The Doors: Live at the Bowl '68

The 60s was a glorious period in the ephemeral world of music. Woodstock documentaries are still spewing forth from the vaults, and it only takes the phrase ‘8 seconds of previously unseen footage’ for the them to fly straight off the shelves again. To believe in the ‘technicolour dream’ is a little short of ridiculous, but then, with Coke bottle bong in hand and a far-out t-shirt round your neck, all the injustices and British weather really did seem to melt away. It was also – along with Punk and the New Wave of British Heavy Metal – remarkably fertile. Bands sprung up and cross-pollinated like rabbits: Jazz and rock butted heads with contemporary classical music, and the blues crossed over into the mainstream, with the old guard experiencing their own India summer.

Pedalling an all-together darker take on all this were the Doors. Known to everyone except his mother as the Lizard King, James Douglas Morrison was psychedelia’s own beat poet. He looked from the outside in at the hippie ideal, and one only needs to read the lyrics to ‘The End’ to see that – ‘lost in a Roman wilderness of pain/all the children are insane’ spoke volumes of a bleak world deluded in a haze of joint smoke and flower petals.

Recorded on the 5th July 1968, this concert received a partial, posthumous release in 1987. It does promote a grumble from the off, a handful of the tracks here having already appeared on other releases, but this CD/vinyl/DVD sees the show appear in its entirety for the first time. From intro to, err, ‘The End’, the restoration process has done wonders to these, frankly, bootleg-standard recordings. Just three years old and shining brightly, the band grasp the milestone with a carefully constructed setlist. On heavily improvised cuts ‘Back Door Man’ and ‘Light My Fire’, Jim’s poetic flights of fancy are reeled in, never becoming trying. What beggars the belief is the volume of quality material the band possessed at this point; in four years they released six studio albums, a feat unimaginable today. American radio staple ‘Hello, I Love You’ does a wonderful job of reinventing the Kinks’ ‘All Day and All of the Night’ into something much more sensual; Morrison’s alley cat croon comes alive with the song’s stampeding conclusion. 

Any pharmaceuticals involved are on the backburner, with Morrison in a cheerful mood and drummer John Densmore insisting they adhere to a proper setlist; practically sacrilege for a Doors performance. The hits and the esoteric reside together as ‘Spanish Caravan’ provides the perfect counterpoint to their bouncy cover of Brecht’s ‘Alabama Song (Whisky Bar)’. Morrison’s schizophrenic vocal prowess is given room to manoeuvre, between a feral howl and lilting, understated croon. Roman candles and firecrackers really make you jump during ‘Light my Fire’, as if you are there, among the 18, 000-strong crowd, checking to see if your shoes are still intact.

Like all good rollercoasters, everything comes crashing down in ‘The End’ – as with the studio version, it moves uneasily from its front section through near-silence beneath the Morrison narrative. The tension becomes almost unbearable, before reaching the top of the rollercoaster, crashing towards a thrilling coda.

Yes, at least a third of this release already exists, and yes, they were never going to please everyone – ditties ‘A Little Game’ and ‘Horse Latitudes’ could have been dispensed with in favour of superior studio tracks – but as a sonic document of a truly unique band with the world in its grasp, this is a triumph. Let them alter your perception.

Terminal Gods - Lessons in Fire

Martin Heidegger: Terminal thinker

With a string of European live dates iminant, I get a hold of the second single from rising London-based rock 'n' rollers Terminal Gods.

Having fallen victim to lazy, short-sighted journalism, it remains all too easy to write Terminal Gods off as yet another smoke and shades Goth-by-numbers collective.  In truth however, there was little tying debut ‘Electric Eyes’ to the Sisters’ well-trodden path of danceable gloom - a sing-along slice of leather-clad riffage that owed as much to Johnny Thunders and the Stooges as it did Brit-Goth’s second wave. Indeed, men sang in baritone before [Andrew] Eldritch, as plenty more followed: Jim Morrison fused the purring croon of Sinatra with edgier, more abrasive textures as the former still occupied a single figure age bracket. Of course, the photos are a tad incriminating, but you’ve only to talk with the band to see beyond that.

The DIY traits are all in place: that waxy vinyl aroma, homespun visual continuity, and a bonus track for the discerning listener. Even the cover art has a story – inspired by a line in Heidegger’s ‘Between Good & Evil’, discussing the image is anecdotal enough to bring a university graduate to quivers. A-side ‘Lessons in Fire’ fades in and, well, they’ve only gone and written a pop song – a spiralling 12-string riff, sparse verses and a harmonised chorus that despite lacking the ‘woah’ factor this time, will keep us hollering at our speakers for weeks to come. It’s certainly one of those relentless, dandruff dishevelling moments, with all four band members wrestling for your attention. ‘The Card Player’ is a much darker, less predictable animal. Wound tight to the point of suffocation, rhythm section Josh Cooper [guitar] and Katie Helinski [bass] come to the fore here in some of the band’s finest ensemble playing. While the song does not possess the former’s enduring vitality, there is enough stirring imagery in the wordplay to keep things interesting, that shaky guitar intro notwithstanding.

With the studio trickery of Goth supremo Tim Chandler conspicuously absent on this home-produced effort, all could have unravelled. Fortunately, with the steady hand of engineer Gordon Young [Pretentious, Moi?/Seraphin Twin], the sound is rich and organic; textured, without removing the four people between the grooves.

It packs a defiant punch, and as a statement of intent, is hard to beat. With a string of European dates imminent, Terminal Gods could begin living up to their name. You can call it daft, bombastic, even. Unfortunately, with amps to 11 and gassy pint in hand, no one can hear you. A worthy follow up. “You gotta do it again…”

The Eden House: Interview

The Duchess: York, 1st March 2012

The Eden House are a rare sort: a studio project drawing in three generations of musicians, taken out on the road and achieving much critical adulation for the debut album 'Smoke & Mirrors'. For the uninitiated, what we have here is a sound incorporating Goth, psychedelia and trip-hop, with a dash of folk, culminating in some seriously unique music. One could even call it 'progressive', but remember to mutter that one under your breath. 

Image Credit: manchesterscenewipe.co.uk

On the verge of dropping their full-length follow-up, with EP 'Timeflows' already on the shelves, here are the architects of that lovely racket – bassist Tony Pettitt [ex-Fields of the Nephilim], guitarist Stephen Carey [ex-This Burning Effigy; Adoration] and legendary Grammy-nominated producer and engineer Andy Jackson [Pink Floyd; Strawbs] – sat on makeshift benches in the less-than-glamorous loading bay behind York Duchess. “Join the club mate” says Tony, handing me a beer; as ice-breakers go it is certainly auspicious, I decline a cigarette and sit down. In truth, being sandwiched between used gym mats with cans of gassy bitter seems a happier home for the veterans than any hackneyed clichés involving willow trees and dry ice. The first in a string of UK dates, the show marks the band’s return to the stage following an eight month lay-off. 


Being back out on the road after a break, how does it feel playing gigs again?

      Tony: I’ll tell you later! No, I think that in an ideal world you’d write a load of stuff, play it live and then go and record it, but we don’t have that luxury; that said, playing live is a definite part of the creative process.

Andy: Having said that, we’re doing a new song tonight which may evolve again by the time you hear it on record. It’s very different to being in a studio; you can’t stop and talk about it when you’re play live – there’s no ‘let’s move the bridge here’.

Steve: Absolutely, the song hasn’t been recorded yet, and by the time we get to record it, it may be a little bit different to how it is now.

Tony: If you’re out on tour, doing gigs one after the other, things begin to take a new form; after three or four gigs the songs really start to come into their own. You get a sweet point after a week or so which we haven’t had a chance to do with this band yet.

Andy: The songs reveal themselves to you; doing this tour will open things up for the new material.

   

      Having worked on a lot separate projects, coming from several areas of music, what keeps you passionate about doing it?

Andy: Well, it’s the most fun you can have with your clothes on really isn’t it!

Steve: It certainly is! There are times when you’re up on stage – it’s rare, but happens a lot within this band – and you get that moment when it all locks together and something happens. You look around you and everything jumps up a gear and it connects, elevates. We’re very lucky with the singers we’ve worked with over the years, that they’re actually proper singers as opposed to the penchant for the low vocal thing.

Tony: There’s a varying degree of growliness really!

Val: For me, I enjoy singing, I enjoy writing, and the whole creative process really; the vibe you get from it is something quite special. I’ve been singing since I was very young and I always thought that was what I wanted to do.
Andy: With the first album it fluked into being all-girl vocals – there were tracks recorded with guys singing it – but it kind of happened by accident. But we’ve seized upon that, and it’s really great.

‘Timeflows’ has received universally positive reviews; everyone seems to have latched onto it pretty quickly. Were you aware of its strengths during the recording?

Tony: Because we had the opportunity to put out an EP, we thought ‘we can go really over the top’, as long as we like. To begin with, we were offered to do a 7 inch vinyl and then that turned into a 10 inch.

Steve: It quite literally went up by inches…

Tony: We worked out that if it was the length of a mini-album, we can get more out of it; more reviews, more gigs and stuff like that, you know?

Steve: It’s remarkable the way the press react to a 7 inch vinyl; it’s like a footnote, it comes out then it’s ignored. Whereas if you do an EP, it feels like it’s leading to something, and in a way it is – we pretty much have the rest of the album together.

Andy: The songs are in varying stages of completion but we’re getting there; we’ve pretty much decided what tracks are going to go on it – the EP was a good way of filling the gap before we release the next full length album.


Having a new singer with Val, are there any new directions that you’ve been exploring with the new material?

Andy: We have moved forward, but then I don’t think it was particularly conscious. ‘Smoke and Mirrors’ was a different nature of project; it was distinctly a studio project, bringing guests in, and now it’s a bit more band-oriented.

Tony: That’s it, ‘Smoke and Mirrors’ actually started off out of frustration, wanting to do something a little bit different to what we’d been doing before; it was for fun, it really was, and it’s just grown from there. Obviously now other people have got involved, different elements, and it really has taken on a life of its own.

Andy: We found Val by a fluke really; she supported us at our very first gig and it was like ‘wow, what a voice’. Val’s great because she’s so technically brilliant – she can do anything, sing anybody’s songs, and do any harmonies – so she’s a great person to work with.
Val: I actually hadn’t heard of them at that time. I got contacted to do a gig with them when they first started playing live, and a year later I was in the band permanently. It wasn’t particularly nerve-racking wirking with them, despite their calibre; I’ve collaborated with a lot of musicians before from different genres and styles, and I knew the work of the individual members, of course, I’m familiar with Pink Floyd, but then who isn’t…

Tony: After Val joined, she made us feel a bit secure in the fact that if it all went tits-up, she can always cover it. Whereas, with Evi and Amandine they’ve both got their own things going on, and with quite strong characters you never knew ‘are they gonna make this gig?’


With such a number of collaborators, is there a certain amount of push-and-pull with the song writing?

Steve: Of course there will be some ideas that you just go ‘I think you should get rid of that bit’, or ‘let’s chop up that bit’, you know?

Tony: Yeah there is, I think we’re each other’s bullshit filter!

Andy: There are no egos about it; if you play something and someone doesn’t like it then that’s fine, we’ll find something else. Or you fight your corner if you really believe in it, but nobody gets upset about it…
Val: When I write, I’ll come up with something, they’ll play to me and I will say ‘there you go’!

Steve: ...there are no pre-Madonnas, which is remarkable if you think about it; it’s actually quite painless!


How did the project come about in the first place?

Tony: It started off with Steve and I – we were both playing in NFD at the time – literally having a few smokes, a few drinks and some jams. We realised it doesn’t all have to be in-your-face 1988, 1989 Goth rehash stuff. The thing is we’ve all got different tastes in music; they meet in the middle, but are poles apart in other ways. We introduced each other to things that we grew up with.

Steve: Absolutely, I’ve learnt to love the Temptations and various other things from him [Tony] and equally there were some Cocteau Twins records that he never knew about!

Tony: Exactly, even though I was on their label; it was really weird; Steve was playing me this stuff and must have just passed me by. I love Liz Fraser’s voice, and for me the stuff she did with Massive Attack is the stuff that I love; I saw them years ago with the full line-up and it was one of the best gigs of my life. Really fantastic!


Andy, how did you first become involved in the project?

Andy: Well, I’d worked with Tony before, doing a couple of Nephilim albums; then Steve and Tony brought me ‘Smoke and Mirrors’ to master. That was the initial coming together, but then they needed a second guitarist going out live; Peter Yates [former Fields of the Nephilim] was going to do it originally, but had to pull out and for some reason they phoned me up, and it was like ‘okay, cool!’. Steve started showing me the parts and I’d play that initially.

Steve: More like, ‘this is what I think it is!’

Tony: I think as well we’re all local to each other and Andy’s sympathetic to the music we do; so it was a more-than-obvious choice. We’ve got a permanent studio set up in Steve’s house, which he’s given his rooms up for – he’s all squashed into one room now.

Andy: We did the Goldtop session to mix it, because obviously I can get the odd blag there [David Gilmour’s studio]. That was just a favour he did for me really!

       

      For Andy personally, working on the Pink Floyd remasters, has it been difficult working simultaneously with the Eden House?

Andy: Only in as much as – like everybody else – going to work and then doing something in the evening.

Steve: He says ‘like everyone else’, annoyingly, it is his day job; his 9 to 5 is going and mixing Pink Floyd.

Andy: I do appreciate that compared with most peoples’ day jobs it’s a lot more interesting but it’s still work at the end of the day.

Tony: Plus, you’ve been doing it for so many years that it’s the norm and that’s just what you do really.

Andy: You listen to it with a different part of your head, and in some ways something you never get the opportunity to do as someone who makes records is listen to it as a fan; hearing it for the first time, you never get that.

Tony: Do you know what, it’s only in the last few years that I’ve been able to go back and listen to the Nephilim’s stuff seriously and objectively. Now I can think ‘oh that’s alright’, or ‘that isn’t alright’, or ‘that goes on a bit…’

They [Fields of the Nephilim] did that gig with the Mission in October, and because I’d got pretty pally with Simon [Hinkler, the Mission] after he’d played with us, he said ‘are you going to come down to the gig?’ I didn’t want to bump into that lot and I wasn’t really interested in seeing them but I watch a couple of songs and thought they were okay; I thought I’d be really pissed off that I wasn’t up there, but I felt ‘I’ve done that’ – I didn’t feel anything. I bumped into Carl [McCoy, Fields of the Nephilim] afterwards anyway, because we hadn’t spoken in a few years, so we had a little chat and buried the hatchet right in the back of his head. No, it was actually alright, I think we’ve just got so many issues with each other that we couldn’t be bothered to talk about it, and we’ve been mates since we were young so it was good to catch up. Making those records were some of the best times of my life, not just because we had some success out of it, but I had so many laughs with them all.
     

      What can we expect from tonight’s set list?

Tony: A variety of material, some ‘Smoke and Mirrors’ stuff, a few things we haven’t recorded yet and of course something off of the new EP; we’ve tried to mix it up a bit.
Val: There will be plenty of the old stuff, and a few bits from ‘Timeflows’. There are a couple of songs in the set that either haven’t been recorded or seen the light of day yet, so there’s a lot of variety.

Andy: We’re actually at the nice stage now that when we write it all out, we’ve got to thin it down, because we’ve got more material than can fit into a set.

Steve: Obviously the first album, when we went out live, people would say ‘right, play for an hour’ and we’d think ‘but the album’s only an hour’. So it’s nice now to have some leeway with that.

Tony: There’s actually one song we’ve never played live; ‘The Beauty of Science’ with Julianne [Regan; All About Eve].

Steve: Yeah that song’s just guitar and brushes, so unless we develop that with a real feel to it, doing it live would be a bit of nightmare.

When can we expect the second album to be released?

Val: Possibly in the summer, that’s what we’re working towards. Things may change of course, but we’ve got an aim there and hopefully we can stick to it.

A Big Thank You!

Thanks to Neil Chapman [Unholy Racket] and Adam Parkin [Parkin Photography] for providing fantastic snapshots of a wonderful weekend at DV8Fest. You can follow the talents of these guys here.
Neil Chapman - http://www.facebook.com/UnholyRacket
Adam Parkin   - http://www.facebook.com/Parkinphotography?ref=ts

DV8Fest 2012: York - the Duchess, pt. 2

Image Credit: Parkin Photography

Saturday 30^th June: The Duchess

Trudging down Fossgate and man did the rain come down. The daytime market, located in National Centre for Early Music, was almost completely deserted with many of the traders sat twiddling thumbs and reapplying smudged eyeliner. The Golden Fleece – as seen on Living TV’s ‘Most Haunted’ and DV8s primary pre-show watering hole – continues to do a roaring trade. Hauled up in Pivni and sipping a draught Framboise Lambic, which is a manly drink, Berlin Black’s Chris Tuke appears relaxed, joining us for a while before heading over to sound-check. Being first on at 6.30pm ensures that only the faithful put down their glasses and wonder across the road, but Berlin Black turn in a confident, assured performance. New EP ‘It’s only Natural’ gets a good airing, and though the songs are perhaps less memorable than those from 2010s ‘Burn it Down’, there are enough hooks to get tail-feathers shaking.


Few knew what to expect from Siiiii – pronounced ‘sigh’ – who proved somewhat musically disjointed on tonight’s bill. Written of favourably by Mick Mercer during the inception in the early 80s, such patronage proved futile to many this evening. Paul Devine’s grumblings about their missing sound check are talked of more than the songs: a real shame when the likes of ‘Is Still’ and new cuts from last years ‘Modern’ have much to commend them. Younger listeners retreat to the sofas while the band climbs toward crescendos that never truly arrive, it is heavy going. Always less quixotic are Red Lorry Yellow Lorry, who have no trouble filling the venue again, despite an empty merchandise stand. Withered and chisel-faced, band leader Chris Reed remains an intense, imposing figure. Spawned from the nascent Leeds scene alongside the March Violets and Sisters of Mercy, the Lorries offer no showy gestures, just a relentless barrage of jagged, spiralling instrumentation. There is pogo-dancing aplenty as new songs fit in effortlessly with classics ‘Monkey’s on Juice’, ‘Beating my Head’ and ‘Spinning Round’. Reed’s vocals are beginning to show their age, but never buckle beneath that throbbing backline. It’s an apocalyptic vision and everything’s gone to pot, ain’t nothing to do but move with it.

Image Credit: Parkin Photography

It may be two decades since an album last graced their catalogue, but the Psychedelic Furs prove they can still cut the mustard with a muscular, driven set, bringing a burst of sunshine to the murky Duchess. Ten minutes late and faced with an increasingly impatient crowd, the Furs storm the stage with a crystalline sound. Since reforming the band in 2000, singer Richard Butler has retained his striking looks and Rod Stewart husk, visibly crackling with enthusiasm and bouncing up and down to the adulation of the crowd; he is the star of the evening and he knows it. Wrestling for the spotlight with saxophonist Miles Williams, Butler leads the band through early tunes ‘Into you like a Train’ and an extended ‘Highway Wire’ with real panache. While ‘Love my Way’ falls a little flat, a swirling ‘India’ practically ricochets from the walls, leaving enough time to gasp for air as a stomping ‘President Gas’ brings proceedings to a suitably sweaty end. Despite some mid-set hiccups and Butler’s amusing similarities to Brick Top – we blame the glasses - tonight the Furs leave their laurels at the door, a feat managed by few now resigned to the ‘heritage’ circuit.

Over on Gillygate, the Hellfire Club and Dead and Buried begin their sonic assault on the senses at Stereo, long-standing DJs Cavey Nik and Garry Hornsby crank out a veritable feast of Goth, post-punk, electro and all things in-between. New acquaintances are plentiful at these club nights: exchanging pleasantries over cups of gassy lager, or telling that bloke in the gents that ‘it’s gonna be alright’ as he evacuates his stomach lining. It’s also the only place one can pull by simply reciting lyrics to German post-punk, but that’s enough on that.

Sunday 1^st July: The Duchess

The turn-out is modest as Partly Faithful get the ball rolling for the final night of DV8 - the weather has come good and most are outside nattering, or enjoying a pint in the adjacent beer garden. Ex-Screaming Banshee Aircrew man Ed Tuke plays the role of Goth ‘n’ roll star very well, his raspy vocals pitch-perfect. ‘Needles’ makes good on their early promise, moving effortlessly from cacophonous intro to stomping Theatre of Hate grooves.

The changeover gave me the chance to mingle with some of the fans. I couldn’t resist discussing the acquisition of vintage Mission t-shirts, Bauhaus tattoos and decorated leathers – you can actually do that, with everyone welcoming and happy to indulge my wide-eyed questioning. Three-piece David R. Black have been operating under the radar for just shy of a decade, so it would be fair to say their boat has sailed, but new album ‘Secret City’ proves such notions mean said all. ‘Chimes’ and the soaring title track rub shoulders with punk riffage in ‘Guacamole’; they are eminently capable of switching gears without sacrificing their core identity. The mixed male and female vocals from guitarist David R and Sarit Black certainly add a unique polish, juxtaposing those spiky guitar shards. Well reviewed by underground and mainstream press, David R. Black sounds like Ausgang channelling the Who. Prick up your ears!



Image Credit: Neil Chapman [Unholy Racket]

Having just released their debut ‘VVV’ EP, London’s Vuvuvultures are stars in the waiting. Androgynous and photogenic, Harmony is the lovechild of Peter Murphy and Agyness Deyn, holding the crowd in the palm of her hand and belting out rockers ‘Strangler’ and ‘Pills Week’ with that wayward tornado of a voice. Rickety synths and an old Fender Mustang provide serious indie cred and a few smiles as the unruly instrument gets its second tune-up in 25 minutes. They are truly commanding, with every photographer and smartphone user scurrying forward to catch a glimpse. Plenty of specialist t-shirts stalk the floor as ex-Factory band Section 25 set up their gear. Since original singer Larry Cassidy’s passing in 2010, daughter Beth leads the band on vocals, synth and percussion. Tracks from their 1984 record ‘From the Hip’ – produced by Bernard Sumner – are the strongest, reminiscent of labelmates the Wake and bolstered by Beth Cassidy’s angelic vocals. New number ‘Will to Survive’ certainly leaves a sickly taste with its woeful greeting-card sentiments. Despite some gorgeous melodies, their aloof stage persona just does not measure up after Vuvuvultures’ ‘in your face’ antics; aside from the odd furtive glance, the band spend the majority of their set looking at each other, it feels like watching your mate’s band fumbling through cover tunes.

Tonight’s headliners need no introduction. The March Violets are triumphant, exuding confidence as they blaze through their back catalogue. Vocalists Si Denbigh and Rosie Garland command the Duchess, combining their powerful harmonies with a thoroughly British, humanising wry wit. Bass player/violinist Jo Moy keeps things solid and allows Tom Ashton’s creative guitar work room to shine. The mechanics overall is rather fitting as he welds discordant bends and early Television into ‘Crow Baby’s neo-psychedelic swirls. ‘My Demons’ makes its live debut tonight, and all signs point to splendid on the back of ‘Road of Bones’ and ‘Dandelion King’. Thanks to the wonders of the internet, Pledge Music has afforded the resurrected quartet the opportunity to record their full length debut, 30 years after their inception – quite unbelievable really, considering their pedigree and vast discography. Reaching a glorious crescendo with‘Snake Dance’, DV8Fest closes with the Violets delighting old fans, and winning new ones. Si’s Japanese monologue in ‘Tokyo Flow’ surely gave things a nudge. Though I continue to hear “last year was better” muttered in hushed tones, and will concede that attendance this year has been more modest, Sherrington’s DV8Fest continues to offer some serious bang for your buck. It’s a chance to make new friends, relive fond memories and dance like hell, all to the tune of 45 bands…with the odd takeaway chucked in.

Image Credit: Neil Chapman [Unholy Racket]

Thanks to: Neil Chapman - http://www.facebook.com/#!/UnholyRacket
                    Adam Parkin - http://www.facebook.com/#!/Parkinphotography

DV8Fest 2012: York - The Duchess, pt. 1

Now into its third consecutive year, few wagered that York’s very own DV8Fest – with its hodgepodge line-up spanning everything from trad Goth to Chap Hop, which isn’t about cricket – could amass the crowds of its two hugely successful previous events, and prove to be a hub for all things alternative. Split across three venues – the Duchess, Fibbers, and Stereo – these cobbled streets play host to four days of live music, markets and club nights; no wellingtons required, just a desire to be different.
Due to my inability to be in three places at once, this review is coming at you from the Hobgoblin Duchess stage, focusing on the roster’s more ‘pointillist’ artists (the ones jabbing at guitars rather than synths).
Thursday 28^th June: The Duchess



Image Credit: Parkin Photography

With the Duchess throwing open its doors at 6.45pm, din-dins time for many, the hysteria present at outdoor events is conspicuously absent. With many attendees troughing pub grub in the nearby Black Swan, the venue is barely half full with show time imminent. Mother Nature has already reared her ugly head; this afternoon’s lightning storm caused widespread blackouts through the city centre, resulting in a considerable delay to proceedings. A line-up shuffle sees the Chapman Family move from 8 to 11pm, after headliners Utah Saints, which understandably confuses punters. Festival organiser/host Chris Sherrington is apologetic and, thanks to his enthusiasm, mile-wide smile and straw hat, the audience is forgiving. Launching into a series of game show hand signals and bushy-topped trees at 12 o clock, he then disappears backstage and so begins DV8Fest 2012.

Bellowing through a sea of dry ice, the Last Cry gets proceedings off to an inauspicious start. The electrical faults have left little time for monitor balancing and any nuances are buried in a muddy mix. Front man Andrew Birch is drenched in echo and reverb, making his lyrics largely inaudible. Fortunately, these technical glitches vanished for Anne-Marie Hurst, turning in a no-filler 40 minutes. Opener ‘Cinder Road’ is a welcome surprise, with original Skeletal Family axe man Stan Greenwood gleefully marching about stage left. Beefier than their studio counterparts, the likes of ‘Lost in Munich’ and ‘Set Me Free’ sound massive, but it’s the inevitable ‘Promised Land’ that gets the biggest rapture. Forgoing the set list, Utah Saints Jim Garbutt and Jez Willis’ 60 minute rave is a DJ masterclass. Getting a full house up on its toes, patrons bumped, swayed and dived as Kurt Cobain mixed with dubstep and Florence Welch went trance. It was loud, it was sweaty, it made your trousers flap, it was great! As the ‘headliners’ leave the stage, the crowd begins to dissipate and the black-clad Chapman Family emerge as something of an afterthought. Despite miniscule attendance, the band is on fine form. Singer Kingsley Chapman was born for the stage, entranced in the rhythmic pulse of cuts from 2011s ‘Burn your Town’. The fuzzed-to-hell bass work on tunes from 'Cruel Britannia' becomes a little overpowering, but the band win through in the end. It has been strange opening salvo for sure, with its fair share of peaks and troughs.


Friday 29^th June: The Duchess

Image Credit: Neil Chapman [Unholy Racket]

With tonight’s ticket prices doubling in price, it is just as well that Thursday’s sound problems have been remedied with attendance up considerably. Openers, York’s own Panda Cubs, are the first real surprise of the weekend; their Factory-whispering sounds finding new fans amongst the DV8 contingent. Following a headline show at the Grand Opera House and an impending BBC session, Christian Silver and the Cubs are moving from strength to strength. Watch them closely. More local boys, Hellbound Hearts fail to draw a crowd with their flannel-shirted post-grunge. Raucous workouts from their new EP bristle with energy, with ‘Sinking Ship’ in particular rivalling anything put out by the likes of Heaven’s Basement. Sadly, their low-end riffing does not translate in the cavernous Duchess, punctuated only by Danny’s powerful buzzsaw vocals. Perennial Goff favourites Salvation suffer no such hang-ups, delighting with their shimmering psychedelic pop. From the line-up that brought you the overlooked album ‘SASS’, the band deliver tight, rocking performances of ‘Diamond Child’ and ‘All and More’, a stripped down acoustic version of ‘The Happening’ is a welcome interlude. Devout followers the ‘Deep-Sea Jivers’ appear to antagonise several spectators, some alienated enough to vacate the premises - nothing malicious of course, just alcohol-fuelled japes, and the culprits soon apologise. Headliners Terrorvision remain a true spectacle, even with ‘that ‘Tequila’ song’. Embracing the ‘lads having a lark’ image that won them so many hearts in the first place, they bludgeon a packed venue with amiable nonchalance. Frontman Tony Wright’s relentless Brit-pop bop is infectious, the crowd stomping their feet to the sing-along crunch of ‘Alice what’s the Matter’ and ‘American TV’. Unashamedly English and bloody proud of it, as ‘Perseverance’ crashes to a close and the band wave their final ‘turrahs’, Sherrington’s point is proven; this is no Whitby knock-off, but a stellar alternative music festival with its own legs, and those legs don’t stop dancing!
 



The Chapman Family - 'Cruel Britannia'

Stockton-on-Tees, a small market town in the north-east, is hardly stooped in rock ‘n’ roll heritage. Having driven through on occasion, it is, like my own home town, pleasant enough, but encourages the kind of escapism only music can provide. The Chapman Family formed in 2006, and quickly outgrew its surroundings, garnering considerable adulation from both mainstream and underground press. Their debut album Burn Your Town emerged last year following five years of touring, singles, and festival appearances – a late bloomer it may have been, but praised nonetheless.

I must confess that Burn Your Town completely passed me by. Blending art-rock influence with thrashing, dervish punk chords, the likes of ‘Anxiety’ simply didn’t resonate and as such, the band had all but faded from memory. Following a line-up change and some effects-pedal investments, new EP Cruel Britannia showcases a band beginning to live up to the lofty expectations put upon them. Darlings between the covers of the NME, the band at are at present the ‘go-betweens’ of alternative rock music; billed alongside Goth-crossovers O Children, with spot on last year’s DV8 Fest, while holding appeal to fans of Editors and Arcade Fire. In truth, the Chapman Family have manoeuvred to sound like none of these bands and instead simply sound like, well, the Chapman Family. Moving forward from their debut, a Jesus and Mary Chain swirl begins to show, but obvious leanings to the darkened vibes of Factory set them apart from fellow noise-mongering contemporaries, managing to eschew condescending comparisons to shoegaze royalty My Bloody Valentine.

The first thing you will notice about Cruel Britannia is its throbbing backline; particularly evident on ‘This English Life’, the fuzzed-as-all-hell bass guitar successfully threw me from my seat and blew my speakers in one fell swoop. Spattering along on a stately shuffle, building in intensity with singer Kingsley Chapman moving from croon to Morrison-esque howls at the epicentre of waves of guitar, initial claustrophobia is ripped apart as the final chords fade. Opener ‘No More Tears’ is possibly the least enticing of the five, sharing traits with Interpol and Maximo Park, the chiming guitars and rollicking beats are sure to get heads banging, but the vocals lack the conviction needed to elevate the song above a basic workout. ‘Summer Song’ on the other hand is served well by its restraint, beginning with ominous, discordant guitarmonies (check it) sliding into a glorious, soaring chorus. It’s clever song writing; for once again the melody lines retain their laidback pitch while the instrumentation revolves, signalling the changes.

The strongest cut here is the title track; taken alone, it serves as a bridge between the EP and Burn Your Town, a perfect synthesis of that record’s thunderous tempos with the sophistication of the new material. Sure, the lyrical simplicity may fail to inspire those of us refusing to wash our The Queen is Dead t-shirts, but serving the song is what matters, and Kingsley’s words float gracefully upon music, much like Ian Curtis' restrained incantations on 'Shadowplay'. Closing with a cover of Morrissey’s ‘Everyday is Like Sunday’ is certainly a welcome surprise, and provides calm, lilting coda. The walls have fallen down and you’re all moshed out, the stripped-back arrangement wraps around like a summer duvet, it’s an emotive way to finish; Kingsley’s vocals, exposed for the first time on this record, are genuinely moving.

Cruel Britannia is the sound of a bigger budget, bigger effects rack and most importantly, bigger ideas. At times, the band veers into ‘tried-and-tested’ territory – no bad thing, but if some of these tracks are to go by, they are capable of greater things, possessing a knowledge of dynamics and musical depth which could elevate them above their peers. An enjoyable record, growing with repeated listens.

Have You Heard: Aberdeen - 'What Do I Wish for Now? Singles & Extras. 1994-2004'

I’ve never been to California, but thanks to the ‘magic’ of modern television, it has nonetheless succeeded in permeating my imagination. What it has actually permeated me with would depend on the channel I was watching: E4’s love of imports brought me the saccharine rich kid pool-parties and spray tans of ‘90210’, with myriad excursions into ‘silicon valley’ through trashy documentaries; Quest on the other hand saw me revel in the native grasses and giant sequoias of Calaveras. A welcome schooling from Jack Kerouac merged these distant entities in ‘On the Road’, striding into a crowded café bar, taking a girl with no second name into the foothills and fooling around in the back of an old beaten sedan. Of late I have resigned such absolute, romantic visions to the fact that a seedy underbelly resides beneath postcards of the shimmering lakes of Tahoe or the rolling topography of Yosemite Park and Sierra, Nevada.

The only band from across the pond signed to the Sarah Records label, Aberdeen were able to capture the latter with an irresistible, naïve pop persuasion. Fronted by high-school sweethearts Beth Arzy (vocals/bass) and John Girgus (guitar), and a rotating cast of bid-part musicians and drum-machines, the group plied their glistening dream-pop across a handful of singles and one LP before disbanding in 2005. This CD, released following their demise, collects the band’s singles and EPs into something one could loosely call a ‘greatest hits’ package. Lumped in with the ‘twee-pop’ of Sarah – a ridiculous notion, given that only two releases exist with that label – Aberdeen, like the Field Mice, fell victim to cruel jabs from a vocal contingent of the press. Thankfully this did nothing to belittle their confidence, and their songs are still hummed in the shower by the receptive listeners of the original ‘indie’ generation. Compiled in chronological order, it is easy to chart the development both creatively and sonically from 'Byron' up to their final release, 'Florida', on Tremolo Arm Users Club, 2005.

Lyrically, the songs are not always brimming with the optimism one would imagine – like the Smiths, they favoured sardonic, playful one-liners wrapped in lush harmonies; a lethal combo to a paisley-clad English Lit student in their late teens. Their 1995 EP ‘Fireworks’ still stands out, sounding fresher than ever. The Byrds, a dashing of Supertramp and the occasional nod to the Cocteau Twins continues to set them apart from their contemporaries; slowly building to a swirling, psychedelic conclusion, the title track is a sonic document of corroding romance. ‘Super Sunny Summer’ is onomatopoeic to the highest degree – it swans along from one pithy escapist line to another, and I love it. Its vivacious backbeat and ringing guitars shimmer beneath Arzy’s breezy vocals. The nursery rhyme lyrics – ‘let’s catch a wave and say/the ocean’s blue, let’s sail away’ – are sweet to the tooth, sure, but are given a palpable vitality alongside the music. The halcyon groove of debut single 'Byron', with it's charming DIY cover art, is one of the weaker tracks here thanks to the spindly production, but still contains enough hooks to keep you coming back and back. Latter day tunes 'The Boy Has Gone Away' and 'Sink or Float' are more aligned with the likes of Belle & Sebastiane; not surprisingly, these remain the band's most commercially memorable, the latter receiving exposure on the soundtrack to 'Buffy the Vampire Slayer'.  

The namesake ‘Florida’ is Robert Smith’s day at the beach, all echo and reverb with a chorused staccato bass line – like the Cure’s ‘To the Sky’ holding a bucket and spade; a polaroid of ‘that great day last summer, remember?’ Something about the musical undercurrent is telling, you can almost feel that they had reached the end of their creative and personal tethers. Reading the booklet along with music confirms that unlike a lot of groups who separate their lives from their art – pretending everything is merry before pulling each other’s hair out off-camera – Aberdeen made clear the strains that would ultimately be their undoing.

If this article has given you a headache, I would not blame you: Aberdeen are one of those bands where resorting to hackneyed cliché – ‘achingly beautiful’, etcetera - is almost unavoidable, so my apologies. This is record plays out like those seemingly never-ending school holidays, the weather was always perfect, and throwing stones on the shore distracted from inner-turmoils we were all wracked with in our youth. The good news is that as we listeners grow up, have 'serious' relationships and begin finding our way in the world, the songs themselves remain timeless. If you need more, the band's sole long-player 'Homesick and Happy to Be Here' comes highly recommended. One piece of advice: do not play whilst flicking through old photo albums, your make-up runs.

For that sickly-sweet taste, for your viewing pleasure :)

The Groundhogs - Live at Fibbers: York 08/06/2012

It’s the end of the 60s: an incident at the infamous Altamont festival saw Hell’s Angels pummel several fans, resulting in the death of Meredith Hunter as she tried to climb onstage; the arrival of King Crimson and Black Sabbath had already begun to dispel the hippie ideal; and nights at the UFO club were a distant memory. Peace, love and flower power were collapsing beneath a nascent concrete jungle. In the midst of all this were the Groundhogs, a utopian musical force taking in blues, space-rock, psychedelia and just a dashing of prog – armed with hard non-hippie idealism and a manifesto for great cover art first laid down by ‘Sergeant Pepper’.

Four decades on and I’m stood in Fibbers on a rainy Friday evening, surrounded by a mass of bald heads and wispy beards flecked with white. For the first time this year, I am in the presence of tie-dye that reeks of patchouli, hearty conversations on the merits of Amon Duul II, and being bought beers by a gentleman because ‘mate, you look like a young Jon Anderson’; there’s one for you to Google. The Dan Hudson Blues Band are the perfect opening act, wading earnestly through blues classics from every side of the Delta, culminating in a stomping ‘Get My Mojo Workin’, the audience responded generously, though seemed reluctant to break off from their social groups toward the stage. Bang on 9.30pm and the Groundhogs emerge from the pokey Fibbers dressing room into the violet lights; band leader and sole surviving original member Tony McPhee offers a furtive wave as he takes up his white Fender Strat. These days, the band is fronted by eternal flower-child and McPhee's wife Jo Deacon, who indulges in some entertaining banter throughout the set – cue a point at this young writer and a friendly jibe about my youth.

Singer/guitarist Tony McPhee has come through slaughter to be here; suffering a stroke in 2009, the snowy-haired gunslinger has fought his way from barely being able to ask for a cup of coffee to where he is today, scraping the outer-reaches of the cosmos with his innovative playing. Tonight’s set draws on the ‘classic years’, 1968-72; from ‘Scratching the Surface’ through ‘Hogwash’. There’s a real sense of community in the venue; that these fans are here as much to support Tony as to listen to his band’s music. His lingering speech impediment causes lyrical stumbles on several tunes, but he really gets his chops around ‘Eccentric Man’, much to the delight of the crowd, and Deacon, who looks on proudly between her forays into mad psychedelic dancing. Token cover song ‘Still a Fool’ – the Muddy Waters number by McKinley Morganfield – lacks sonic conviction, but I put this down to a somewhat boggy, bass-heavy mix, a problem which thankfully did not last.

The band’s onstage camaraderie is undeniable, and Thor-heavy drummer Carl Stokes, well, I just wanted to be him, pounding away on his kit with a serene grafted across his face. Deacon’s psychedelic freak dancing should be upsetting to me as a ‘youngster’, but she does it with such charm and merriment, I couldn’t help but join in myself. The endless boogie of ‘Split pt. 1’ and ‘…pt. 2’ allows the band to cut loose somewhere between Hawkwind and Electric Ladyland-era Hendrix, with some creative bass work. Classic wig-outs ‘Garden’ and ‘Split pt. 4’ veer between dreamy textures and growling swamp-rock, the latter featuring some seriously erratic, thrilling slide playing – an aural vision of some acid-tripper, dancing in the UFO club. Set closer and fan favourite ‘Cherry Red’ gets a rapturous reception, with every tie-dyed shirt and denim jacket joining in for the falsetto chorus. Yes, in today’s eyes, one could dismiss tonight as a glance over an old photo album, great no doubt, yet no longer relevant – despite the fact that 90% of the audience’s mode of dress is strangely fashionable at the moment, mine included – but ultimately, it is the music that matters. Tonight Tony McPhee and his band proved why they wielded such acclaim in the honeymoon period. They remain, albeit in new guise, poised and roaring with power; McPhee is a strong and admirable figure, who can bend strings with the best of them. I just had to shake his hand. Freaking out? You’d better believe it. Down and out? Not on your life.

The Beach Boys - 'That's Why God Made the Radio'

True, this is the first record from Brian Wilson and the Beach Boys in over 16 years, but their music has remained undiminished and has experienced something of resurgence in popularity of late. Last year saw The Smile Sessions released after four decades in the vaults; Brian Wilson’s unfinished masterwork was lapped up by an eager public and the ever-discerning music press. Their sunny-side-up harmonies are indulged by everyone from Fleet Foxes to Belle and Sebastiane and the Sleepy Jackson, while their ambitious, orchestral arrangements reside within just about any knob-twiddling producer you could name.

That’s Why God Made the Radio has the trademarks all present and correct. 12 tracks of gleaming, irony-free melodies that could easily have you believe the last four decades never happened. Of course, those who have followed Brian Wilson’s career will be very much aware of the singer’s personal woes, but to elucidate for those unaware, the man’s dark side is caught in a tug of war, rearing its head once more on this release. Father time is a shadowy presence on this record, and so Mike Love’s namesake optimism is at loggerheads with Wilson’s bleaker grandiosities. That said, we have managed to escape unscathed from a repetition of '...Reimagines Gershwin' - a venture as breath-taking as it was impenetrable.
As for the material itself, the wordless opening salvo moves into focus like a church service, gathering the congregation before bleeding into the title track. The harmonies are righteous, infectious, and perfectly fitting lyrics such as ‘cruising at 7/push button heaven’, soaring over an insistent staccato rhythm, the guitars are light and breezy and the horns and squeezebox punctuate things nicely. The a cappella middle section is gloriously uplifting, and the sudden dynamic shift allows the insistent chorus line to elevate the song until its fade-out. With old muckers Jeffrey Foskett and Bruce Johnston, as well as veteran colleague David Marks on board, Wilson, Love and Al Jardine have seldom sounded this unified.

‘Isn’t it Time’ jigs along to ‘I Get Around’s percussion, the love-struck bop is emphatic of the record’s entire first half – backward-looking, but nonetheless reflective, perhaps best illustrated in the rye-humoured ‘easy money/ain’t life funny’ in ‘Spring Vacation’. Wilson’s presence is felt much more on the album's second half. In the days of vinyl this would have come as less of a shock – when side one finished, the listener can reflect, make a cup of tea, readjust and turn-over before continuing – but on CD or download, it comes upon the ears rather abruptly. Two songs in particular deal with the themes mentioned above. First, ‘Strange World’ is a bleak weather forecast, Wilson struggling to grasp the reins in an ever-changing environment. ‘Pacific Coast Highway’ is every bit as salmon-skied as its title suggests, yet again echoes the ‘coming to the end of the track’ sentiments only brought about by that thing my parents like to call ‘life experience’. Lilting visions ‘sunlight is fading and there’s not much left to say come hand-in-hand with a chilling evening breeze - ‘I’m better off alone’, conscious without being rueful.

The passage of time – and his cruel sibling, age – permeate this record like the two fired band mates who just refuse to leave, but with this inward focus emerges a reinvigorated band still bursting with ideas, harmonies and of course, the odd pop gem just for good measure. The Beach Boys continue to occupy that most coveted of positions in the ephemeral world of music. They have vintage without the burden of nostalgia, while seamlessly retaining popularity and relevance in the rapidity of the 21st century; a land of Toyota Priuses, iPhones, and structural uncertainty.

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Patti Smith - 'Banga'

Patti Smith has always had a handle on ‘shaman-poet’ notions, an imperative that some have tragically fallen under as Jim Morrison did in 1971. Cut in Electric Lady Studios – the birthplace of Horses some 37 years ago – Banga comes as a result of a four-year creative streak, ticking things off the Smith ‘to do’ list. In the last two years, she appeared in Jean-Luc Godard’s video polemic, ‘Film Socialisme’, published her award-winning memoir, ‘Just Kids’ documenting her friendship with Robert Mapplethorpe, and collected an honorary doctorate from Rowan University.

While the release has already racked up unwarranted comparisons to her debut, Banga represents a stark dichotomy in its position as ‘earth mother’ rather than the howlin’ wild child of yesteryear. While musically this record is as much a pick 'n' mix as the four years yielding it, the songs are united in their eulogising and nurturing of friends, colleagues and strangers. So, without further ado please welcome our cast: Amy Winehouse, actress Maria Schneider, Robert Mapplethorpe, explorer Amerigo Vespucci, novelist Nikoli Gogol, Johnny Depp, the survivors of the Japanese tsunami and Pontius Pilate’s dog, no less! All the while, the collection is peppered with futurity and the sound is bright and guitar-heavy, making this motley crew coalesce in the strangest of ways.

Smith’s visceral growl has cooled off with age, best emphasised on spoken word pieces like the swirling, 11-minute ‘Constantine’s Dream’; inspired by a postcard she received of an old Dimitri Levas painting.

Her voice has softened into a kind velvety lilt, lending a strange gravity to every breath, even during her trademark scats. Opener ‘Amerigo’ reimagines travelling and visiting the indigenous population of Vespucci’s new land. The song unfolds like an old forgotten letter, corners all creased and paper gone brown: the rhythm section strides along smooth as the ink on the page, with rolling italics and curled ‘g’s, while Smith’s vocals play out between a purr and a wheezing catch of the throat. It’s infectious refrain - ‘Where are you going? And are you going anywhere? Where are you going? Send me a letter, if you get there at all’ – is the perfect counterpoint to her more esoteric references, and the simple guitar and string lines beautiful unscramble the prose for the uninitiated.

The stoic ‘Tarkovsky (the second stop is Jupiter)’ comes across as heavy-handed at times, it’s sprawling pace certainly does not careen with past energies. But there is something wonderfully humanising in the etched linguistic idiosyncrasies that continue to permeate Smith’s work – something as simple as her New Jersey pronunciation on ‘wuter’ never fails to raise a smile. An elegy to Amy Winehouse in ‘This is the Girl’, for all the late jazz singer’s blemishes, is idyllic enough to give her gorgeous ‘Back to Black’ another spin. The affecting keyboard parts are vivid, the harmonised chorus moving enough to bring Winehouse to the foreground and, just for second, take on life again. ‘Maria’ (for Maria Schneider) is understated and spare, if not entirely successful. ‘Seneca’ with its minor-key acoustic arpeggios and Mazzy Star-like inflections is sorrowful for sure, and Patti’s sandy vocals are as affecting as anything from ‘Easter’.
If any criticisms were to come, and I’m sure they already have, they would be of the inflated nature of the lyrics. But herein lies the dichotomy of Patti Smith: poet laureate, mother, photographer, activist, rock n roll icon…which is she? To the casual listener, there is something undeniably daunting about the record’s weighty storylines, but on repeated listens, this is a warm and compelling album.

This is not a career high, but in the aural, secular religion that is Patti Smith's music, the singer remains among the precious anointed few to wield considerable power. She can cast a spell on her audience that is seldom broken, and, with the right pair of ears, this collection is yet another bottle of elixir. Her position as ‘Rimbaud with amplifiers’ remains intact.

Sourced from The Yorker: http://theyorker.co.uk/arts

Neil Young and Crazy Horse - 'Americana'

Ah yeah, Neil Young. Man, I remember dad putting on a record when I was 13 – Harvest, it was called, released in 1973 – and I stared at that inside cover for hours. There he was, slender-framed and straggly-haired, like some old hippie you’d see off the television. The fact that Young was Canadian never made sense to me; ‘Heart of Gold’s voice smooth as freshly spun honey and the coppery clatter of acoustic guitar, like I’d taken a turn off an unmarked track, settled in for the night and warmed my dusty boots by the campfire.

A seriously hardworking artist with huge universal appeal, Young’s back catalog is vast, diverse and impressive. His unique, choppy guitar style blends seamlessly between bona fide solo classics – Rockin’ in the Free World, Like a Hurricane – through his various collaborative projects – Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young’s wonderful Déjà vu – and with his late 60s group, Crazy Horse. Here they are together again; Americana is the band’s first studio release in almost a decade since 2003’s goofball novella Greendale and once again Young and co. refuse to rest on their laurels. Quite the opposite, as a matter of fact, because they’ve gone back to nursery school; opening with ‘Oh Susanna’ and ‘Clementine’, you’d be forgiven for drawing blank expressions, but Young and Crazy Horse are not giving mere run-throughs of these old folk tales. All but one of the eleven tracks here rage with psychedelic proto-grunge thunder, tom-toms pound like shotgun blasts and, unless I’m mistaken, I never felt chest pains from the rumbling bass singing ‘Oh Susanna’ at cub scout meetings.

Oh yes, even with songs sweet enough to make your teeth hurt, in these veterans’ hands they’ll make you cough and splutter like a chain-smoker, stompin’ your foot to the gelatinous chords and wispy leads of ‘Clementine’ and ‘God Save the Queen’. There will be Horse die-hards out there wishing Young always sounded this way. The band’s trademark sludge, even when coupled with a children’s choir on the latter, is rousing and angular throughout. As an artist frequently baring his innermost feelings for all to hear, the songs themselves are metaphoric of the path to childhood regression many have trodden at this stage in their careers. Australian poet Steve Kilbey once wrote ‘I go back to my blindness so I may see again’, referring to the purity of thought we experience at adolescence, before the world’s ills begin to permeate our outlook, and so there is something morbid and strangely prophetic about the children clueless, singing lines from ‘Tom Dula’, an uneasy tale of man bludgeoning his lover to death before being committed to the gallows.

The records sole acoustic number, ‘Wayfarin’ Stranger’, is a welcome change from the grungy stomp of its neighbours, yet it offers little respite from the weighty themes touched on in ‘…Dula’ or ‘Travel On’, the protagonist imagining richer pastures in the afterlife. You do have to wonder who exactly the Americans in these tales were, but then, that is the point. It’s a means illuminating the past whilst keeping one foot firmly in the present. ‘This Land is your Land’s hoedown harks back to seldom-sung verses that emphasise a defiant character.

Across this collection, Young and Crazy Horse create an interesting weave of trademark grit, subtle humour wrapped in concrete meanings (‘God Save the Queen’) and the uncanny ability to rewrite the past in their own image. Sure, some of themes can be jarring to the discerning listener, but the radical re-imagination has to be credited. A great listen.

Joey Ramone - 'Ya Know?'

Jeffry Hyman, alias Joey Ramone, led a turbulent life. His notoriety as a cult icon came at a price; his shyness and insecurities frequently crippled him in the face of a vicious music press. By the same token, these traits are arguably why his reputation has endured since his death in April 2001, following a seven year battle with lymphoma. Unlike Lydon or Strummer, the young rebel never saw himself as the anointed saviour of rock 'n roll; he wrote his lyrics on the back of shopping bags and, at least on the outside, carried with him the naïve persuasion of a school boy on his first date.

As an eleven year old Ramones addict, yelling the ‘wun, choo, free, faw’ gospel on the bus to school, I took Joey’s passing very hard indeed. His seemingly eternal youth was inspiring to me, and at that time I knew very little of his inner turmoil; I learnt a harsh lesson about the terseness of life, something I would only realise fully years later, picking up Floyd’s ‘Dark Side of the Moon’. In the late 70s, while us Brits were content with chucking bile at the middle classes and pretending to despise everything, the New Yorkers aligned to a more inventive, hook-driven approach. If you wanted to get raucous with The Ramones, you could; if you wanted to get arty with Television you could; if you wanted to get prophetic with Patti, you could. CBGB’s was a veritable melting pot of youthful exuberance.

This posthumous collection is a 50 minute whistle stop of demos and unreleased material written and recorded during The Ramones' 23 year lifespan. Featuring producers Jean Beauvoir, Ed Stasium, and Daniel Rey, all of whom had dealings with the band, this collection – like 2002’s ‘Don’t Worry about Me’ – serves as a remembrance of one of rock’s most misunderstood figures. That voice of his remains divisive, and it is difficult not to make Ramones comparisons, but 'Ya Know?' contains a few surprises. The occasional ballad aside, everyone knew what to expect from The Ramones. No bad thing of course, but their gawky frontman had more to him than their patented blend of bubble-gum surf-punk. One such chameleon moment is the sublime country drawl of Waiting for that Railroad - something Bruce Springsteen would manage to dress in a flannel shirt and spoil - but in the hands of the Forest Hills boy is sweet without ever turning saccharine.

There’s Got to Be More to Life is signature JR couplet repetition, but the mid-tempo stomp is its Achilles heel. The breakneck pace of old did well to hide lyrical shortfalls and is laid bare here, though the female backing – a recurring feature – keeps things pleasing. On the other hand, the swaggering 21st Century Girl is pure rock 'n roll, featuring a Kinksy riff from Joan Jett and a purring vocal that you just know JR is enjoying. His loveable nature makes him difficult to criticise, but I’m afraid to say this album has its share of turkeys. Despite it’s truly dire title Seven Days of Gloom is a solid punk-rocker, but you can’t help but feel its outro payoff should have come two minutes earlier; New York City is for the most part inaudible, sounding like it was recorded in a bathtub, in a house three streets away. A re-recording of The Ramones’ Merry Christmas (I don’t want to fight tonight) elevates things again; starker than the ‘Brain Drain’ version, with little more than vocals, guitar and obligatory sleigh bells at times, JR’s gritty warble is sure to give the heartstrings a tug.

There is nothing ground-breaking here, and none of the tunes quite match the grinding intensity of, say, Poison Heart - arguably his finest vocal moment and a bona-fide anthem for the disenfranchised – but 'Ya Know?' elucidates a singer who, beyond the Queens New York cracks, was hugely emotive and versatile. Ramones devotees will lap this up, and it will serve as an interesting curio to others. Granted, he probably would have been laughed off the X Factor, shot down in the Voice, but man, Gimme Gimme Shock Treatment any day!

Sourced from the Yorker: http://theyorker.co.uk/arts/music/albums/11572

Public Image Ltd - This! is! PiL!

I haven't updated the blog in while due to other commitments but I am well and truly back (babee!). It's a welcome to new fans and a cheery old hello to my ever-expanding Siberian following.


It’s remarkably difficult to love John Lydon these days. Certainly those [Country Life ads] banged the last nail in the coffin for those who doubted his snotty-nosed sincerity, but it is the revenue the singer generated here that made this release possible in the first place.

Already, commentators have been aching to poke fun at the déjà vu moments surrounding this album – another Royal jubilee, a modest Pistols get-together, and the reformation of Lydon’s post-punk project Public Image Ltd. Even at their most meandering, PiL (as they are often known) were always interesting. Opting to sigh and creek and rattle along in a dub-influenced negation of four-to-the-floor rock riffage, their early work is still highly regarded by the right people, and at the very least acknowledged by others. A fantastic triptych – 'First Issue', 'Metal Box', and 'Flowers of Romance' – followed by a slip-slide down through poor production and patchy writing meant that to many, their potential was never fully realised.

**This! Is! PiL!** is a strange and unwieldy beast. The trademark Rotten fury permeates the likes of 'The Room I am in', but frequently comes across as befuddled, despite the topic choice – British Council Housing no less – providing for some suitably close-to-the-chest altercations. The no-frills production works well on 'Human' and 'Deeper Water', the latter evoking the very best in Factory Records’ echoing guitar styles. There are points however, when things go wrong and in doing so, threaten to tarnish the rest of the album; 'Lollipop Opera' is quite intolerable to the ear, and 'It Said That' is the aural equivalent of pre-school collage, without any of the direction.

Niggling aside, 'Reggie Song', with its cod-Reggae vocal, high harmonies and backwards guitar, is a favourite – deranged and charming, summed up neatly by the line ‘I am from Finsbury park/ and I’m having a lark’. The closing numbers hark back to the drawling dub of yesteryear; 'Out of the Woods' in particular wouldn’t be out of place on any of the above releases, nine minutes long and staggering along sinister as some back-alley drunkard. This is among the more frustrating reunion albums I’ve come across, one which adds little to the band’s catalogue, yet does not detract from it either. It stands instead as a testament to John Lydon who, for all his butter-churning and faux-raging, is still full of street-smarts, and capable of some wonderful turns of phrase. There is plenty for die-hard fans to appreciate here, but for a fair-weather, buy 'First Issue' and go from there.

And Also the Trees - Interview with Justin and Simon-Huw Jones

Firstly, a big thank you to Simon and Justin for their in-depth discussion from these questions. This is the full, unedited interview transcript from my interview with the brothers.

Established in the rolling hills of Worchestershire in 1979, And Also the Trees have forged a career spanning three decades. From the pastoral, electric folk of early releases, the 50s cocktail beat and Fitzgerald affectations, to the near-classical, Spanish influence at present, this is a band one could truly define as 'original'. Against a backdrop of galleries, museums and music halls, it is hard to imagine their modest, underground beginnings from their position as a high-brow cult outfit. Talking to brothers Justin [guitar] and Simon-Huw Jones [vocals] today, I was keen to learn more about this unique, progressive and quintessentially English group.

I guess I'll start from the beginning...

1. Growing up in a village such as Inkberrow - an upbringing I wholly

empathise with - how did you become interested in music, and later, how

easy was it to book shows as a fledgling band?

Justin - We had older brothers and sisters who were I suppose pretty much the first generation of teenagers, that is to say they were exposed to youth culture that hadn't really existed before in history. These were people who were listening to bands of the 60's as they happened, so we came along in the second wave. We just happened to be around and interested in music that bridged that interesting period between the late 60s and the late 70s. I suppose it was an important time in music, lots happened in a decade and being a teenager whilst the New Wave happened was tremendously exciting. Even if you were stuck at the bottom of a hill in the middle of the English countryside.

Simon and I thought it would be a good idea to start making music when I was about 13 and he was a bit older. You didn't need to be able to play instruments with any proficiency in 1978, or at least that is what we understood. So we started a band with our friends who were also brothers. We were terrible of course, but I suppose coming at everything from a different angle and that is what must have ultimately shaped the way AATT turned out. We were outsiders, people treated us with suspicion in the village, they always did. We were known as [adopts old worcester accent] "them Jones brothers down the 'ill, them's weird them are thems only eats rice".

Not many people played guitars back then, just old heavy rock bands here and there. We played pubs in villages and towns with our own home made amplifiers, speaker cabs and a chip board PA that we made. We didn't have the money to buy decent gear and frankly wouldn't have known a quality amp or guitar if it spoke to us. I still have the same guitar I had then. Can't find a better sounding one. Its probably superstitious but I think I will always use it, I found out it was made the same year as me, only in Germany.

2. Between Simon and yourself, you have wonderfully unique approaches to your respective instruments - your guitar-playing has at times evoked Pentangle's Bert Jansch for me. Simon's lyrics whispering Samuel Coleridge - what inspired your particular styles?

simon - Well, not the romantic poets at all actually - I'd say I was inspired most of all by the combination of Justin's music and my surroundings. Dylan Thomas' poetry and prose moves me and has done for a long time... I am influenced by most books that I read and films that I see, and I suppose I've been influenced by certain artists and artistic movements. The bands singers that I have never tired of are - The doors, Bowie (up to a point), early Roxy music, Tom Waits, Scott Walker.  From that period when AATT I'd say my favorites are Joy division. Who out of that lot has influenced my style is hard to say.

Justin  - Don't know much about Bert Jansch. I will look him up.

To be honest I don't really know where influences came from. I don't have any particular guitar favourites. Possibly Pete Townsend, he had a lovely way of moving from major to minor and telling stories with music, so did Arthur Lee's Love. I think musically soundtrack composers from the 1960's had the most effect on me. I think a lot of it is to do with dynamics and tension builds and release with oddities , lots of oddities.

3. Your initial relationship with the Cure, so I'm told, came from sending

Robert a home demo tape. Was this on whim, or had you had prior contact?

What connections did this relationship afford you?

Justin  -  No that was just a naive idea that this was the way the industry worked, you send a tape to someone, they like it and then you play live together. Oddly that's the way it worked out. 

I'm still in touch with Smith, going to see his band next week funnily enough.

We toured England/Scotland together a couple of times (maybe 3 times)  in 1980-1984. It helped us a bit in the UK but not enough to get a record deal at that time and so its difficult to gauge what real effect it had especially in mainland europe where we work more than anywhere.

We always got on well with them (the Cure) I think they liked us being outsiders and in some ways living a parallel existence of obscurity. They wrote great pop songs, we certainly didn't, we had something in common though as I say, maybe just that we are in the 'black lodge', and they have been stars.

4. Obviously, being 21 means I never got to 'grow up' with the band, but I could argue that you 'found your sound' (apologies for the cliche) with 'A Room Lives in Lucy', continuing through to 'The Millpond Years'. Was there a collective sense that the EP and subsequent albums were particularly special?

simon: What was special about it, looking back, was probably the feeling that we'd developed our own musical personality... we felt alone, like outsiders, and in its own way that was quite exciting... as well as being a hinderance and a bit of a burden.

5. American, and in particular, European audiences seemed to share a deep connection with the music; why do you think this was?

simon: We have talked a length, often, about why we are more popular in certain places than others and have never come up with a satisfactory conclusion. It is certainly affected by media exposure and how frequently we play in places, but there is probably more to it than that.

6. Your 90s releases such as 'the Klaxon' and 'Angelfish' saw a slight shift in direction for the band's sound. Was this a natural development or something that you were keen to try out?

Justin  -  It was by and large a conscious decision to take a different road, we felt we had explored  that particular direction enough and got interested in a group of different influences through Art, Music and Film we thought we would go on a different journey. It was good to do it at the time, although we alienated the majority of our audience who didn’t understand what the hell we were doing. Typically AATT business suicide.

7. The five year break between 1998 and the release of 'Further From the Truth' seemed to fuel rumours of the bands demise. After nearly two decades of hard work, was it simply the desire to take a much-needed rest? What did you do to keep occupied during this period?

Justin  - Well we moved away from our nerve centre and no longer lived in the same country, let alone county. It was impossible (or so we thought) to continue as we had been. I remember thinking after a couple of years of living in London, away from everyone, that it would be interesting to resume the journey. We never dissolved or split or anything like that, just paused. If there was a will there would be a way.

8. How much of an affirmation is it to you that in a medium as ephemeral as 'the music world' people still hold your music with such regard and that younger people like myself can get such joy out it?

simon: It helps a great deal. The music business is a strange and unwieldy entity - you never know if you will be there from one day to the next; it's good to be appreciated.

9. 'When the Rains Come' and the subsequent acoustic tour displayed a new side to the band. What were your motivations behind reinventing the sound in this way?

simon: It happen almost by mistake as we were kind of pushed into playing a live acoustic show on a Parisienne rooftop by a great bloke called Damien who was organizing acoustic gigs on his terrace. He knew our music well and was very persuasive and together. So we played one night on a night off on tour and it went very well. We'd never done anything like it before, particularly Justin and I, and we felt a great feeling of liberation in the knowledge that we could actually perform anywhere we liked - with no electricity if necessary, and there was a closeness about the performances that was very special too. A closeness within the band and also with the audiences. And then the reworking of the songs was very enjoyable and rewarding too.   

10. With a new album on the way, what does the future hold for the band? Do you still have the feelings and motivations about making music now as you did in the 1980s?

Justin  - Actually it seems a bit harder to create something of worth. Strangely having members drop out of the band in some ways has made a potentially negative situation bring about unexpected results. You work in a new way as we did on the last (electric) record, that has been pleasing. But knowing you already made 11 or how ever many albums we have made now, makes me aware that I have perhaps already done everything I could have done.

I still don’t think we have ever made a really ‘good’ record, we are better live.

Not having been able to ever ‘pin down’ a record makes it strangely elusive, attractive, and sort of addictive.