Monday 4 November 2013

JD Smith and Swampmother @ Windmill Brixton

I thought I was done with this "blog", but I suppose while there's great music in venues that aren't at capacity, I can mobilise my fingers for long enough to tell you poor sods what you've missed.

Tonight at Windmill Brixton you missed - I'm assuming, but hey, maybe you were there! - JD Smith and Swampmother, two raw, dirty slide-blues players who captivated their audiences enough to, well, coax this sorry typist out of retirement, for one thing.

Swampmother was maybe the rawer of the two; distortion, foot stomping, things coming off guitars that weren't supposed to ("That's what happens when you get someone to build a guitar for you."). Whereas JD Smith was more classically blues rock; guitar tones that make you wish you had the dusty boots, ageless hat and begravelled voice to forge a successful career out of walking for aeons beside a highway and sleeping under the stars. Deep, heartfelt, soul-galvanizing stuff.

So there you go. You should see them both. Apparently JD Smith will be playing the Windmill again in December. Swampmother I don't know, but she's on the web. Look for her.

Wednesday 17 July 2013

Torres @ The Lexington

I love The Lexington. It has separate standard pub and gig spaces, so the music doesn't have to take over your evening if you don't want it to. Its gig space is wide and shallow, meaning that wherever you stand you get a good view and feel intimately connected to the performer. And it has a great range of draught and bottled beer and probaby the biggest selection of bourbons this side of the deep south. Plus it trusts you not to chuck any of those bottled beers at the performers, which is nice. No plastic cups of Tuborg here...



Torres is a singer-songwriter from Nashville. From the cover of her pseudonymically self-titled debut album and the fact that Pitchfork described her voice as one that "conveys raw, urgent desperation, the sort we flinch from instinctually" and her lyrics as "full of tricky, messy subject matter--loaded poses of female need, abjection, subjugation, dominance", I half expected the experience of seeing her live to be a bit like that episode of friends where Chandler gets trapped in the front row of some vagina monologues-esque play.

I was relieved to see that she was to be accompanied by a bassist and a drummer, and actually I needn't have worried at all. Yes Torres is brilliantly capable of conveying raw, urgent desperation, even live, but she also knows not to bludgeon her audience to death with it. This was her first gig in Europe, and she balanced endearing tentative attempts to connect with her audience between songs with extremely impressive vocal displays during them, steadily winning over her initially rather reticent crowd. As an aside, I do enjoy it when someone extrapolates from a roomful of a couple of hundred people to a city of some 8 million. "Hello London!"

Presumably Torres has extensive performing experience under her belt from her home country. On the basis of this showing, her first tour on these shores will not be her last.




Monday 8 July 2013

Not bad for a Monday night

If you arrived at this post via the Trash Talk tag, this is not a Trash Talk review. All it is is a blog post that in 5 years' time will remind me that I saw Trash Talk tonight, the reason being that today I know I've been to Underworld once before, about 5 years ago, but cannot for the life of me remember who, why, who with, etc...

All that will come back to me is buying beers and tequilas together. This is perhaps self-explanatory.

The most significant thing about tonight was that Brew Dog, once you get past all the brash self-mythologising, sells some damn good beers. Even at a time when most pubs and bars now offer at least a beer or two more exciting than the standard 2007 fare of Stella, San Miguel and Heineken, Brew Dog stands out.

Some of their own beers are pretty damn great. I've drunk some before, of course, but tonight I was reminded of how good their Punk IPA and 5AM Saint are. More esoterically though, some of the bottled beers they offer are alone worth the trip from Brixton to Camden. The Founders All Day IPA was rather nice, but the Stone Levitation was outright fantastic. It also boasts the finest bottle I've seen this side of... No, just the finest bottle I've seen:


Little surprise then that we were 5-10 minutes late for Trash Talk, and when it comes to hardcore you can't hang about: we only got about 20 minutes. Gig Buddy loved those 20 minutes, but I was more 50-50. My favourite hardcore so far is Sick of it All, which is partly due to their lyrics, and I couldn't hear word jack of Trash Talk.

Musically some of it was pretty good, but some of it was a bit eh.

The venue and crowd were pretty impressive: Underworld is split-level, and from what I could see from up above, the entire bottom row was kicking off for the duration. Crowd surfing, kicking the shit out of the spotlights, you name it.

The downside was more sweaty teenagers pushing back past me than it seemed could have been possible without gaps developing up front - what were they, popping back up out of a wormhole every 20 seconds? - but they probably needed to rehydrate, bless 'em.

I don't know about hardcore. I don't think even Sick of it All like Yours Truly, which is the album of theirs I've taken to heart and embedded there, so maybe I and that genre just don't mesh.

But craft beers and I do. Oh yes.

Thursday 20 June 2013

Bo Ningen @ Royal Festival Hall

I'd been looking forward to this for weeks, and I was still blown away.

Bo Ningen played the Royal Festival Hall as part of Yoko Ono's curation of this year's Meltdown festival. Iggy and The Stooges played a sold-out gig elsewhere in the building earlier on in the evening for some lucky buggers, but actually we were all (potentially) lucky buggers today because Bo Ningen played for free for an unrestricted crowd in the Clore Ballroom.

And boy were they good value.

It was an absolute belter of a set. I'd sort of seen the band twice before - once at the Windmill Brixton, but with an unusual lineup, and once supporting I forget who, on which occasion I arrived just late enough to regret not arriving earlier. So this was my first proper time, and as I said, even though I'd seen enough before to expect good things, this was all that and then a whole lot more.

Bo Ningen play noise rock, but in exactly the right proportions. Just the right amount of noise to keep things teetering, and just the right amount of rock to keep things grooving. They're satisfying as fuck.

They played to a large crowd this evening, and seemed to enjoy the hell out of it, which set up some kind of positive feedback loop between crowd and band that kept reinforcing and reinforcing until I felt like the tendons in my neck were gonna twang loose like an overplucked guitar string.

I only just hung onto my head.

Bo Ningen are going right to the top of my 'see em whenever you can' list. This was the best gig of my year so far by quite some margin. In fact, right now I can't remember the last time I saw anything as good.

Friday 7 June 2013

Tolerance Manoeuvre, Bodebrixen, Small Gang, Bored Spies @WindmillBrixton

Another great night at Windmill Brixton.

Tolerance Manoeuvre were playing when I arrived, and once I'd bought a pint I moseyed over. They're a guitar-cello-trumpet trio who play rather downbeat, forlorn pieces. The result is more interesting than depressing though, and they were well received, including by me.

Bodebrixen are a Danish fivesome who specialise in summery upbeat indie pop. They look and sound like the kind of band you see supplying good times for cool Spanish 20-somethings in smartphone adverts, but they're good enough not to be annoying. Their lead singer is a disarmingly direct and chipper little fellow who buzzes about on and offstage like he has the fast-twitch muscle fibre proportions of a particularly frolicsome squirrel. At one point he started flinging handfuls of shimmering confetti-like stuff ino the surprised crowd. I don't know how well this went down with the guy who had to sweep it up afterwards, but everyone else enjoyed it.

Bodebrixen's combination of energy, fun and quality music was irresistible, and had they played for another 10 minutes or so I might have lost my grip on my reserve and started dancing. A lucky escape. If you have the chance to see these guys, take it.

Of the four bands, Small Gang are the one I'd be most likely to listen to in a non-live situation. Their set was somewhat two-speed, with songs starting out middling, quiet and slow and then suddenly switching into something harder, faster and rather fantastic to climax. What does Sting know - give me climaxes any day.

Final band Bored Spies had been billed as a Singaporean trio, but four people took to the stage. I assume the fourth guy had infilrated the band without their noticing in order to do some spying of his own. It's the only possible explanation.

Anyway, they were a comparatively restrained bunch. Cherie Ko's vocals, for example, were breathy to the point of being indecipherable, and bassist Panther Lau was happy just to have access to an instrument that worked, on loan from Small Gang. On the other hand, hulking drummer Orestes MorfĂ­n appeared able to conform to this low-key approach only through an enormous effort of will, achieving impressive control for such a large and ferocious-looking guy.

I enjoyed the set and would happily see the band again, but the thing I enjoyed most about them was the T-shirts they had on sale at the other end of the room. I picked one up afterwards for the low low price of £8:


That made 4 bands, 3 pints, and 1 T-shirt, all for £20. Bonza.

Thursday 6 June 2013

Rock interactions: share them here!

About an hour ago I passed Cherie Ko of Bored Spies her water bottle mid-gig at Windmill Brixton. This got me thinking: what is my biggest/greatest/most memorable/take to the grave ever rock interaction?

For me it has to be the time that, for about 1.5 seconds about 4 years ago, I had my hand held by the awesome Juliette Lewis. I remember feeling like I was on fire for the rest of the night, and my nerves continued to buzz for the rest of the week.

Other examples:

Gig Buddy recently chatted to Metz' frontman on the plane to or back from (I'm not clear yet) Primavera.

My oldest mate has one of Chino Moreno's hats from about 12 years ago.

My drum teacher has recorded with Steve Albini.

Alright, so what's yours? Share them below the line...

P.S.
I fully expect to get to get no replies to this post, but David Bowie, if you happen to read it, could you please comment: "I am David Bowie"? Thank you.

Sunday 26 May 2013

Field Day 2013

It's a bad sign at a festival when, of your core group of people, you're the best informed despite having heard of at most only 30% of the lineup.

It's also a bad sign when your core group gets any bigger than four, as you're likely to spend more time dithering than seeing anything, and compromise is definitely going to be a feature.

My hitlist for Field Day was:
Arrival - 14.15: Whatever takes my fancy
14.15: Metz
15:00 Chvrches
16:10 Savages
16:50 Daphni
17.45 onwards: Whatever takes my fancy

My number one priority was Savages, as they've been garnering comments like an American with fat ankles over at The Quietus.

The day got off to a good start: I managed to get my girlfriend to pick a jacket and get out the door, and we arrived at Victoria Park around 13:20.

After a bit of a mooch about, we ended up listening to a band who, according to the girl in front of me and contrary to the schedule were "Definitely not Palma Violets". I didn't think much to them, so we went off to get a good spot for Metz.

I didn't think much of Metz either when I saw them back in February, as recounted in this shitdribble of a post. But that was mostly because I spent twice as long getting to the venue as they spent playing, so I was feeling pretty grumpy and ungenerous. Metz at Field Day was a completely different story.

The band again didn't play for very long, but this time that was because they were limited by the schedule to just 20 minutes. They stated their intention to give the crowd - which was a decent swell - the best value they could, and boy did they deliver.

After the soporific "Definitely not Palma Violets", Metz were like a bucket of ice water to the genitals. They came out kicking, and in no time at all they had a sizeable mosh pit going on just in front of us, with bottles and even shoes flying every which way.

 They played at a relentless pace, despite having "drunk too much in Amsterdam" the day before, and by the end of their 20-minute slot lead singer Alex Edkins looked completely spent. The crowd was very much appreciative, and the band got the most intense cheer I heard all day. They were nothing short of heroic.

At this point serious communication difficulties kicked in. We were supposed to be meeting a mate, but the sheer density of people trying to do the same made the task impossible. It was like trying to fit 50 000 people through a cat flap. My phone all but crumpled itself into a ball and chucked itself in the bin. To reflect that, the rest of this post will be written in snapshot...

Went to Chvrches, but hung around back in case a text got through. Chvrches very cool, sweet singer, will buy album. Abandoned after 20 minutes to try to find friend.

Finally found friend wandering lost and alone. Hugging took place.

Found friend's other friends, again by pure chance. Missed Savages. Group adopted stray Australian who wanted to see something at the Desperados bar. Missed Daphni.

Went to heaving Desperados bar, shook head, stayed outside for a while and got free Desperados. Decided Desperados are shit.

Gave in to group desire to see Solange, gifting self curry by way of recompense.

Ditched Solange after 10 minutes, went to see Vondelpark. Ditched Vondelpark after 5 minutes, went to see Kurt Vile. Enjoyed Kurt Vile, who ended after 3 minutes.

Enjoyed some Everything Everything. Went to see Disclosure on recommendation of random Australian. Lack of pills = lack of enjoyment, went back to main stage to see Bat for Lashes for everyone's third time.

Bat for Lashes typically good: sexy, assured, not sufficiently appreciated by idiot main-stage crowd.

More food. Five minutes of Four Tet, then tried to see Django Django. Don't know what happened to Django Django. No Django Django.

Saw most of Fucked Up. Typically top-notch; Pink Eyes on great form as usual.

Watched some Animal Collective, didn't understand what they were trying to achieve. Bailed to avoid exit crowds.

Got home. Drank tea. Went to bed.

Thank you Metz.

Thursday 18 April 2013

First, The Kill Raimis, Oliver John Ward, James Hull and Mickey Dey @WindmillBrixton

There were five acts on this bill, and the gem among them was the first up, one Mickey Dey. A slight, and slightly androgynous, young fella, his surprisingly powerful voice successfully combined both vulnerability and confidence, despite Mickey at one point professing shyness. His lyrics were equally revelatory, striking this listener as original, affecting and without cliche.

Someone more into singer songwriters than I am could offer an opinion on whether this guy could make it big. All I can say is: I wouldn't be surprised.

The rest of the night was less distinctive. Mickey, James and Oliver were all mates playing mostly for each other's benefit, to the extent that James and Oliver didn't even introduce themselves, and I'm still not sure which was which. They weren't to my taste and seemed to offer little to those who weren't in on the joke, so I'll just move along.

Both The Kill Raimis and First were more dilating musically than vocally or, from what I could discern, lyrically. The Kill Raimis would maybe benefit from being more confident and refraining from their near-ubiquitous backing vocals, whereas First, beefy and groovy though they were musically, left me bewildered with their singer's nasal whining.

This evening belonged to one man - I'd make a note of his name.

Sunday 31 March 2013

Squarepusher @ The Roundhouse


My head is fuzzy today, so I'm going to keep this brief.

All I really have to say about this bloody fantastic show is that I thought it was a helluva lot better than Amon Tobin's. It may be unfair, but the two shows are linked in my mind because a) they were both electronic music shows that used massive visual displays as a big part of their appeal and b) they happened within a few weeks of each other, duh.

For me, Squarepusher succeeded where Tobin failed because he got the audio/visual balance right. Tobin was musically weak and boring, and the contrast between the tame audio and the flashy visuals emphasised that lameness. Whereas Squarepusher was musically badass, and so the visuals and audio reinforced each other, as they're supposed to.

Even leaving aside the quality of the music, I actually enjoyed Squarepusher's visuals more than Tobin's despite them probably being (I'm guessing) less technologically advanced, creative, and labour-intensive. They were simpler, but more effective.

I've seen Squarepusher live at least three times now, the other two occasions I can definitely remember being at the Royal Festival Hall a few years back and as part of some ATP thing about 18 months ago. The Festival Hall show was fantastic, whereas I can hardly remember the ATP one - my mate had to remind me of it last night, and apparently we weren't impressed, as my memory failure attests. Anyway, my point is only that I don't have a  Squarepusher bias: even he has to put a shift in to impress, and last night he did.

The Roundhouse itself was also a great venue for the event. I think I'm right in saying that the stage was positioned more towards the centre of the room than normal, and with the room being circular, that meant that the stage could be wider than if it had been further back, and therefore so could the visuals. Presumably the capacity was reduced as a result, so hats off to the Roundhouse for doing it: it was an excellent decision.

Finally, we discovered that the downstairs restaurant bar sells bottles of Delirium Tremens, so we were able to enjoy some of Belgium's (and lets face it, that means the world's) finest while watching the show - an unexpected delight that explains why today my head feels like someone has asked me to solve the world financial crisis while juggling cats. Just don't go spreading it around: if too many people find out there won't be enough for me next time.

Mmm, Delirium.


Wednesday 20 March 2013

Parquet Courts and The Men at The Garage

People turned out in force for Parquet Courts and The Men last night - The Garage was about 50% busier than I've ever seen it. This could have been due to the bands themselves, but I like to think it's because The Garage has ditched its Carlsberg-or-Tuborg-or-nothing beer selection, probably as a result of HMV's dire straights. Every cloud and all that...

Gig Buddy tells me Parquet Courts got equal billing with The Men for this gig. How can I illustrate how unjustified that would be?

Imagine watching the film of your life story, and finding out the director has given equal amounts of time to the day some guy turned up to read your gas meter, and the day that escort knocked on your door wearing nothing but a trench coat and lingerie, having mistaken your flat for Mr Lawrence's, whose wife was staying with her sister for the weekend. That should give you an idea.

Apparently, The Quietus and Pitchfork were in agreement on how good Parquet Courts' album is. In fairness, so is Gig Buddy, who insisted on giving me one of his download codes. I haven't used it yet, so I can talk about is seeing the band live, which was like watching librarians agreeing to color-code their clipboards and thermoses taupe this year instead of mauve. Not thrilling.

The Men, on the other hand, exploded out of the blocks as if intent on expunging all traces of their predecessors from memory – and, aside from what little I've recounted above, they succeeded.

I can't recall ever having seen a band give it so much for such a sustained period before. It was like they'd just found out they were all to be executed at dawn, and so they'd come out one last time in order to fuck the universe dry before shaking hands with destiny. The impressive buggers.

P.S.
I've just realised The Men were the first band I blogged about, just over a year ago. Aww.

Friday 8 March 2013

Actress and Amon Tobin's Isam Live 2.0 at Hammersmith Apollo

I attended this more by chance than design. My mate let me know that he and his missus had tickets about 2 months ago, and he asked me if I was up for it. Fortunately I had the foresight to ask whether they'd gone for stalls standing, and it turned out they hadn't - they'd got seats, hence there was no chance of my sitting near them, hence I declined.

However, my mate's missus' sister then bought them tickets for Sigur Ros on the same night, and as they couldn't do both, suddenly I was back in the game.

My mate was very excited about Actress, who was already in full flow when we arrived. To be honest, I don't think we missed much. In fact, my mate felt sorry for the dude. All he had was a tiny setup in front of a massive white sheet labelled "safety curtain", which firmly seperated him from the main event. "Safety curtain", indeed - it was a "safety blind" if ever I've seen one...

Anyway, the lack of imagination/effort devoted to staging his set meant that the audience was as detached from Actress as he himself was from whatever was hidden away behind him. Nobody was really moving, nobody was paying that much attention... He may as well have been muzak.

Inexplicably, about 40 minutes passed between Actress and Tobin. Building the anticiption I suppose. But that was ok, we were fortunate enough to have seats backing onto an aisle, so all we had to do to go piss or buy more booze was contort ourselves accordingly, not bother the poor souls either side of us. And vice versa.

Eventually the main event began. The "safety curtain" curtain rose. And there it was. The highly anticipated getup. Picture a slightly 3D version of Tetris tipped onto its side and plonked on a stage and you have a very good idea of what it looked like. I'm sure there are phtos somewhere online by now. It looked like Sports Direct just before opening.

Then the graphics kicked in. Now picture Cartoon Network being projected onto that Tetris-like stack of boxes, only someone has cleverly mapped the pictures to the contours. Drifting blobs, electric fingers, pistons, fireballs... It was a bit techy, it was a bit futuristic, it was a bit Star Wars and Alien ... but mostly it was a bit .... eh. 

It's not that it wasn't state-of-the-art. I'm sure it was. After all, this was a sell-out show, and it wasn't cheap. But it was progressively underwhelming. Amon himself was housed in a cube at the center of the display, and his first reveal was undoubtedly thrilling. But all he did was the usual electtronica flipping of swtiches and nodding of head, and as the show went on you realised that each new segment of graphics and each new reveal of the man at the centre of it all would be pretty much the same as the last.

The music took very much a secondary role to the visuals, which is weird for a musician, but regardless of where most of the effort went, neither the music nor the visuals were good enough. Part of the problem, I think, was in the choice of venue, or else the venue setup. To be transportive, something that isn't locomotive must be immersive, and at the scales involved here, Isam 2.0 simply wasn't. Had the same show been put on in a medium-sized club, 6 feet from my face, filling 90% of my visual field, I've no doubt it would have been absolutely amazing. But from 60 feet away, occupying 15% of my visual field, it all felt a bit 2005. It was like a half-hour break in an expo, where they stick something on just to keep you entertained before the next talk about the energy efficiency of thatched roofs or the transformative power of networking. The whole thing was just too puny to be affecting.

You might think our seats were to blame, and I'm sure those in the stalls had a better time of it, but actually we had a pretty decent spot. We were about 7 rows back from the front of the balcony, which meant we were about 43 rows front of the back of the room. There were certainly a hell of a lot of people further away from the show than we were. I couldn't help but think that I'd been better transported and engaged by far less gimmickry, like the simple pleasures of good music, or the laser show at Fire, or any electronica event that provided enough space for a bit of a dance.

I have a feeling that this is an early adoption problem. OK, Amon Tobin is probably supplying the best visual effects on offer right now. But how good will things be in 2, 3, or 5 years' time? Frankly, I fear for the 20-somethings of tomorrow. When visual effects like this find their right environment in conjuction with the requisite drugs, the combination is going to deliver people from their stupid earth-bound selves into some wonderous land the likes of which you and I have only glimpsed, and the harsh reality of those people's seated, sedate, drug-free 30s is going to crush them like paper cranes under a falling asteroid. The poor, lucky buggers.

Us? We'll have to make do with good music.

Saturday 9 February 2013

Aurora Orchestra at the Royal Festival Hall

The Royal Festival Hall put on this show - Dance of the Machines - as part of its The Rest is Noise series, which 'explores the most important music of the 20th Century'. I know, I know, it's all preamble until they get to Sting, right?
This part of the series is looking at Paris in the 1920s. On the schedule today were two jazz songs separated by a jazz piano solo, followed by a Stravinsky pianolo solo, and then climaxing with George Antheil's Ballet Mecanique.

The Festival Hall decided to limit the seating for the event to the stage platform and choir stalls only, to ensure a high level of intimacy between performers and audience. This worked a treat: the hall lighting dropped to just warm spotlighting over the audience and the enormous array of instruments assembled for the Ballet, and when pianist Iain Farrington and singer Gabrielle Ducomble entered for the first song - the latter attired in 20s' style slinky black dress and elbow-length gloves - you could very easily have believed you were in a cosy little club somewhere, as long as you averted your eyes from the glorious architectural features of the rest of the hall, still dimly discernible beyond.

My dread and hope were about equal before Ms Ducomble opened up, but I needn't have worried. Subtly sexy rather than overtly lewd, she hit the perfect note for an audience that included plenty of kids (all of them thankfully very well behaved). The song was in French, and although the meaning of its title - J'ai Deux Amours - was obvious even to me, I felt a bit like Morgan Freeman's character in The Shawshank Redemption after Tim Robbins plays opera over the prison PA system (moved but forever wondering). Nevertheless, I thoroughly enjoyed the performance.

Between pieces we were treated to short films showing either real or recreated footage of 20s Paris. The first featured narration from Ernest Hemingway's Fiesta over clips of girls with more of those slinky dresses and some dapper-looking gents, reminding you that this was what Fitzgerald would later termed 'the jazz age'. These films were brief but added some welcome variety, and were used very judiciously.
After that came the piano solo and another song, but it was the final two acts that had put arses on seats. We were informed before the show that this was to be the first time than a pianola had appeared on stage at the Festival Hall, and so the sense of occasion was palpable. From what I gather having seen one in action, a pianolo is a mechanical piano that somehow converts holes punched through a scroll into the striking of corresponding strings, using the power supplied by a willing volunteer via foot pedals (although I think the player has a bit more to do than just that). It certainly looks like an odd beast, with the back end of a piano but a front end that resembles a scroll-top desk with a typewriter afixed. Even more singular-looking was the pianolist, one Rex Lawson, sporting the best beard I've ever seen in the flesh. And sure, the performance was a sight to behold, but I'm not convinced by the pianolo. To me it sounded like a piano falling down a very long, randomly sized flight of stairs. Maybe it was this particular piece, I don't know.
So to the finale, and the piece that leant the Dance of the Machines its name. The show notes stated that the Ballet Mechanique was a piece that had proved to be literally unplayable, as the sheer number of instruments intended to be involved simply cannot be coordinated, requiring all performances to involve a degree of compromise. It didn't look as though much had been compromised here, however, as alongside the previously featured piano and pianola were a second piano, five glockenspiels, two drum arrangements, what looked like ten doorbells glued to a plank of wood, two whirligigs, three propellers, a gong, a siren, and more besides, requiring a total of 14 performers and a conductor. Just the sight of all that lovely looking stuff on the stage was worth the ticket price in itself.
And credit to the Aurora Orchestra, they put on an extremely impressive performance, all very finely coordinated and rehearsed. I doff my cap to them. Unfortunately, the piece itself is dreadful. Aside from some nice moments with the glockenspiels and some of the drums, and some fine work from the very handsome chap with the propellers (he ratcheted them around and they made a, um, ratchety noise), it was an exercise in pointless noise-making. I began to dread the drone of the pianola, and believe me, doorbells have no place in entertainment unless Jonathan Demme is involved. Ballet Mechanique is the best illustration I've yet come across that something should not be done just because it can be. I could fill my washing machine with cutlery and crockery and climb inside for the experience, and that would be a once-in-a-lifetime event too, but I'm not going to do it any time soon. And if the event in question requires a gargantuan effort, well then it's better left alone.
I'm certainly glad I attended, but I'm not sure I'd be saying the same if I hadn't had the songs and the films and the sight of all that lovely, yet-to-be-abused stuff to make me happy before the cacophany. Clever old organisers, mixing it up like that. But please, invite the Aurora boys and nice old Rex back for something a bit less teeth-eroding next time, OK?

Friday 8 February 2013

Jumping Jack and High on Fire at Islington Academy

When we walked into the venue, I figured Jumping Jack had to be winding up their set, they were giving it so much effort. I assumed I was seeing their finale. But actually they must only have been a song or two in, because they played on for a good 20-odd minutes more after that, all of it at the same admirable level of intensity.

Admittedly towards the end they started to become just a little bit samey, but throughout they walked a fine line between being satisfyingly heavy and OTT theatrical, and just about managed not to fall off. Their drummer was great, and seemed to be having about as much fun as I've seen anyone have on stage, although he really needs to learn how to catch the sticks he tosses in the air.
And, as my gig buddy pointed out, that name - good Christ guys. Still, sterling effort.

High on Fire, needless to say, were in a dimension all their own. I'd seen and loved them once before, supporting Fear Factory a year or two ago, but teasingly briefly given that they were the only reason GB and I were there, and we walked out of FF after about 10 minutes.

It took HoF few minutes to get going this time around, but they - ahem - broke the ice with the gargantuan Frost Hammer, and from there on out it was unadulterated awesomeness. Frost Hammer was followed by the even greater 10000 Years, and I thought the guys had peaked with Rumours of War, until the penultimate pre-encore track (a slower one: I don't know what it was but would love to be told) stepped it up even further, and then Snakes for the Divine all but swept away all that had gone before, so shining and stunning was its brilliance.

High on Fire are all about the guitar. Of course, they're a tight as hell unit and every part of them comes across with perfect clarity, but by God does Matt Pike own that fucking instrument. Not since Mastodon last year have I had so much to enjoy in that respect. High on Fire are a lesson or a privilege or a parable, or something. They're more than just an awesome band, they are a thing to be witnessed and savoured, and everybody there knew it.

Next-morning P.S.
I was surprised by the venue. I guess there must be another area to it, upstairs or something, because I'm sure I've been twice before, but I remembered a long and narrow room, not the decent medium-sized space of last night. I'm sure it was there that one of the guys from Cancer Bats jumped from the stage to the bar and then ran the length of it, and he'd have needed to be Lion-O to have done that in last night's room.

The bigger space is decent, but these Carlsberg-only places seriously need to get their act together with their bevvies - the Export on tap last night was not right at all. Thankfully there was the option to switch to cans, but come on guys, sort it out.

Sunday 3 February 2013

The Austerity Program

If I were to promise you that you'd love The Austerity Program's Backsliders and Apostates will Burn EP, would you trust me enough to buy it, or at least check it out?

http://www.austerityprogram.com/audio/index.htm

Under most circumstances you shouldn't take anything I say on trust, because I don't know what I'm talking about, but in this case you definitely should.

Musically it's very very satisfying, but it also features some of the best lyrics and delivery I've encountered in heavy music.

And they have a new album coming out later this year. This excites me.

Unfortunately they rarely leave the US, so I'll probably never see them live, but I'm grateful for what I can get.

Just listen, OK?

Saturday 2 February 2013

Metz at Birthdays

I spent twice as long getting to this gig as Metz spent playing. 

We'd intended to catch the support too, but there were six of us and you know how that goes. We tried going to Jan's Bar for some Belgian beers early on, but the place appears to have shut down without bothering to say anything on its website. Which is helpful.

So then we went to the Jolly Butchers, which Gig Buddy had previously seen listed as one of the top ten pubs in the UK. And rightfully so. They have a selection of beers the likes of which I've never seen, and decent seating to boot. It's a hell of a pub.

Which might go some way to explaining why we were about an hour later than planned for our curry at Rasa, which in turn explains why we were late for Birthdays. Damn you excellent beers and superb food!

So we arrived at Birthdays about five minutes before Metz began. I'd never heard of the place before, and neither had GB. And no wonder, frankly. Having made straight for the bar on arrival, I turned around once I'd been served, only to discover that where I was already at was as close to the stage as I would be getting, given the layout.
Now, the blame is no doubt ours, for dwelling on our pre-gig beers and south-Indian food for far too long, but Birthdays as a venue is nothing more than an oblong hole in the ground. It's like a shoebox with the band as the toes and you as the scrunched up paper stuffing the holes before the feet come in. It's a tunnel, in other words.

I may be partisan. Birthdays could be to a Stokey resident as my beloved Brixton Windmill is to me - a place that exceeds its immediate charms by virtue of delivering a certain standard of music night after night after night. But it's hard to guess at that. For me, Birthdays was just a long hole where, after traveling 80 minutes, I then stared at the back of people's heads while a band played for half that time.

In fairness to Metz themselves, they were pretty damn good. If you like reverb-heaviness - and who doesn't - then you'd certainly have dug them. They were a bit noisy and had a bit of attitude and got things a bit rowdy - from what I could tell way back by the bar.

And alright, I may actually even be doing the venue a disservice. My mate and I ordered some thing called Briska initially, which turned out to be a cider rather than a beer, and that soured things right off. But the place allowed us to rectify that mishap and then some by stocking some SF Liberty Ale, and where else sells that? No other venue I could name.
But then I'd hoped to at least be able to pick up some music by the support bands from the merch station afterwards, and that was another disappointment, by then at least if not earlier too, as it offered nothing but Metz stuff. The support were apparently Fair Ohs and The Wytches, and I will check them out  tomorrow when I sober up a bit. And maybe I'll try listen to Metz's album again too, given that in this environ I'll actually have a clue what's going on....

Friday 25 January 2013

Novella and The Soft Pack at Cargo

Novella reminded me of one of those bands you see in clubs in tv shows when they need to convince you the characters are somewhere cool, like The Bronze in Buffy The Vampire Slayer, or the Crazy Horse in The Sopranos. They were moody but didn't particularly hold my attention, perfect for a pan away to a brooding Sarah Michelle Gellar after five seconds of exposition.

The trendiness of the venue doubtless had something to do with that impression, but mostly it was  that I generally struggled to single out any individual contribution from the trio of strapped-up attractive females at the front of the stage, bar the singing of course. For the most part, lead, second and bass all blended together to form a wash of sound, and while certainly not unpleasant, it didn't give me much to think about.
The drummer was the clear highlight for me, the part that raised the set into something just about worth watching. In fact he stood out so much that I began to wonder what he was doing there with the other three. At first I figured he must have something going on with the sultry vocalist, but when I noticed how little attention he paid to anything but his own good work, I decided this must be a guy who's in about seven different bands and doesn't care how good they are or aren't or how well they're received, but just motors from session to session each evening and rocks out, minding his own business at the back and yet being the best thing about each one.
As I said, Novella's music left substantial room for my mind to wander.
The same couldn't be said of The Soft Pack. I knew nothing of them before I turned up: my gig buddy kept telling me they were 'just so damn garage', and offered me a money-back guarantee if I didn't like them, and that was good enough for me. But I must not really know what GB means by 'garage', as I turned up expecting to see a fun bunch of guys with good ideas and a lot of energy but not a whole lot of polish, and what I actually got was a very tight unit with very considered material. No problem here picking out the individual components, which included very judicious use of a sax - again not something I'd expected from the description.

This was a band that have clearly put a lot of effort into their music, as evidenced for example by the facial straining of the lead guitarist, who throughout the set looked like he was in the final throes of throttling an elephant. Or maybe a whole herd. They started out well and gradually built to a finale that I think can legally only be described as 'coruscating'.

In opposition to my own impressions of the bands, though, the two guys I was with were actually a little disappointed with The Soft Pack, and much impressed by Novella. So either I don't know what I'm talking about, or it's different strokes for different folks. Or both. You decide.



Thursday 17 January 2013

The Connectors @The Windmill Brixton

Three bands played at The Windmill in Brixton last night - White Bone Rattle, The Connectors, and The High Commissioners - but I'd not seen my mate in a month, we had a lot of catching up to do, and the only band we paid any attention to was The Connectors. That's not to denigrate the other two bands: it easily could have been them instead had the timing worked out that way.

I enjoyed watching The Connectors a lot. They're a two-man outfit: drummer and guitarist/vocalist. Think 70's guitar melded to punkish drumming and grungy vocals, which somehow all work together pretty well. They have lots of energy for two guys, and they're pretty stylish too, in their grungy way.

You can find out here where to find them out there. I recommend you do it.