Audio Journal : 16/08/2010

Source: MySpace / (c) Ali Tollervey

It is an increasing trend that when I go to gigs, it's the support that are often way more interesting than the band you've actually paid to see. For example, all three support acts at the recent Kings Of Leon Hyde Park stadium-histrionic extravaganza knocked socks off the Followills.

So too did Dark Horses, opening for Kasabian at Brixton Academy. A warm-up show for an upcoming V Festival slot, it is always a big thing to see a band that have become stadium monsters in a comparatively small venue. Despite the energy of the crowd, it failed to move me. Much. Well, unless you count making me move not just to the back of the standing area but all the way to back of the balcony upstairs. Yeah, I know, I'm a wuss. I'm really too old for that crushing and pushing.

Moronic crowd aside, the set failed to impress me. As bands become larger, the opportunity to surprise diminishes, unless you count a Bonham-lite vignette drum solo (replete with a gong) from the band's Leo Sayer-lookalike sticksman; or the way one of the songs suddenly tacked on Giorgio Moroder's arpeggiating bassline and Serge began singing 'I Feel Love' (it's the laziest trick in the book when a song has a 4/4 rhythm; yawn). Consequently the set was literally no different to when we saw them at Wembley last winter – nothing wrong with that per se, but I just think seeing them do it once (venue aside) was probably enough. The best track was the motorik B-side 'Julie And The Moth-Man' (here strangely mixed up with lyrics from Salt 'n Pepa's 'Push It'), just like it was last time.

Dark Horses were excellent. They arrived on-stage to a tape of one of the Hell's Angel security guards from Altamont bemoaning the crowd touching his precious Harley, while an insistent drone burned harshly underneath. After a couple of tracks I began to detect some healthy Jesus And Mary Chain references in the fuzzy, distorted vibe (I'd like to believe this translates to their studio recordings, but I suspect it won't). I couldn't fathom what the caped female lead was singing, but that also adds to the JAMC allure. Tom from Kasabian joined her for part of one song, singing some laddish 'ooh-ooh' sounds, and dancing like King Louie. She returned the favour later with Kasabian. The cape I could have done without; a bit too Florence Welch for me, but it did have the name of the band on the back, which helped in that part of the set where they haven't introduced themselves and you're wondering who they are. It also broke up the shades and leather of the five guys behind her.

Most songs were tense, edgy affairs. There was one that harnessed the throbbing muted groove of the Reid brothers doing their best Velvets / Modern Lovers thing; they played electric mandolin; a guy looking like Sid Vicious played percussion – tambourine on some tracks, while on others he smashed a drum with a (Mary) chain. (The latter point reminded me of a gig in Colchester in 1997 where Navigator and Stars Of The Lid supported Labradford; a guy in Navigator repeatedly thrashed a chain across the stage). Synth, deep bass resonance and fuzzy guitars all made Dark Horses a compelling proposition.

Dark Horses @ MySpace

Download 'Rose' / 'Rose Unconcious'

Audio Journal : 02/08/2010

A while back I said I'd do a series of 'summer albums', the first being New Order's Technique. The début Fleet Foxes album is the second, and probably the most recent album I'd put into the hypothetical 'summer albums' playlist.

Fleet Foxes is a captivating slice of lo-fi, folksy Americana. So lo-fi in fact that there are apparently all sorts of off-timings across the record, indicating an eschewing of ProTools perfection in favour of genuine warmth and realism. (In fairness, it would take a producer, engineer or professional musician to notice this; being none of these, I'll just take Q's word for it.)

The album is brief, and sometimes when I listen to it I tune out of the individual tracks completely, just absorbing the pastoral warmth of the delicate, ethereal atmospheres it generates. Clearly then, it's not an album that I'd consider listening to when driving; but it is, I find, the ideal soundtrack to chilled-out summer Sunday family breakfasts with the kids (regrettably the only day of the week we're altogether to have breakfast), the gentle sounds from the music adequately matching the slight hangover haze from the Saturday night before whilst having a simultaneously calming influence over two ordinarily wilful children.

If I were forced to pick favourite tracks here, it would probably be as follows: 'White Winter Hymnal', whose name doesn't sound at all summery (though its verses do conclude with the words 'summer time') but which includes some beautiful, delicate and uplifting vocal harmonies; 'He Doesn't Know Why', whose emotional rises and falls are just as riveting after repeated listens, progressing, seemingly chorus-less, to a final section of almost Phil Spector-esque grandeur; finally, 'Your Protector', which has similar characteristics to the two songs above, with a strident, elegiac tone, as well as an hint of Celtic mysticism.

I find it hard to separate this album from M Night Shyamalan's The Village, since I watched that movie at around the same time as we bought this. But more than anything it just perfectly suits the slightly erratic summers we are cursed with in this country.

As for the third, and final, 'summer album' in the playlist, expect it to be divisive; then again, this is supposed to be a relatively personal blog...

Audio Journal : 26/07/2010

Okay, things have become a little safe around here. I do this with music. When I feel like I've strayed too far into what I'd describe as 'polite' music, I feel the need to listen to something more adventurous to reset things.

So I listened to a rip someone blogged of the 1993 Harry Pussy 12" 'In An Emergency You Can Shit On A Puerto Rican Whore' (well, writing that will flush out whether my parents are still reading this). Listening to eight of these nine tracks feel like flossing your ears with barbed wire – it's chaotic, messy with over-distorted guitars bludgeoning all else into submission; words can be heard but not deciphered; frantic not-quite-riffs dominate. Then there's the final track; in anyone else's mitts the unlikely punk-fuzz cover of Kraftwerk's 'Showroom Dummies' would sound nightmarish, but compared to the other tracks it sounds positively gentle. In the lyrics to 'Showroom Dummies', the plastic models in the shop window come alive and break the glass in order to escape; Harry Pussy's version is the sound of them grinding the glass under their feet as they step onto the pavement, leaving shards and deep scratches embedded in their plastic feet.

Duly reset, 'In An Emergency...' was followed up with a CD I bought in Falmouth's excellent Jam by Loren Connors (formerly Loren Mazzacane Connors) and Jim O'Rourke. Two Nice Catholic Boys captures duo performances by the two guitarists from European dates in 1997, and consists of three vaguely-monikered tracks ('Paris', 'Or Maybe Koln', 'Definitely Not Koln'). Connors and O'Rourke are titans of the experimental music field (both composed and improvised) and the interplay between them here is quite special. Judicious use of feedback and reverb prevents this from becoming some sort of axe-wielding standoff, and there are brief flashes of staccato rhythm. This was released on the excellent Family Vineyard label from New York. Somewhere in a record box I have a solo guitar album by sometime contributor to The Wire magazine Alan Licht (YMCA), also released on the label; one for another week.

Sticking with the distorted guitar / noise theme, Lou Reed's Metal Machine Trio (or MM3) released a double CD of live dates in LA two years ago and I totally missed it. The trio is intended to draw out the 'spirit' of Reed's Metal Machine Music, released in 1975. Metal Machine Music is a love-it-or-hate-it album consisting of electronically-processed guitar and synth and is mostly ear-shredding noise of the extremest order. At the time of its release Reed was quoted as saying that it was recorded to honour a final album contract obligation.



Since then its reputation has grown among the experimental music fraternity, during which renaissance Reed appears to have changed his stance, claiming it was a calculated piece of sonic artistry all along. He has subsequently performed the piece with Berlin chamber orchestra Zeitkratzer, and MM3 is an extension of the relatively free jazz / improvised atmosphere the original Metal Machine Music evokes. The Creation Of The Universe, despite its slightly over-confident title, is subtle improvisation, mostly; occasional brooding distorted guitar rises up menacingly from the more low-key sections, often heralding passages of fuzzy noise and skronking sounds reminiscent of James Chance from Ulrich Krieger (who also forms part of the Text Of Light trio with Alan Licht and Sonic Youth's Lee Ranaldo). There are chord changes in some sections that had me scratching my head wondering where I recognised them from and then I sussed it – they're the same as final section of The Velvet Underground's 'I'm Sticking With You'. The third member of this free rock trio is Seth Calhoun, billed as providing 'live processing and continuum fingerboard'. Nice.

Others: Sleigh Bells 'Infinity Guitars' (big distorted beats and loud , stuttering, guitar interruptions with shouty female vocals; me like); Screaming Females 'I Don't Mind It' (New Jersey trio do girl-fronted melodic Buzzcocks-esque punk - only marred by needless riffing at the end); The Silver Pesos 'Regresando' (free single from this LA band – dreamy ambient electro-pop with latin flourishes, plus an excellent Youth-esque remix); Best Coast 'Boyfriend' (hazy, Spector-esque boy-girl duo pop; beguiling); Anamanaguchi 'Airbrushed' (zany Yo-Gabba-Gabba-style synth goofiness from New York).

Audio Journal : 17/07/2010

Back at the end of June, Bret Easton Ellis posted on Twitter thus: 'High Violet by The National is the best record I've heard in a year. It's the only thing I've listened to on the Imperial Bedrooms tour.' Consequently, since reading that I haven't been able to disassociate the album from the latest novel by the former literature enfant terrible with this, the fifth LP from Brooklyn five-piece The National.



The mood of High Violet has been likened to the grey, rain-soaked tones of Joy Division. While their music does have an undeniably dense, dark-hued atmosphere, High Violet's aspirations are far wider than Ian Curtis's (ultimately terminal) negativity; a wider sonic palette also broadens the mood. It's closest cousin, to these ears, appears to be the Interpol of third album Our Love To Admire. My favourite tracks are the appropriately-named 'Sorrow' and the motorik 'Afraid Of Everyone', but the whole affair is gloriously bleak.

I've listened to this album repeatedly over the past month; I know it's not healthy to do so, as I found to my detriment with the aforementioned Our Love To Admire. 'Introspection must be sampled in small doses' should be the health warning on such albums. But it does also seem to suit the trademarked air of paranoid detachment of Imperial Bedrooms.

Throughout our holiday in Cornwall, one album that we kept falling back on – especially when the sun came out – was the self-titled début by The Drums; its shimmery surf-pop seemed the logical soundtrack, but I've already waxed lyrical about that LP and don't plan to do so again. The other recent purchase that got heavily played while we were away was the self-titled album by San Diego's The Soft Pack. The Californian four-piece were previously known as The Muslims, and not unsurprisingly were encouraged to change their name.

I'm not sure where to place this LP. No single style seems to prevail, but there is more than a passing resemblance to some of the punky archness of Jonathan Richman and his Modern Lovers, especially in the trio of faster-paced tracks – 'Pull Out', 'Parasite' and 'Faithman'. Those tracks also have a whiff of lo-fi producer Steve 'Big Black' Albini circa his derided (and band-separating) work with Rosa Mota. So, art-punk-grunge anyone? Well worth checking out.

For the journey down to Cornwall we bought some audio books for the kids rather than have them sat in front of DVDs. One of these was the Theodore Geisel – Dr. Seuss – classic Green Eggs And Ham, ably read by Adrian Edmondson, which had us all in stitches thanks to his comic voices and Seuss's rhymes. There's a line in an old Lunachicks song about that book, so I'll be heading loftward to dig that album out in due course.

Others: Kid Savant 'Drawn And Quartered' (electro-infused shoegazer pop, not unlike The XX); The XX 'Islands' (electro-infused shoegazer pop, not unlike Kid Savant); The Foals 'Miami' (like an Avalanches remix of Robert Smith jamming with Happy Mondays); Danger Mouse & Sparklehorse featuring Julian Casablancas 'Little Girl' (in which The Strokes front-man sings over a jangly imaginary soundtrack to a kidnap chase through smoky Parisian pavement cafés); Male Bonding 'Weird Feelings' (shouty grunge pop with Sixties flashes on Sub Pop); Crystal Fighters 'In The Summer' (imagine PWEI soundtracking Manga classic Akira).

It's good to be back.

Audio Journal : 28.06.2010

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.

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.

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.