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.
Monday, 4 November 2013
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.
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.
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.
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 Morfín 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.
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 Morfín 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.
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.
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.
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