Saturday 22 December 2012

Albums of The Year, post 1

One of the things I'm most looking forward to about this Christmas holiday is the chance to listen to some of the music from this year that I've not yet managed to hear, taking various 'albums of the year' lists as my guide.

So this morning I woke up, had a piss, went back to bed, opened up Spotify on my laptop and then reached for my copy of the new RockARolla, very kindly donated by my girlfriend, who just gave me a subscription for Christmas. Lovely stuff.

I won't list the mag's top 10 here yet, but for now will start by saying that two of the top 5 aren't on Spotify, so I will have to find some other way of sampling those. Of the three that are, I already own Neurosis' Honor Found in Decay, and have blogged about Neurosis recently.

Which leaves me with Baroness's Yellow and Green and Goat's World Music. And both start very promisingly musically but are then, for me, quickly ruined by their respective singing. Baroness musically are more like what I would be inclined to listen to often than Goat, although Goat perhaps have the edge in terms of novel interest for the same reason. In fact I found the Baroness pretty exciting for a couple of minutes, but then? Harmonies, and bad, bad lyrics... No.

And then when I stick on the Goat and it's again the singing that turns me off, more because of irritating repetition this time, I start to wonder whether there might be something wrong with me. Am I that misanthropic that while I can enjoy instrumentation, so direct a reminder of other people as the human voice is too much to bear?

But then I remember that the Neurosis album has lyrics too, if not exactly singing, as does plenty of other stuff I like. So no, it's just that I don't like Goat and Baroness. Phew.

Bonus PS
Spotify also doesn't host another of RockARolla's top ten, which I decided to check out after the disappointments above - Amenra's Mass V - however, it does have 2011's Mass IIII (not IV apparently), which I am listening to as I type, and this band, happily, could well be a grower.

Til later...

Sunday 2 December 2012

Neurosis and Godlfesh at Kentish Town Forum

I'd seen Justin K. Broadrick once before, in his Jesu guise way the hell out in Kilburn. I was right at the front, and the shredding immensity of JKB's guitar came closer than anything has before or since to ripping my ear drums apart. Shamefully I left before the encore, genuinely afraid that I might never hear again. 

That experience came back to me somewhat harshly as Godflesh started playing this evening. My enjoyment went up a solid few notches with the second track performed, Like Rats, but then it slipped again somewhat on commencement of the almost equally good third track Christbait rising, and I couldn't escape the fact that I was struggling to get involved. 

I soon realised that I just couldn't really get into two guys strumming along to a drum machine, no matter how superb the sound nor how much effort JKB was putting into wringing the neck of his tool and torturing his vocal chords. For me, not only does drumming drive most music, but a drummer also drives most live performances, and without that beating heart, I realised, I just wasn't getting hooked.

At this point you're probably thinking that I'm an idiot who simply doesn't understand industrial music, and you'd be partly right. But if I told you that Hymns is perhaps my all-time favourite album - I think it's utter genius - I hope that would go someway to placating you and bringing you back on board with what is, after all, just one man's experience.

Still, my inability to get on with the drum machine struck me as weird, even if I am learning to play myself, given that I love drum and bass and have no such complaints there. It wasn't until the pace picked up in the final fifteen minutes of Godflesh's set that I realised that was exactly the point.

I know that JKB writes from a place of despair and pain, and that is what drives him, but if his music made me despair I wouldn't listen to it. Well, not as much as I do, anyway. Much of the music of his that I like - because he's a prolific fella and I don't like all of it - I like because it elates me, and when the pace picked up I suddenly realised that I wanted to fucking move to it, not just stand there nodding my head. Heavy pounding beats and throbbing bass light me up, and so as the pace picked up so did my pulse, so did my adrenaline, so did the muscles either side of my lips, and I wanted to express that enjoyment with full-on physicality. I wanted to dance to that mother like I'd dance to drum and bass, without inhibition. If I couldn't have a drummer to drive me on, I wanted at least to be able to drive myself on. But I couldn't, because the place was rammed, and because nobody else was dancing. Plenty of people were banging, but dancing? No. And I know: this is industrial, you fuck head, not techno, but there's joy in movement, and I know that JKB has dabbled plenty in techno spheres, so I don't think it's as crazy an idea as it might first seem.
Anyway, that was my experience of Godflesh live. I know it wasn't everybody's - far from it, because everybody else seemed to love it - but me, I wanted to throw myself around a little. To each their own...

I'd also seen one-fifth of Neurosis before, when I saw Scott Kelly play his part in Shrinebuilder's Scala gig of late 2010, in what may well be the most enjoyable damn thing I've ever attended. I've never experienced anything quite so techtonic, quite so collossal, quite so symbolic, and probably never will again unless the guys bless us with a second record or I pluck up the courage to squeeze myself into a tiny gap in some Swans gig somewhere.

For me Neurosis aren't quite Shrinebuilder, but at times tonight they weren't far off. Return readers of this blog will not be at all surprised to learn that my experience of Neurosis stretches only as far as their most recent album, purchased about a month ago. Hence, their performance of At The Well was my personal highlight, it being one of the tracks I was familiar with as well as being just sheer goddamn bliss anyway, to the point where I think my eyes may have rolled back into my head for a while there. One of the reasons Neurosis aren't quite Shrinebuilder for me is that they have regular moments of quietness between their bombast, which is fine, although in my current phase of getting to know Honor Found... those moments go on just a little too long for my own tastes, and live they're somewhat ruined by being drowned out by chattering idiots all around.

Nevertheless, this performance was probably the third most enjoyable I've seen this year, after Down and Mastodon, and definitely one to savour. I've spent more time on Godflesh here than Neurosis  purely because of my own greater familiarity with the former - I intend to acquaint myself better with Neurosis in the very near future.

Finally, honorable mention must be made of the fantastic poster art of Simon Fowler. How bloody good is that?

Friday 16 November 2012

Alexandre Tharaud @ Foyles

The word 'genius' is used far too often these days. Actually, the device that sets up a piece of writing by highlighting that the word genius is used far too often these days is itself used far too often these days. But tonight I think I came closer to witnessing genius than ever before in my life.

Alexandre Tharaud, Foyles' website told prospective attendees of tonight's event, is 'Famed for his dazzling interpretations of Rameau, Bach, Scarlatti and Chopin', and thus this event represented a 'radical departure' from his norm. If I tell you that I had only heard of two of those composers, that would give you a good idea of the knowledge I bring to any classical performance I see, and I know even less about Paris cabaret, which tonight's performance 'celebrated'.

However, I know when I'm seeing something special.

Monsieur Tharaud is one of those men who would make you feel dreadfully inferior, if he wasn't so effortlessly charming that you instantly warm to him, and feel privileged just to be in his presence. I have to remind myself to swallow every once in a while so I won't drool if something surprises me, whereas even when not playing the piano M. Tharaud exudes magnetism, vivacity and grace in abundance. But it was when he took up position behind his instrument and began to play that I realised this was a human who operates - or rather floats effortlessly - on a whole other plane of existence.

I'd been rather skeptical about an evening of cabaret, but within seconds of Thauraud setting his fingers aflight all of my worries subsided. I have seen classical musicians before, but the venue - a little nook on the top floor of everyone's favourite bookshop - was much more intimate than any other into which I've hesitantly shuffled, and from our vantage point about 8 feet behind M. Thauraud in the second row we could see every dip, dance and dive of every finger (every finger that wasn't hidden by the pianist himself - we don't have X-ray vision), and it was this that set the evening apart.

I won't bore you by describing what a superb pianist is physically capable of - suffice it to say that I've simply never seen it demonstrated so capably and winningly as tonight. I enjoyed the music, but in my ignorance of all things not metal, I'm sure much of the humour and many of the flourishes were lost on me. But this is a man who has finer control than I could achieve with a magnifying glass and a pair of tweezers. A man with more wit in his little finger than you'd find in five of me. A man with greater speed... well, you get the point.

This was a superb evening, and I thoroughly enjoyed it. Thank you to M Thauraud, thank you to Foyles for putting it on - for free no less - and thank you to my missus for spotting it and inviting me. Mange tout Rodney, mange tout.

Monday 22 October 2012

Down and Orange Goblin @ The Roundhouse

I quite like Orange Goblin's A Eulogy for the Damned, and I liked their set last night. It was the last night of their supporting Down, and they clearly wanted to have some fun and go out with a bang. They succeeded admirably, delivering the kind of crowd-pleasing heavy anthems that would have you walking away happy if they topped the bill of many a night...

Just not last night. Last night everyone was there for one reason: Down.

I saw Down at Brixton Academy when they toured Over the Under, when I was living in north London. Now that I'm living in Brixton, they decide to play the Roundhouse on a night when the Victoria line isn't running. Come on guys, meet me halfway...

But there are some bands you will happily travel far for, and Down is definitely one of them. What can you say about this band? If they can get to the venue on time, with their instruments, and with power in the sockets, they will deliver the best southern stoner metal to be had anywhere on the planet. I don't think I've ever seen such a level of crowd appreciation as I saw last night. True Anselmo is a force of nature, and if he asks you to raise your hands you damn well raise your hands, but I didn't get the sense anyone had to force it even 1%.We were a bunch of happy worshippers.

Down have an unimpeachable back catalogue to select from, and are a collection of performers to match. Those two things combined couldn't possibly fail. They are simply phenomenal.

Gimme some medicine!

Wednesday 10 October 2012

Turbowolf, Black Moth, Wet Nuns, Throne @ The Garage

With apologies to Throne, Gig Buddy and I wanted a real beer, so we went to the Hen and Chicken before committing ourselves to the Garage. Just desserts though: the barmaid misheard my order of two Puritys and gave us two Peronis, so we only hurt ourselves.

We did actually arrive at the Garage (which now serves San Miguel, just to put the icing on the cake mistake) in time to hear 2 minutes of Throne, and from what I saw they're a good band. Actually, if you want to linearly extrapolate from what followed - and I'm not saying that's scientifically viable - but if you want to then they must have been pretty damn good...

Because Wet Nuns were fucking aces. In every respect. For two men they make a hell of a lot of noise, and most of it is very pleasing indeed. Plus they're great fun. Crowd interaction (muffled to the point of almost inaudability): check. One man topless the other dipped in country: check. One man bald the other overhaired: check. Variety: check; heaviness: check; attitude: check. Just totally bloody enjoyable. They were the highlight of my night, in fact.

Although Black Moth were the reason GB and I were present. I'd seen their CD and its frankly phenomenal artwork (by one Vania Zouravliov - one to explore further) in Fopp, but recent experience had taught me better than to buy shit randomly, so I went home and Spotified them. And loved them. And looked for tour dates, and bought tickets. And turned up. And yeah, they were good. In fact they had moments of greatness - genuine greatness - like the first and last tracks, but they also had moments that for me got just a little bit lost within themselves, and could use a bit more work. But given that The Killing Jar (which I bought at the gig) is their first album, I am firmly convinced that Black Moth have the potential to more than fill whole sets with utter greatness in an album or two's time, provided they carry on doing what they've been doing...

Which brings us to the headliners, Turbowolf. I intend to write a post soon about blogging about people you've never heard of, but since I haven't written it yet I'm hoping to beg forgiveness yet again. Because, as I've said, I turned up because of Black Moth, and Turbowolf were an added bonus, and they were just a bit too fast and thrashy for my tastes. And tastes mean nothing at all, except that I personally get off on doom, and I can only report my impressions here, and so I apologise to the proper fans who knew what to expect and got it in spades. This is just what I thought...

Some people have charisma. James Dean had it, and Bruce Lee, and Tupac Shakur... Turbowolf's lead has it. He reminded me of Serj Tankian, except when he was speaking, when he sounded more like Robert from next door. Frenetic, energetic, mesmerising, stylish... How can you not admire a man who fronts a band - a headlining band - in a paisley shirt? The dude seeps charisma. And the guitarist could give a young Steve Tyler a run for his money in the could-be-a-model department, but that's neither here nor there...

Turbowolf were damn good at what they do, I suspect. The front 50% of the audience were certainly loving it, fists raised, circles spun, shoves shared... This was the first time I've felt old at a gig, standing at the back and smiling, but not wanting to get battered. The highlight for GB and I was their cover of Somebody to Love, and although I absolutely think bands should cover with abandon, GB was a bit put out that the song of theirs he enjoyed most was a cover. I dunno. Taste only counts for so much. Their final track was a ripper, and overall they whipped shit up, they entertained, they conquered, they topped the bill like champs.

This brings me back to my last post about why I stopped blogging. Taste - who gives one? Turbowolf were whitehot for most people present, Black Moth will be awesome very soon, and for me Wet Nuns already are. That'll do for a Wednesday night. It'll do just fine.

There was a reason I stopped doing this...

Actually there were several, one of which was having to scurry home and type shit out the night it occurred so that my beer-addled mind wouldn't forget it on the morrow... But the primary reason I stopped was a feeeling of who am I to pass judgement, given that I've done nothing and know nothing?

But as much as that's true - and it's completely true - on the other hand one of my posts - on Teta Mona - has had over 200 views. Now, that may not impress you, but I'm essentially a very lonely man, and to me that's fucking incredible. And what do I want out of this? Well, firstly I want my writing to get better, but secondly I want to shout about the bands I like, whether I'm making sense or not - I want to help them reach more people, and the evidence says that even my sausage-fingered fumblings do that. And if anyone knows me, they know I'm all about the evidence.

So, I guess... I'm back...?

Tuesday 24 April 2012

Mitsuko Uchida @ Royal Festival Hall

A bit of a departure from my norm, this one. I bought my girlfriend and I tickets for Christmas, as Mitsuko Uchida is her favourite pianist, Schubert is her favourite composer, and his Sonata in B flat is her favourite piece. I'm yet to find any classical music that does anything to me except irritate though, so I was mostly hoping to enjoy the evening vicariously.

As it turned out, I didn't have to. Firstly, I'd never seen anyone at the Royal Festival Hall before except Squarepusher - that was pretty fantastic, but it was in the foyer area, so this was my first experience of the Hall itself. And what a mighty hall it is: enormous, decadent, and with no fewer than three excellent vibes: retro (chairs), retro-futuristic (lighting), and Soviet (box architecture).

Mitsuko herself was no less impressive. She emerged from backstage wearing silk trousers and a diaphanous blouse looking every bit the elegant Dame (as she was titled last year), and that majestic comportment carried over into her playing. That is, until some particularly challenging passage came up, at which point she transformed into a fiery sorceress, improbably conjuring immense slabs of noise with her slight frame when mere moments before there had been the most delicate, deft and intricate sounds. Then she was like a woman possessed, and the silk trousers and diaphanous blouse looked more like the pyjamas and straight jacket of an escapee on some late-night jaunt. Dame Uchida has an astonishing charisma while seated behind her chosen instrument, and to witness her play is to feel that you are in the presence of some wild genius. Simply sublime.

That said, I didn't enjoy the music itself all that much. Each sonata had moments that grabbed me, when heavier elements came immediately after lighter ones or the two were intermingled, but I think the only hope that I can now have that any classical music will ever move me rests with composers like Wagner and Mahler, whose works have that added bombast and are more akin to the music I normally listen to. As a spectacle the event was highly enjoyable, but I won't be attending classical concerts every other week from now on.

Ah well. The missus loved it, I enjoyed it, and tonight I have UFOmammut to look forward to. Bring on the psych sludge!

On the way home I listened to: my girlfriend's excited chatter.

Wednesday 11 April 2012

Holy Mountain, Barringtone, Limb @ Brixton Windmill

If I hadn't bought my ticket for this in advance I'm not sure I would've gone, as I'd been leaking snot all day and feeling generally shite. But I had, so along I went. Part of me was hoping that just the right amount of beer combined with a bit of sinus-pummelling bass would kill whatever it was that was lurking inside me...

So anyway, it was Limb's job to get the night off to a good start, and that's exactly what they did. They were a friendly bunch, and happily blasted through a short set that started out perhaps just a little dirge-y but got better as it went along. I challenge anyone to not feel positive vibes for a heavy band whose drummer obligingly tries her best to smash her kit right through the floorboards, and whose bassist adopts a stance so rock you could drive a convoy of tanks through it. They saved their best for last, and when the guitarist got down off the somewhat cramped stage to rip it up among the crowd, you could tell that band and audience alike were happy to be there. Limb delivered a short, heavy, blow that didn't put anybody on their ass, but rather woke them up for the fun to come. Good on 'em.

Next up was Barringtone, a trio of two-thirds top-buttoned tidiness and one-third Dave Grohl meets Nick Frost. The bill had described these guys as 'electro-pop maestros', which seemed a bit strange considering they were due to be sandwiched between a couple of riff-happy heavy hitters, and while the band were tuning up my mate and I wondered whether someone had been having a laugh, since the occasional bursts of noise issuing from the stage were more Metallica than Madonna. But it wasn't a wind-up: Barringtone were a pop band, only this was fast, hard-edged pop played with attitude and panache. Their style matched their appearance: guitarist and bassist were polished and slightly straight, whereas the drummer - the band's Facebook page suggests he might be called 'Boomer' - was an absolute beast, driving things forward at a rollicking pace while caressing or bludgeoning his kit as appropriate with the kind of finesse that should make a beginner either cry and give up or decide it's time to get serious. This was an impressive performance, if slightly samey towards the end, and not even a couple of momentary blackouts could affect the band's admirable composure.

Holy Mountain were headlining, and as soon as we saw the Glaswegians take the stage we knew they were gonna be good. Not just anybody can pull off the long hair and vests look: you have to have either earned it or been born that way. Don't ask me which path these fellas took - all I know is they didn't disappoint. This was the band's first gig in London ('Well, with this line-up'), and they seized the chance to show us foppish southerners how it's done. And that is: loud and heavy, but catchy to boot. It was a massively enjoyable set, not least for the drummer's Animal-like appearance, with his wildly flailing arms and gape-jawed grin. I could've sworn he was channelling his manic energy directly from the atmosphere via his gullet. Holy Mountain: one whole helluva lotta rock, unreservedly recommended.

And yet again, the Windmill delivered all of this for a handful of shrapnel: good times. By the way, I'm feeling much better today, thank you. Whether it was the beer or bass that did it, I'm happy.

Sunday 8 April 2012

Pelican @ The Garage

This should have been Tacoma Narrows Bridge Disaster, Bo Ningen and Pelican @ The Garage, but we decided to get some Ghanaian food on Holloway road at 7, which was when the doors opened at The Garage, and by the time we arrived at about 8.15 we'd completely missed Tacoma Narrows and we only caught the last one and a half songs of Bo Ningen's set. I had thought I wouldn't be massively disappointed if I didn't get to see Bo Ningen, what with having seen them about a month ago, but when we arrived I remembered that what I'd seen a month ago was not BN's normal lineup, and judging from what little we did catch last night I think we missed something pretty special. My grilled talapia was good, but I think Bo Ningen would've been great. Bugger. Ah well, a man's gotta eat.

I guess it's up to the punter to check what time bands are on and make sure they get there in time for what they want to see, but the variation between venues does annoy me. You buy tickets for something in a place like the Scala, and the headliners don't start til about 10 o'clock. Last night, the last vibration was dying away at 10.30, and the lights coming up told us it was time to get out. 10.30 on a Saturday night. Damn. Also, The Garage is one of those soulless Carlsberg-or-Tuborg-in-a-plastic-cup venues, where the space itself and the band selectors are good but there's nothing else to even talk about, let alone recommend the place. I say again: ah well.

So, Pelican. If you've read any of my previous posts, you won't be surprised to find out that I'd never heard any of Pelican's stuff before. I'd heard they were good but that maybe their drummer wasn't really up to much, so I was intrigued to see what I was in for. Well, for the first few songs, I wasn't all that impressed. Yes there was some nice mid-level heaviness going on, but it was all a bit lacking. The drumming was indeed a bit weak, but so was the stringing, and the simultaneous lack of vocals made for a bit of a damp squib overall. Now, I like instrumental music as much as the next guy, but if you're not kicking it with vocals you've gotta kick it some other how, and Pelican started out like they were missing a foot. They needed a bit of Russian Circles-esque percussion to give them a kick up the arse, or some Down-esque vocals for a bit of grit and character, or something anyway. I hadn't been there very long, I was only on my second or third pint of the evening, I'd missed most of the warm-up, none of the T-shirts appealed, and it was all a bit of a let down.

But, from the fourth song onwards everything was right with the world again. The heaviness amped up a good notch or two, the riffage came on strong, and my neck began to get a solid workout. There was attitude here after all. Perhaps the drumming was more functional than inspired, more there because it had to be than there because it wanted to be, but the point of the band seems to be to simply deliver some very satisfying yet still melodic stringwork, and on that front they deliver in spades. It even occurred to me after a while that Pelican could perhaps form the third corner of a triumverate of not-very-relevant comparators for future ill-thought-out posts: if someone needs a kick up the arse, mention Russian Circles; if they need a bit of grit and balls, mention Down; and if they need some heavy rippage, give Pelican a nod. Maybe. And good news for Pelican fans: perhaps the highlight of the set was one of the tracks from the new EP, which I think was on sale last night for the first time or something. Or perhaps a good place to start for newcomers like myself?

To summarise, the evening had its disappointments, and the music was over far too soon, but the fish was good and the bird was excellent, and a couple of Leffe's across the road in the Library after the gig finished the night off nicely. This morning my head is appropriately swampy, so you can blame the Belgians for this post, OK? OK. Right then, time for the Sunday roast. It's only a chicken, so you can rest easy, Pelican fans.

On the way home I listened to: Electric Wizard; Black Masses

Sunday 1 April 2012

Buying music blind (part 1)

I haven't had much luck buying music blind in the past. Prior to yesterday, the last time I bought an album without knowing anything about the band it was We Are The Ocean's Cutting Our Teeth - in retrospect and in fairness to the band an apt name for an album amounting to little more than adolescent fluff.
But every once in a while I get the urge to expand my fairly narrow musical horizons and give something new a chance, and yesterday was one such occasion, as I decided to buy three CDs from bands I've never heard before - and two of which I'd never even heard of - purely on the recommendation of HMV's staff picks. Those CDs were Orange Goblin, A Eulogy For The Damned; Monarch, Omens; and Gallhammer, Ill Innocence - Monarch and Gallhammer being the two bands that are entirely new to me.
HMV's staff pointed out that an all-female Japanese metal band might sound a bit like a reclusive metalhead's wet dream, but suggested that Gallhammer actually have something going on, and that was enough to spike my curiousity. Well, I've just given All Innocence it's first listen, and I was far from blown away. If I remember rightly, HMV recommended the band for fans of Ufomammut, which I most certainly am, but on first listen alone comparing Gallhammer to that particular Italian trio is like comparing Uncle Ron's caravan-based homebrew to Delirium Tremens. On first listen, Ill Innocence is the uncertain offering of a band more concerned with putting out something, anything than it is a masterpiece to compare with the likes of Ufomammut's output. Perhaps that'll teach me to buy music based more on a band's leer-ometer rating than their musical potential. But, I'm at pains to keep stressing that I've only listened once, because many a time I've been underwhelmed by an album on first listen only to have it become a favourite after a bit more effort on my part. So, the jury is still well and truly out on Gallhammer, even if the press is already sticking their faces on the front page, alongside full details of their addresses, under headlines like 'Asian Babes Guilty!'. (In case anyone's unsure, that was a dig at the British press, not at Gallhammer. Please direct all hate mail to the Daily Mail et al. Thank you.)
Orange Goblin on the other hand are, perhaps predictably, an entirely different story. I've avoided OG until now, not so much because I didn't think I would like them but because I'm already a fan of Goblin, the Dario Argento soundtrack-meisters, and I felt there was only room for one such fiendishly named band in my life. However, as I type this I'm giving AEFTD its first run-through, and 8 tracks in it couldn't be making a more different impression than Ill Innocence. Undoubtedly the comparison is grossly unfair - I believe AEFTD is OG's 9th album whereas Ill Innocence was Gallhammer's third or fourth (I can't say for sure because I'm avoiding looking up any of the bands except for a brief glance at Myspace until I've formed my own opinions) - and true to expectations it immediately hits home with the kind of confident got-it-nailed form you would expect from a band with such a wealth of experience. HMV recommended this one to fans of High on Fire, and this time the comparison is much more appropriate. I could quite happily send this CD round again once it finishes, whereas I think I'll give it a little while before revisiting Ill Innocence. I'm happy I've finally found room for a second fiend in my pokey existence.
Finally, I haven't yet listened to Monarch's Omens, because I cheekily felt I could stretch this concept over several posts - further comment to come. Hey, on the bright side it means the post you're reading right now is almost over, so you won't have to put up with much more of my waffle. HMV likened Monarch to Sunn O))), among others, and Sunn O)))'s Monolith's and Dimensions is an album so terrifying I can only listen to it when I'm absolutely 100% confident of my mental integrity, so I'm feeling just a little trepidation about giving Omens a go. But, everything has its place, as I discovered when I tried listening to M&D during a midnight trek across a snow-bound central London after some gig or other in late 2010, and everything about it finally clicked for me. So, we'll see.
In summary, I haven't yet decided whether HMV's recommendations are worth a damn, or whether buying music blind is a good or a bad idea. Now, aren't you glad you read this?

Tuesday 20 March 2012

Er, I'm not dead

Hello there. Just to let you know that I'm not dead, nor have I given up already: I've been away, and I've been busy. My April is looking pretty gig-tastic, and I'm itching for some March action too, so do check back every once in a while, friend.

Til then, keep 'em ringing folks.

Tuesday 28 February 2012

Teta Mona, Sekaiteki Na Band, Bo Ningen @ The Windmill

The Windmill is my local venue. In fact, it's the most local venue I've ever had, being about 3 minutes away from my flat. Despite that though, in 10 months I've only been there once - to see Dub Trio back in about October/November. I thought when I first discovered it that I would be there every other week or so, such is its inviting dive-y atmosphere and enticingly packed programme, but events have conspired against. Except on this occasion, fortunately, when I arrived just in time to order a pint and set my stance right before the music started.

Teta Mona began playing while half of the band were still in the audience. I'd been thinking to myself that, cool as the two tall girls right at the front seemed, they were going to ruin the view somewhat when, a few seconds after the lonely couple on stage shyly started up, the girls went and joined them, as bassist and singer + second guitar. Bonus for the experience, bonus for the view. The band played a fairly brief set, as I think things were running a little behind, but they coped well with the added pressure for the most part. Melodically and rhythmically their tunes were pretty simple, and both bassist and lead had very wallflowery tendencies, but cunningly this only served to highlight the vocals - and oh boy, what vocals! They were eerie and beguiling, the singer reminding me somewhat of a cross between Grace Slick and Karen Elson. If the opinion of a know-nothing nobody like me counts for anything, this girl could go places. Plus, lead guitar man did actually have some mad skills when he felt like displaying them. The final track got a bit bolloxed up and had to be started over a time or two, but the audience were appreciative enough that no-one minded. A pretty fine opening.

By Christ though, how Sekaiteki Na Band stepped it up! Actually, their lead and bass retained the wallflower-like presence of the openers, but their drummer was an absolute supremo. Not only was he the skinniest human being I've ever clapped eyes on, but he was both drumming and singing, and he was drumming like a man possessed, such that at times I found myself breaking out into a massive grin at some particularly audacious example of speed and control. The other members of the band faded into the background for me to a large extent, as I think I developed a bit of man-love for Mr Drummer, such was his blurry and mesmerising ability. The room was loving it too: what had been an appreciative audience for Teta Mona were whooping it up for Sekaiteki Na Band. This was pure quality performance, and I'll definitely be keeping an eye on this band.

Bo Ningen had been described to me as 'Japanese noise or something' by the barman. There was a Japanese theme to the night in fact, with all but Teta Mona's singer getting on board (I think she was Italian). Any one of Bo Ningen's three musicians could easily have filled in for that scary girl who crawls from the TV in the Japanese horror film Ring, with luscious rock-god hair in full effect. Why am I talking about the band's hair? Well to be honest with you, I have no idea what most of them were playing. The drummer had not only his kit but also two beer kegs (Full? Empty? I don't know) and a gas canister (Full? Empty? I don't know). The dude who I thought of as lead guitar had not a guitar but a shiny little two-deck keyboardy thing, with what looked like a gear stick at one end. And the other dude had not a bass but a couple of pedals and a load of buttons, and once the band got going I at first thought that he was also Vulcan death gripping his own throat as part of the performance, or else auto-asphyxiating for our entertainment, but I later realised that he was throat singing. Throat singing! Anyway, fortunately the gas canister didn't explode (unfortunately neither did the beer kegs), and Bo Ningen did indeed make some Japanese noise. Their first track I can only describe as like a haunted house having a stereo-off with a heavy metal band, and the set only got more enjoyable from there. At one point the guy with the keyboardy thing started hitting it with a drum stick, baffling me still further, and he then got out and started similarly whacking a series of bells dangling from the end of length of wood, reminding me wierdly of the two tin cans that my work mate has attached to her pair of scissors with a length of string, so that nobody can steal them without making an awful racket. Anyway, Bo Ningen made some excellent noise right up until the drummer slung his gas canister into one of his beer kegs for effect, but accidently dominoed the second keg into the amp, bringing things to a premature end. Oh well, no permanent harm done presumably, and it was time to go home anyway.

Before I go, have I mentioned that all of this was free? I don't know how the Windmill decides what will be free and what won't - generally things cost a few quid there - but the fact that all of this quality music was ours without costing us so much as a penny was nothing short of amazing. I would happily pay a tenner to see Sekaiteki Na Band again, so a big thank you to the Windmill for helping me find them.

What a Tuesday night.

Friday 24 February 2012

The Men, Fanzine, and No @ The Camp Basement

Neither my Gig Buddy nor I had ever heard of The Camp Basement before. In fact I could go one better than that: I'd never heard of any of the bands before either, this being GB's tipoff. In double fact, when GB sent me the link I sort-of misread it, and thought that we were seeing Haxan Cloak (who I didn't actually like when I checked them out, but why let that stand in the way of seeing them live?).
Anyway, I wasn't much impressed with the venue when we arrived (quite early: the first band didn't even start for about 15 minutes). I haven't visited its website, so don't know the ethos behind it or how long it's been in action, but it's basically just a small, empty concrete room with only exposed ventilation tubing by way of decor. Don't get me wrong, I like a dive bar as much as the next guy, but I also like a bit of character: some graffiti, maybe a few murals, perhaps a poster or two... Bare concrete wasn't really doing it for me.
But once it had filled up a little more, and the concrete had been softened with a scattering of 100% pure granny-knitted beany hats and the odd unruly beard, it all started to make sense. I'm assuming whoever runs the place simply prefers the no-frills approach - maybe to keep costs down, I don't know - since the security was as low-key as the place itself, the bar staff were friendly and relaxed, and there was a kind-of DIY vibe about the whole thing. Another example of this would perhaps be the fact that there was no beer on tap - only bottles - which was actually a bit of a negative, but only a little one. It was a place I'd happily go to again even without (again) knowing the bands at all...

So, about the bands.

No got things off to a very promising start with their energetic set of short, fast, - and only a mite samey - punk offerings. Their drummer was particularly impressive, knocking out track after track at a breakneck speed with barely a pause in between. And the frontman (sorry: I'm just not going to bother with names) was decent too: somewhat affected, in that he kept trying to pull off a rather unconvincing sneer, but confident enough for a bit of crowd interaction and just generally effective at livening things up after what were presumably technical problems caused a bit of a delay.

Next up were Fanzine, who valiantly tried to undo all of Nos good work. They looked the part - or at least half of them did: the drummer mostly looked bored, and at times half-dead, while the bassist looked like a last-minute fill-in from another band - but they had about as much grit as your typical council transport department when the snow hits (hint: not much). GB complained that they were far too 90s, but for me they were just too sanitised for what they were following and what they were sandwiched between - in fairness not a fault of their own, but of whoever stuck them on the bill.

And then the headliners: The Men. I must admit, I did wonder what I was letting myself in for, going to see a band called The Men in a place called The Camp Basement, but being an adventurous sort (ha) I wasn't going to let that stop me. Anyway, I'd read a very promising review of The Men's latest album in pitchfork earlier in the day, and I wasn't disappointed. My first thought was that they sounded quite a lot like Boris, with a fair dollop of their thoroughly enjoyable chaos and distortion. (Actually, my first thought was that it was a bit strange to have a female bassist in a band called The Men, but that's by the by.) And although that thought did fade away a little as the set went on and I concentrated on just enjoying the music rather than trying to pin it down, it's still the best description I can come up with. One thing you'll notice if you stick with these posts, and of course if I continue to write them, is that I don't actually know much at all about music. I figure that's fine, as long as I don't pretend otherwise. So we'll stick with saying that I found The Men a bit Boris-esque, and that's all right by me 100% of the time. Good work guys (and gal).

Final thought: because of the delays, it was 11.30 when the gig ended. That's fine - these things happen - but what's not fine is the shocking inadequacy of London's public transport network, as Old Street tube station was already closed by that point. That meant that I had to hike over to Liverpool Street to catch the night bus back to Brixton, and because buses hate me I didn't end up getting home until gone half midnight. This is one of the world's capital cities, and its underground closes before half eleven on a Thursday night. WTF, as the kids say?

But overall the night was grand. Cheers to No, cheers to The Men, cheers to The Camp Basement, and cheers to GB for tipping me off. And cheers to you for reading: maybe I'll see you again some time...

First post: setting the scene

Hello. In this blog I will be... not so much reviewing all of the gigs I go to, more just describing them, probably in a fairly clumsy fashion, and largely for my own benefit. We'll see how long it lasts...