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!

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...?

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.

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.

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

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?