Chimpomatic

Plate Six

Battle Hymns For A New Republic

One Little Indian

This is more like it.  In these hostile times, with the man who gives monkeys a bad name hovering his unopposable thumb over the button, you’d have thought there would be more anger and aggression coming to the musical fore.  Sure, there have been numerous songs of discontent, but in lacking an edge they come across as a slow-handclap from  the W.I.  To be honest I don’t even know if Alabama’s Plate Six are pissed off with señor Bush per se - but they are damned pissed about something.  Their record is called Battle Hymns For A New Republic, a manifesto backed up by their music; music at the frontline, heavily armed with sonic molotovs.

It comes as no surprise that they are inspired by Fugazi.  After a 50 second opening of feedback (buckle up kids), singer David Hickox’s call-to-arms shout on As The Pinson Turns is eerily similar to Fugazi front man Ian Mackaye - and yes, Plate Six are worthy of being mentioned in the same snarl as the DC legends.  Deeming a bassist unnecessary, Hickox, fellow guitarist Darryl Jacks and drummer Brad Davis rip through 11 tracks without letting the pace slack, closing with the 11 minute epic Maximalist Anthem.  It’s powerful, adrenalin charged stuff - but not just for the sake of it. The interplay between the two guitars and the excellence of the drumming gives each tune it's individual hook.

Along with Fugazi, Plate Six cite the wandering guitar work of Polvo and the noise and chaos of Sonic Youth as influences. They also remind me of another of my Hall-of-Famers, At The Drive In - who could do pissed-off better than anyone.  Don’t get me wrong, a lot of music out at the moment is nice enough, but maybe too nice - the aural equivalent of sticking your head in the sand.  Battle Hymns For A New Republic grabs your head out of the sand, shakes it by the ears and gets your hearts and minds rocking hard.

Watch the video for Instant Fence: Windows / Quicktime

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#chimpovich

1st May 2007 - Add Comment - Tweet

Feist

The Reminder

Universal

You may not have heard of Leslie Feist, but you will have undoubtedly heard her in one form or another. A chameleon of the indie world, her file is about an inch thick - ranging from a stint as Peaches flat mate, through collaborations with Gonzales and Jamie Lidell to her most recognised role as a contributor to the sprawling Canadian folk collective Broken Social Scene.

With new album The Reminder, Feist is setting out on her own for the third time - although even with some major label backing things haven't solidified any more. The slightly schizophrenic style of this multi-tasker is still the main way of describing her sound (Pitchfork described it as "folky, discoy" - but even that barely scratches the surface). Slipping between heartbreaking vocals (The Park), haunting piano (The Water), and a couple of Róisín Murphy style indie-dance (some might say folky-discoy) numbers in the shape of Sealion and the slightly more focused stand-out track, single My Moon My Man.

Acoustic guitars and hand claps dominate Past In Present, which somehow reminds me of Boys Of Summer in the best possible way. "Don't look back, you can never look back!"  When the dust settles however It's the sparse vocal tracks that really grab the attention here, and when the mood catches you this can be an enchanting album - with album closer How My Heart Behaves stealing the show (...not including the pointless 'bonus track' a live version of one we heard about 5 minutes ago - why do they bother breaking up the flow of an album with these things?).


You can check out three 'webisodes' for the album at the links below:

The Water
The Park
My Moon My Man

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27th Apr 2007 - Add Comment - Tweet

The Maccabees

Colour It In

Polydor

“Latchmere’s got a Wave Machine”. 

Not only a statement of fact, but possibly the most brilliantly inane lyric of the summer and most definitely the only lyric in honour of the same South London sports centre where members of the Chimpomatic staff regularly re-write the 5-aside football rule book.

A song about a sports centre.  And quite openly too: “Speedos speed by. Remember to stay in your lanes. No Heavy Petting.” just a sample of singer Orlando Weeks’ poetry on track 4 (Latchmere) from Colour It In, the debut album from this Clapham 5 piece (now relocated to Brighton).

The Maccabees cast a pretty narrow net lyrically; focusing on that period of late teens/early 20s (unsurprising considering they weigh in at an average age of 21) which with hindsight are glorious and carefree, but at the time can be overcast with trivial doubts and worries.  Colour It In captures the energy, exuberance and innocence of this time, but is not a naïve album. 

Whilst the hefty chip on my shoulder makes me naturally cautious of a band made up of an Orlando, Felix, Hugo, Rupert and a Robert Dylan Thomas, I’m a sucker for a dose of that post-Strokes, tight guitared-pop and Colour It In’s sheer enthusiasm chipped away at my cynicism after a couple of listens.  They pad tracks 3 through 7 with the stronger single-ish songs All In Your Rows, Latchmere, About Your Dress (see a video clip here) and Precious Time -  all of which got my feet tapping, so god knows how the less world-weary kids are keeping still, whilst the supporting songs hold their own and keep up the vibe.

The Maccabees may well go down the Razorlight route of wankerworm or they might dissapear without trace, but there is no denying that Colour It In is a confident and enjoyable debut, that will most likely be unavoidable this summer.  It may not last the test of time, but like any good summer romance it’s the excitement of the now that matters. If you are too old to get to a wave machine for your summer kicks; a few beers, a spot of sun and Colour It In might just do the trick.

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#chimpovich

27th Apr 2007 - 2 comments - Add Comment - Tweet

The Kissaway Trail

The Kissaway Trail

Bella Union

It is a phenomenon of the music business that for every great band they discover music lovers have to suffer a wave of mediocrity trailing in their hero's wake. For every Stone Roses there is a Flowered Up, for every Oasis there follows a Northern Uproar, for every Blur there is a Menswear swimming in the slipstream, for every Nirvana a Stone Temple Pilots, for every Kylie in the spotlight there lurks a Lisa Scott Lee in the shadows…. you get the picture. Is it that these bands strive to replicate a formula that is proven to bring success and acclaim or just that record companies actively seek out sound-a-likes of the big buzz band of the moment? I’m not sure, but we can all recall the process; the NME big up this new band and mates pass on a copy of the album like pushers of illegal substances. ‘Go on, you loved Nirvana/Oasis so you’ll definitely love these lot, go on give it a try, go on.’ You’re initially willing to believe that these new lot will be the bona fide real deal before the excitement of the scene dies down and time confirms that they are little more than cheap tribute acts. To the pantheon of such acts can now be added the name of the Danish group The Kissaway Trail. This is a band that will be pushed to you on the basis that ‘if you loved Arcade Fire, you’ll love this lot, go on give it a try, go on….’

Except here’s the thing, The Kissaway Trail are not Arcade Fire. That’s all well and dandy of course, lots of good acts aren’t but the problem lies in the fact that though they may sound similar to the Canadian maestros of the moment, the album they’ve produced is just not particularly good. The Kissaway Trail certainly check all the right boxes. Urgent percussion, tick. Lush strings, tick. Soaring choruses, tick. But they don’t work together in a way that one would expect. It is like mixing ingredients in a bowl and expecting to pull a nicely risen wholemeal farmhouse loaf from the oven only to find that it is actually white Nan bread. Maybe for a debut album comparisons with established acts are harsh but as the Kissaway Trail are trading on them it is only fair to make a few. Tracy with its premature climax lacks the stamina and passion of Arcade Fire, Smother+Evil=Hurt fails to reach the dizzying heights of euphoria the Polyphonic Spree are tuned into and La La Song could do with an extra sprinkling of the Flaming Lips genuine, rather than expedient, eccentricity. This collection of songs all feels just a little too contrived and frankly boring.

Word is that the Kissaway Trail rock on stage, and they certainly have a few tricks up their sleeve offering some promise of a bright future if only they can find their own distinct sound. They certainly aren’t as lame as Menswear or desperate as Lisa Scott Lee but though the NME might currently tell you differently the fear remains that the Kissaway Trail could end up being remembered in the same bracket as Northern Uproar, Stone Temple Pilots and the like.

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#Muxloe

27th Apr 2007 - Add Comment - Tweet

The Dirt

Mötley Crüe

"Yo, bartender, hook me up with another shot of bourbon...hey duuuude, I'm fuckin' dry over here... Jeez, what's a guy gotta do to get a swig of the juice?" I drag deeply on my Marlboro red, I have just been reading all about the old times, the old gang - The Crüe - fuck yeah.

In the early days things were pretty wild, Vince, Nikki, Tommy and Mick ripping up sunset boulevard and causing chaos. Just four young guys with fire in their leather pants and a passion to make it. There was no kissing ass with these dudes, the stairway to rock heaven was achieved through pure party energy, and hey - these dudes had party in their blood.

Crazy fuckin' nights in the Whiskey and even crazier mornings at the Crüe pad: girls, booze and as many pharmacuticals as we could handle - man those times were rockin'. Chicks and good times were rollin' - but dude, The Crüe never lost sight of the ultimate prize - rock stardom. And these guys made a deal with the devil to make damn sure that they became the kings of rock.

It was the come down that was rough though. From the fuckin' top of the world, there was only one way to go. Down.

"Yo, dude throw us a light..."

Everything these guys loved turned to dust. Hot chicks became bitchin' wives, and then costly divorces. Fast cars destroyed some of our best buddies, and the alcohol...man when you finally sober up there's one hell of a hangover.

But when this Crüe turned in on itself ...dude thats when the pain really hits hard, when the shit really hits the fan. The guys re-live every fuckin' moment, pouring it all out, every last drop of Mötley mayhem.

#BW

25th Apr 2007 - 1 comments - Add Comment - Tweet

Loney, Dear

Loney, Noir

Regal

It seems like only yesterday that Emil Svanangen aka Loney, Dear first took my ears gently in his hands and whispered his sweet words of quiet and unassuming beauty. Well, he's back to do it all again with a re-issue of his 2005 self-released fourth album Loney, Noir. Made around the same time as last years Sologne this new release provides more of the same. Gently uplifting ditties that skip along playfully to washes of synths, tinkering percussion, rising drums and Svanangen's now familiar vocal tones that can tip toe with delicate grace or rise to soaring falsetto at a moments notice.

Sinister In A State Of Hope takes our hand and leads us gently into this album. "All I want is a state of hope," he confesses here and from this sublime introduction he seems ever nearer to his goal. I Am John picks things up nicely and soon builds to a crescendo of just about every instrument to hand. This leads on perfectly to one of the many highlight moments on this record. Saturday Waits basically does the same as all the others, but somehow seems to raise the bar on hands-in-the-air satisfaction. On I Am The Odd One Svanangen claims "I turned the right to wrong// I came along, I brought the shade," Well tell that to my hands that have been raised skyward for so long they are going numb. This satisfaction rarely fades throughout the course of the album until we are eased out by the final two tracks that take on a more contemplative mood.

Having said all that, there is something missing here that I can't quite put my finger on but it has something to do with familiarity. I can't tell whether this record isn't as good as Sologne or Loney, Dear's spell is too much a part of my life now. After all, the warmth of the sun's rays aren't quite so comforting the more you feel them. Loney, Noir doesn't move things on from Sologne and that will be my only complaint. It seems silly to criticise this guy for providing us with more absolute bliss but I am sure he has more up his sleeve. I will undoubtedly listen to this album, along with Sologne, for as long as I feel the need for hope, warmth and sensitivity but for now I am allowing room for improvement.

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#BC

23rd Apr 2007 - Add Comment - Tweet

CocoRosie

The Adventures Of Ghosthorse And Stillborn

Touch & Go

Whoever earns a living thinking up new names to describe indescribable music leads a very sad and futile existence indeed. Sisters Bianca and Sierra Cassidy of CocoRosie have been victims of this in recent years being absorbed by the so called 'freak folk' genre. Certainly many that inhabit this ever growing genre seem to more than fit the 'freak' bill but since their mesmerizing debut La Maison De Mon Reve CocoRosie have made music so unaware of any genre that they have managed to transcend all this silliness. They seemed to create in a total artistic vacuum shutting themselves off from everything and the result was a listening experience like no other. They enticed you into their mystical world with sounds and voices so distant and foreign that it was like a dream experience. Well, having reveled in this dream undisturbed for two albums, The Adventures Of Ghosthorse And Stillborn may just be the wake-up call I was dreading.

This album is disappointing for all the reasons the first two were so unique. As mentioned earlier, their debut was was like no other - then the follow up Noah's Ark seemed to polish this rough diamond, pulling into focus all the experimentation of its predecessor. With this album they seem way too aware of themselves and the genre they have been allocated. Their beauty has always been their ability to embrace all music - from hip hop to opera to soul - but embrace it unknowingly and innocently. The Adventures of... seems to pull out all these influences and make features of them.

Noah's Ark started off with the human beatbox structured K-hole, but the vocals were delicate and subtle, as was the backing music. Rainbowarriors starts this 3rd record off with a similar idea, but the two songs couldn't be further apart. Here the vocals are blundering and obvious and the whole thing treads dangerously near to parody. This is, unfortunately, the story of the album. Where Bianca's impish squeak was so other-worldly, it has now become grating and Sierra's classically trained voice is often used with no subtlety at all.

But as I hate to be over critical I must say that it's not all bad. When they keep it simple like on Sunshine their beauty returns. Houses' ghostly piano and Sierra's soaring vocals create deep caverns of sound that contrast beautifully. The delicate homemade percussion on other songs like Raphael - who's narrative is sung with such delicate sadness - is quite moving.

Having been totally engulfed in their magical spell from the word go and then been dazzled by the live show, I was more than ready to love this album. CocoRosie are one of the most original outfits to emerge in the last 3 years and they make music the way all art should be made, however once this complete and unassuming entity is released into the world it is in danger of being dispersed. The Adventures Of Ghosthorse And Stillborn shows a crack in CocoRosie's dreamscape and the world is seeping in.

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#BC

20th Apr 2007 - Add Comment - Tweet

Spider-Man 3

(dir. Sam Raimi)

in which spidey channels his inner goth, goes a bit emo, battles sandman, venom and the green goblin and the film turns into chicago for a while before sinking into another dreary big battle.

where the first spider-man did an ok job of showing how a nerd like peter parker would learn to love his powers, this one sinks under the 2 villains/girlfriend angst/oh the trouble w being a freelance photographer formula that the second established. lots more cgi fights filled w maximum confusion and zero sense of peril - like all the new gen star wars battles, you just can't work out what's going on/where they are/what way up anyone is etc half the time.

it's also part of the annoying recent trend for making loooooong films where not much happens - and what does, is full of holes. they put on a parade for spidey to give him the keys to the city - but how have they got in touch with him? there's no spidey phone or spidey signal! they clearly aren't just hoping he'll swing by because they've worked out a coordinated little routine for him - but when was that supposed to have been organised?

then there's some daft bit where harry "son of green goblin" osborn gets mj to dump PP so he can get him where it hurts (ooh, in his sensitive heart) - but you've got no idea why she's going along w it - is he threatening her? is she into gg instead? it's all just left hanging, like they didn't have time to explain it - except, they do - they've got 156 min!!!

thomas "sideways" haydn church is sandman, another loser crim who's got the misfortune of stumbling across a random weird science experiment in the middle of some marshes somewhere and inadvertently gaining some powers. but we don't even get to find out who these scientists are or what they think they're doing. it's just, er, yeah, he's got blasted with some stuff, and, er, now he's sandman.

on the plus side, sam raimi main man bruce "evil dead" campbell's cameo is pretty funny, and the bits with daily bugle boss J Jonah Jameson all work. the bit where peter goes all emo side by brushing his hair to the side in the style of my chemical romance is fairly amusing too.

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#chimp71

19th Apr 2007 - Add Comment - Tweet

El-P

Dingwalls, Camden, London

Camden's hive of scum and villainy were out in force last night and were foaming at the mouth for a piece of the Def Jux head honcho. Backed by a band dressed in combat gear and balaclavas El-P arrived on stage in Guantanamo Bay's Spring/Summer collection, a short sleeve orange boiler suit complete with head wounds and a bloody nose. This choice of attire together with El-P's admission "Sorry but we don't have any happy songs," set the tone early and I started to take one step back from my much coveted front and centre position.

As the bass-heavy intro to new album opener Tasmanian Pain Coaster started, the rabid dogs around me moved into position and Dingwalls erupted. It's a fantastic start to the album and it had equal impact here, with the chorus "This is the sound of what you don't want killing you," being spat back by the brawling pit as venomously as it was being dished out by what looked like the cast of Con Air. This was then followed by Fantastic Damage's Deep Space 9mm to the delight of the old school contingency. When El delivered the line "I signed to Rawkus" the crowd were only too happy to scream back the reply "I'd rather be mouth-fucked by Nazis unconscious," which was nice. And so it continued with much of the new album getting an airing. Heavy hitters like Flyentology, Drive and Smithereens kicked out furiously and it seems El's fans are receiving this new stuff as passionately as they did Fantastic Damage.  And so they should as when put next to the older work these songs dispalyed a might all of their own.

An unexpected bonus was the addition of the mighty Mr. Dibbs on beat duty. His beats were as tight as always and he played them with an all-consuming passion and concentration that sometimes rivaled the big man for visual attention. During a short interval - while El-P went off to mop up the blood from his dripping ears - we were treated to the skills of Dibbs, an expert mash up of hip hop favorites - together with Radiohead's National Anthem more than kept the crowd occupied.

Despite the slightly cliched dress code (Sage Francis was rocking the orange boiler suit and bandages years ago) this was an awesome display of El-P's shock and awe brutality and was delivered with all the passion you'd expect from this man. Gripping the mic like he was throttling a chicken he screamed down its neck like a man possessed. His back-up MC shadowed him all the time and whipped the crowd into a violent, heaving frenzy that continued until the last giving the front man cause to show real appreciation at this reception and as we all limped home with real blood stains on our clothes we clung to our ringing ears like trophies of a job well done.

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19th Apr 2007 - Add Comment - Tweet

Low

Drums And Guns

Sup Pop

Things We Lost In The Fire was an exquisite piece of work that managed to wrap you in its melancholy, taking you deeper into its hopeless warmth and only allowing you up for air to keep you alive. 2005's The Great Destroyer saw the band take a whiplash turn of direction as they showed us that all this brooding and threatening that we had persevered with was about to pay off. They flexed their muscles and the result was awesome. So where to after this turn? The Great Destroyer was such a bold move for a band with such a distinctive back catalogue that there was no going back from it. Drums And Guns unfortunately shows Low trying to.

This starts off very slow indeed, but through Belarus Low manage to maintain a certain tension, or air of expectation. It ticks over nicely, but in classic Low style goes nowhere - and leaves you wanting more. This is to their credit, as in the past they have expertly held your attention through miles of empty, lonely terrain but as Breaker creeps in with it's subtle electronic tip toes and itself goes nowhere you start to wonder whether you have the patience for another long and desolate journey. This seems like an album of sketches, rather than finished ideas. Few of the songs have any kind of resolution and when they do, as in Your Poison, they tail off after barely a minute - while Hatchet is entirely based around a very questionable concept of "Let's bury the hatchet like The Beatles and The Stones."

The glimmers of light throughout this record are the introduction of a more electronic sound. It gives the vast sonic landscapes some definition. Always Fade has an organic, sampled beat that mirrors the muddy textures they used to create with the guitar and Breaker adopts a totally different minimal sound that supports the vocals very well.

This is by no means a bad album, but for a band from whom we expect greatness it is disappointing. They seem to be reconsidering their brave move, but finding that it took them so far away from their original position they are struggling to get back. Since I first heard this band I have been so impressed with their confidence and conviction. They were always a band that knew exactly what they were doing and when playing live they displayed a command of their audience that throughout their marathon, barren performances you could have heard a pin drop. This conviction seems to have dwindled slightly here and I can't fight the feeling of restlessness that creeps in during this record. I am in no way suggesting that I'm getting off the Low Train, but I might read my book for a while until the view changes.

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#BC

19th Apr 2007 - Add Comment - Tweet