden”', a German version of the mighty '”Heroes”', in my opinion one of the most uplifting songs ever recorded.
Two unusual things about today – one, I worked from home and two, I had the house to myself. Here was today's work from home playlist, three albums selected at random to help me concentrate and be more productive.
The Orb Live '93
I first got into The Orb about a year after they released U.F.Orb. Before that I didn't really get the point of ambient music and I also thought The Orb in particular were just a huge joke. Their 'performance' of a hugely compressed single version of 'Blue Room' on Top Of The Pops saw the duo of Dr. Alex Paterson and Kris 'Thrash' Weston sitting either side of a chess board bathed in blue light, and I just didn't get it. Later I realised that there was humour inherent in their chill out music – that's what happens when you work with Jimmy Cauty from The KLF – but it wasn't meant to be a joke.
By 1993 however, I'd just finished my GCSEs, a lot of family stuff was kicking off, mild teenage angst was developing and I needed to find some way of calming down. U.F.Orb was the antidote. I bought it on cassette the day before my father went into hospital for an operation, and spent the entire length of his op sat in the family car listening to the album. It spawned an ongoing love of textural ambient music, but nothing – even some of The Orb's later output – ever came close to hearing that album for the first time.
The only thing that topped that album was seeing The Orb live at Warwick Arts Centre in 1995 with a school friend. It was an incredible evening, though possibly not as incredible as the people stoned out of their nuts found it. I genuinely regarded that concert as my musical coming of age, much more affecting in many ways than any of the usual landmark life events that ensued.
The problem is that I don't remember much about that night beyond the fact that in the post-concert DJ set I shook Dr. Alex Paterson's hand and gave him a massive thumbs up. The closest I can get is this 1993 live compilation which draws together tracks from various performances, including a seminal 'Tower Of Dub' – ex-PiL bassist Jah Wobble's low-slung dub rhythm pushed to levels that I recollect when played 'live' (by way of a sampled loop) back at Warwick Arts Centre made me think my chest was going to cave in.
Aphex Twin Selected Ambient Works 85 – 92
Hooked on ambient music as I became in 1993 after purchasing U.F.Orb, it didn't take long before this album fell into my mits. Aphex Twin, by the time of this collection on the Belgian R&S label, was already established as a electronica enigma, a musical auteur who claimed not to have heard any of the music that his music was compared to; he made music in his shed, in Cornwall which at the time wasn't exactly regarded as a techno centre.
Richard D James, Aphex's given name, had a particularly unique take on the ambient genre. In few cases on Selected Ambient Works do you find the wispy, pulsing electronica which characterised vast swathes of this particular substrata of electronic music. Instead you get heavily reverb-ed slowed-down 'ardcore beats, icy synth lines and Willy Wonka samples. It prefaces the Warp label's fascination with clanging distorted beats and provides the bridge between the likes of Autechre with the industrial music of Cabaret Voltaire; not that James would have claimed to have consciously known this.
Warp released Selected Ambient Works II a few years later; it had no track names, just images reflecting each of the tracks. I borrowed it from the library the same day as I borrowed Brian Eno's The Shutov Assembly. I remember thinking that both albums sounded pretty much the same.
David Bowie Christiane F. - Wir Kinder vom Bahnhof Zoo
I had never considered buying Bowie until I read Christopher Sandford's Loving The Alien biography at University in the mid-Nineties. I don't think I've ever elected to read about an artist before actually having any of their music, but something about the book in the campus's branch of Waterstone's caught my eye and I decided I'd give it a go.
What emerged was an attraction to Bowie's 'Berlin' period – the trio of albums Low, Heroes and Lodger – which were produced by Bowie and Eno while the erstwhile David Jones was a resident in the city. I think it was an interest in Berlin as a cultural influence, and the influence of Low on Joy Division, more so than Eno's engagement, that hooked me in to that trio of albums. I bought the trio of albums over a period of a couple of years after reading that book and initially found them confusing, challenging listening experiences. In a bizarre way I didn't feel like I was entitled to listen to Bowie; I didn't understand his vernacular.
Since then I've moved either side of the Berlin period, specifically the Velvets-influenced Ziggy albums, but it's to the Berlin albums that I always return. This soundtrack album effectively works as a greatest hits of the period, drawing together album tracks and sundry oddities; the best of these is '“Helden”', a German version of the mighty '”Heroes”', in my opinion one of the most uplifting songs ever recorded.
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