Chimpomatic

Ween

The Friends EP

Schnitzel

Where can you begin when describing Ween? Like a friend who's the life and soul of the party, they often end up puking in the punch bowl and making out with your cousin. You know you should just stop hanging out with them, but you're always too ready to just give them one more chance.

Ween have always made a genre out of having no genre, but as the band seem ever hungry to (re)conquer 'new' territory they can be a little hard to pin down. With the opening salvo of Friends sounding like an Estonian entry into the Eurovision song contest I think It's safe to say that every genre has now been covered. Sounding note for note like a raved up Barbie Girl, only the lyrics serve as a clue that this is no what it seems. "Do you want me as your special friend?"

...or maybe I'm just believing the hype about Ween. Often lauded as superb musicians, I am forever finding myself waiting for that one serious (OK, maybe not serious, but at least less inside-joke-orientated) album. I have personally heard moments of their brilliance (Stay Forever, What Deaner Was Talkin' About, If You Could Save Yourself... ) and I know that a classic album is in there - they just seem reluctant to let it out. Like a west coast KLF, they are constantly playing the fool - poking fun and showing us just how easy it is to make all kinds of music, yet never quite letting us inside the circle. What do they actually want to sound like? What do they actually like? The psuedo-reggae of King Billy? The latin groove of Light Me Up? Or maybe the 80's soft-rock or Slow Down Boy, which never quite hits yacht? Hopefully it's the classic rock of Did You See Me, currently playing on their Myspace page.

It may be (yet) another mis-step, but this won't stop me looking and yet again I'll just put this one down to a funny joke and wait for the album proper - La Cucaracha which is due in the Autumn. That's bound to be the one to finally unleash the inner Ween.

#Music
#CSF

26th Jul 2007 - 1 comments - Add Comment - Tweet

The New Pornographers

Challengers

Matador Records

I went to see The New Pornographers a couple of years ago at London’s Borderline. I hadn’t really heard many of their tunes, but this Canadian 7/8 piece came highly recommended. I can’t say every one of their hard driving indie pop tunes clicked with me, but I was certainly impressed and puzzled by their style. There was something about the structure of their tunes that was odd and original and very compelling. (Plus, their drummer was mental and who doesn’t like to see that?).

Their fourth album, “Challengers”, is similar – there’s such variety in the way they build songs, and some great riffs dotted throughout, that on my first listen I kinda knew I liked it but at times I was perplexed as to why.

“My Rights Versus Yours” is a brilliant catchy opener that builds from a mellow folky start to flourish into an air-punching, foot stomping tune. This is followed by the equally ace “All the Old Showstoppers” which houses some great hooks and again made me do a little jig when it hit the heights. “All the Things That Go to Make Heaven and Earth” is where they sound closest to fellow Canadians Arcade Fire, but the next two tunes, “Failsafe” and “Unguided”, are battling it out as my favourite on the album.

"Myriad Harbour", is another cracking tune where the singer starts the lines only for the rest of the band, like an annoying girl I once worked with, to finish his thoughts for him. This song also heralds the first of a couple of moments on the album, as the vocals get a bit Tenacious D (he asks his local record store for “an American music anthol-low-geeee” – Jack Black stylee), where I’m not sure if they’re having a laugh or being deadly serious.

Singing duties are, however, swapped around four band members (lady singers Kathryn Calder and Neko Case have - I can exclusively reveal - nice voices) and they pepper songs with some pleasant harmonies. These come through strongest in the splendid “Mutiny, I promise You” and the sparse “Adventures in Solitude”.

The main man of this side project (all band members release records as solo artists or with other bands), A.C. Newman, says “Over the years I’ve just learned how to write better songs”. It certainly seems apparent here as it feels like there’s more depth and diversity than on their previous albums. While it might not be as constantly full on as, say, Electric Version (their 2nd album from 2003) - which some of their fans may not thank them for - I think with repeat listens you’ll reap the rewards of this interesting and enjoyable album.


Bonus Trivia:

- The New Pornographers name, its suggested, was inspired by a quote from American Pentecostal Televangelist, Jimmy Swaggart, who declared that music was, yep, the ‘new pornography’.

- Jimmy Swaggart also hated gays: “'I’ve never seen a man in my life I wanted to marry. And I'm going to be blunt and plain: if one ever looks at me like that, I'm going to kill him and tell God he died.”

- Jimmy Swaggart also publicly exposed one of his buddies for having an affair - claiming his mate was a "cancer in the body of Christ."

- What goes around comes around… Jimmy himself got busted – twice - for sleeping with prostitutes, but was less forthcoming in criticism on this one:  "The Lord told me it's flat none of your business."

#Music
#Locochimpo

24th Jul 2007 - Add Comment - Tweet

Caribou

Andorra

City Slang

More enjoyable laptop psychedelia from reindeer-lover Dan Snaith. All works pretty well, with opener Melody Day launching things in a melancholy style (great Four Tet remix on the single as well, for once a reworking that takes things down rather than up). Feels a bit more live than previous outings, keeping the samples more in the background. The song to jam ratio is improved this time too; feels like a band rather than a solo project. If you're into the whole acoustic guitars being sampled thing, you'll be happy taking a trip to Andorra. We're still holding his Montague Arms freakout against him at Chimp Towers, but that shouldn't put you off.

#Music
#chimp71

24th Jul 2007 - Add Comment - Tweet

O'Death

Head Home

City Slang

What do you get if you cross a wailing voice, a banjo and a fiddle? This isn't a joke. Country music right? Well normally yes but in a parallel, and slightly perverse, universe the outcome is O'Death.

Listening to O'Death I'm reminded of the scene from the Blues Brothers where the band reform and secure a gig at Bob's Country Bunker. 'What kind of music do you usually have here?' asks Elwood and the response is "we have both kinds; country and western" whereupon the band are forced to launch into Stand by your Man and the theme from Rawhide before a riot ensues. To me this has always summed up country music. As an outsider it has always seemed to be something of a closed shop existing in a vacuum that fails to acknowledge or incorporate any other form of music. Those on the inside appear to know the ropes and stick to the formula - it's either plaintive songs of heartbreak of the 'stand by your man' ilk or sing-along hoe downs from the Rawhide vein.

O'Death are the outsiders who don't play by the rules, they've left the country bunker and discovered a whole other world out there. Now there is another suffix to add after country; it's not just 'and western' because to the musical lexicon O'Death have introduced 'country and gothic punk'. Based in New York, these are rural boys embracing the attitude of the big city. Theirs' is a sound not so much for barn dances on Walton mountain but mosh pits with the characters from Deliverance on the Texas Chainsaw Massacre farm. This is the riot at Bob's Country Bunker in musical form.

It is an edgy and at moments slightly disturbing journey but O'Death is a travelling carnival of infectious energy. Their relentless refusal to charm is charming in itself and if you get it then it rocks! Melody is certainly not sacrificed.  Most tunes being of the foot stomping variety rest on beats that recall Iggy and the Stooges. These songs could've been penned by Tom Waits imagining them being delivered by a voice that at times could belong to either Frank Black, Jack White or Neil Young. At the end of this barn dance you can imagine that someone has spilt volatile moonshine over a hay bale. A stray cigarette thrown away by the fiddler has caused a fire and the band have to make a sharp exit on the back of a pick up truck. The locals elders are up in arms bemoaning the trail of destruction but the kids have had their eyes opened and will never be the same again.

#Music
#Muxloe

23rd Jul 2007 - Add Comment - Tweet

Latitude Festival

Henham Park, Southwold, Suffolk

I have always been of the opinion that dysentery is a disease best avoided.  After attending the Latitude Festival however, which took place last weekend in Henham Park, Suffolk, I realise that there may be many of you who are not so fastidious.

By all accounts last year’s festival, the first ever Latitude, was a grand affair; 10,000 people, families welcome (encouraged even), beautiful country park and good music.  Seduced by this proposal I followed a group of friends up the A12 and spent four days in an authentic, if slightly more squalid recreation of an earthquake refugee camp.

I have reached a respectable age and had thus far managed to avoid ever attending a music festival.  As someone who is mildly agoraphobic and plagued by an autistic need to bathe myself once a day, it may not have been a good idea to change the habit of a lifetime. 

With a gleeful wringing of hands the organisers announced on the eve of kick-off that all tickets had been sold.  20,000 people this year but apparently no proportionate increase in the facilities or the size of the arenas.  An excrement mountain due to an inadequate number of toilets; a complete collapse of water pressure and thus showers and overcrowding in several venues was the result.  The heavens took pity and, apart from a couple of heavy showers, blessed the reeking campers with sunshine and merry weather.

Day one; It was all about Wilco.  Two Gallants, Midlake, The Fields, began slowly cranking up the afternoon, but I was already worried that the weekend’s line-up which had looked so promising, might have been a bit heavy on whining and men sincerely frowning over their guitars.  Now Wilco are ostensibly a band of men who frown sincerely over their guitars, but they are also schizophrenic and utterly compelling. 

Before they got on stage I was bored; bored by the many children running around, bored by not being able to bring your own booze into the arena, bored by the crowds packed solidly into the comedy arena sheltering from quite a few boring performances.  The Magic Numbers had bounced the audience around a bit, but I just can’t take the whole beard and siblings thing.  It’s all a bit creepy, inspite of the smiley faces.

Then Wilco walked out and with a great white burn of lights, a heave of the crowd and a wall of guitars, they gave a performance to wake everybody up.  I had seen them in May at Shepherd’s Bush Empire and the hour-long set they played at Latitude shared all the highlights from that night but seemed even more determined.  New album ‘Sky Blue Sky’ got a good outing with storming renditions of ‘Walken’ and ‘Shake it off’.  Albums ‘Yankee Hotel Foxtrot’ and ‘A Ghost Is Born’ also got their hits out; teasing the audience with their gentle melodies before snapping into trademark guitar tsunamis and feedback.  Inspired.

Like a musical dose of Valium, Damien Rice must have been back-stage anxiously waiting to numb the crowd from their Wilco-induced high.  His presence in this otherwise exhilarating line-up was inexplicable and who in the world stayed to listen to him I couldn’t stay - but boy, the rapturous noise they made when he’d finished echoed across the campsite. Most disturbing.

Day two;  Bit of a slow builder again.  Herman Dune and Bat for Lashes on the main stage competed for ‘Sound-alike of the day’.  The Cretin who compared the former ‘to the likes of Bob Dylan’ should be strung up with guitar wire; this blatant Jonathan Richman tribute band are within a Nordic-facial-hair’s breadth of copyright infringement.  As for ‘Bat for lashes’, again the literature describes her as having been ‘compared to Bjork, Cat Power and Tori Amos’.  ‘Derivative of’ might be more accurate. 

Prize for most enthusiastic performance of the festival goes to The Hold Steady’.  They run on stage like a bunch of college jocks and front man Craig Finn, announces, ‘We’re the Hold Steady and we’re here to have a good time!’  It’s the last day of their tour and they are clearly over-excited. ‘Stuck between stations’, ‘Massive Night’, ‘Party Pit’ all provoke a lot of finger pointing form the crowd of forty-something-blokes enjoying some healthy man-rock and working themselves up to a belching coronary.  The band strings out every guitar crescendo and look like they never want to leave.  As Craig says, ‘When we started out it was so we could all meet a couple of nights a week and drink some beer.  This is beyond our wildest dreams’.

If Clap Your Hands Say Yeah, who followed, had had a modicum of The Hold Steady’s energy they would have avoided my nomination for Biggest Disappointment of the weekend.  As it was, my own hands were reluctant to celebrate contrived, gurney, vocals and a dull performance.  If they’d played the CD’s of their two albums I’d have had a great time. 

And so it was that CSS brought their balloons onto the stage of the Obelisk arena and revived a sagging day.  The crowd needed relief and their vacuous dance-pop perked it up like effervescent vitamin C.   ‘Let’s make love (and listen to death from above)’ closed the set.  With helium in her lungs Lovefoxxx squealed out her appreciation to the audience after an hour of cat suited carnival.

The Good the Bad and the Queen had to headline I guess, but it was another strange change of tempo when they ambled on. ‘History Song’ and ‘Herculean’ are unexpectedly ballsy, in no small part due to the contributions of Clash Bassist, Paul Simonon.  He takes control of the stage with loping strides and a brooding presence, plucking at his guitar and sending his deep bass across the crowd like a defibrillator.  A Dickensian London backdrop and a top hat for Mr Albarn seem to court great Blakean comparisons; Songs of Innocence and Experience.  And although he’s a very clever boy, Damon’s a right annoying twat with it.  ‘Soldier’s Tale’ comes with a sanctimonious nod to the ‘Soldier I met who was going to Iraq’ and when he brings on MC Eslam Jawaad for the encore I’m squirming at the smug self-consciousness of it all. 

When the band plays ‘80’s life’ I can’t help but think of the last Blur album, and clearly I’m not the only one musing on this.  In the audience there are a lot of girls grinning.  Occasionally I hear one of them shouting, ‘I want to fuck you Damon’… which suggests that something less than raging Anti-war sentiments were rousing the crowd’s passions.

Day three; My limbs are crippled, caked with filth resulting from the lack of shower facilities.  An internal build up of noxious fumes as I attempt to avoid going to the toilet and asphyxiation by medieval stench when I finally do, have all left me in a bad way.  So far this whole Festival bollocks is proving no substitute for a good three-hour gig at the Brixton Academy.

But that’s ok because today’s line up is looking good.  I was annoyed to miss most of the Andrew Bird set after collapsing with exhaustion from my third toilet trip of the day.  All this hovering above the chasm and straining is traumatizing me.  What I eventually do hear sounds bewitching in the summer afternoon.  The drummer, Dosh (accomplished electro-musician himself), gives fine support to Bird who provides vocals, looping violins, guitars, glockenspiel and goddam fine whistling.

Next up The National, whom I’ve been anticipating like a child waits for Christmas.  But Oh No! What’s this?…. there appears to be confusion on stage.  Look, there are Messrs Dessner, Dessner, Devendorf and Devendorf, but what are they doing spending so long tinkering with their instruments and sticking tape onto everything?  It transpires that The National arrived at Henham Park ten minutes ago and came empty handed.  None of their instruments deigned to suffer the stench of Latitude so they’re having to borrow everything off the Cold War Kids and Andrew Bird.

It shows.  The band look ravaged and uneasy with their purloined Orchestra.  There are great songs in there somewhere; ‘Mistaken for Strangers’ (from their latest album ‘Boxer’), ‘Karen’ (off of ‘Songs for Dirty Lovers’) and ‘Mr November’ (from ‘Alligator’) but there is no subtlety to the sound.  Lyrical contributions from keyboards and violins that make the albums so symphonic and full are totally swamped by the guitars.  Lines like ‘I used to be carried in the arms of a cheerleader’ or ‘The English are coming!’ should by rights swell this audience to a festival frenzy and the lead singer is trying hard.  He rasps ‘I won’t fuck us over!’ with a kind of tortured mania that seems ironically relevant to the shitty day they’re having but it feels like a bit of a lost cause.  Two songs from the end of this too-short set they kick into ‘Fake Empire’ and it’s almost like they get their conviction back.  I get goose bumps with the rhythmic build and the crowd responds, maybe they’ve just warmed up?!  Well they have, but now they’ve got to get off; ‘Thank you very much! I’m glad we got here because half an hour ago it looked like we wouldn’t make it’.  I feel cheated.

The Cold War Kids do well next and The Rapture, like CSS last night, provide a poptastic interlude which the crowds devour.  I sense that a lot of people are getting a bit tired of some of the slightly dour singer-song writing going on and want a sugar rush.  ‘Get myself into it’ and ‘Whoo!  Alright-Yeah… Uh’ do the job and you have to hand it to them, Matt Safer and Luke Jenner know how to handle their audience.  They tease us by walking on and off stage, bounce off each other vocally and insist on being resiliently up beat. 

Jarvis Cocker is on stage next as the sun begins to sink and if you haven’t been able to make it to the Comedy tent, Jarvis provides plenty of star cabaret.  Again, however, there is the sense that everyone would probably rather be watching Pulp, just as last night they would have much preferred Blur to the drones of Damon and his crew.  But Jarvis encapsulated his previous band more singularly than Damon ever did, so if you close your eyes you can almost daydream that…

‘I stand astride these two monitors like the Rock Colossus that I am’, claims the lanky one as he bemuses the crowd with surreal commentaries on the weather.  He then gains our instant favour by empathising with the epic efforts required to have got this far into the Festival.  ‘The world is still run by cunts’, brings his set to an end and those of us who weren’t expecting much are impressed by a run of songs which have never been less than engaging.  Just as I finish clapping and start to, mentally prepare myself for the festival finale with the Arcade Fire, Jarvis reappears;

‘We were going to end there but I just want to play you one more song which I promise this band will never play again’. 

‘What?  A golden slice of Pulp!’, the crowd wonders eagerly, ‘Common People’, ‘Disco 2000’?!…

‘It’s called, the Eye of the Tiger’.

‘What?’

And so off they go.  Jarvis and his band play themselves out with a sparkling cover of Eye of the Tiger and the exhausted crowd smile and cheer their appreciation.

If day one had been all about Wilco, then I guess the whole festival was really about the Sunday night headliners.  I’m sure that anyone reading this would probably take the credit for introducing their friends to the Arcade Fire, probably the most exciting band in the world at present.  But to find yourself in a field with 20,000 people equally convinced that the band are their own private discovery, throws you a little.

The scene is set with a great red velvet backdrop, several oversized Victorian camera props onto which are projected surreal faces in black and white and a lot of red neon.  Tantalizingly the stage is covered with all manner or paraphernalia; hurdy-gurdies, cymbals and the pipes of a great organ.  In the hands of an army of musicians each gets its moment in the limelight during a performance which just keeps getting better.

The husband and wife pairing of Win Butler and Regine Chassagne take it in turns to lead the way on a comprehensive journey through their two albums, Neon Bible and Funeral.  From the pounding urgency of ‘No cars go’ to the swelling Mariachi trumpets of ‘Ocean of Noise’ there is no escaping the band’s persistent inventiveness and passion.  Highlights were aplenty but the Bruce Springsteen coloured tracks ‘Antichrist Television Blues’ and ‘Keep the car running’ were blistering.  Projected onto the backdrop was footage taken from a camera apparently embedded in the snare drum.  Watching a giant drummer beating the rhythm out so relentlessly was mesmerising as the music continued to build, crescendoing in the ‘Power out’ and as a finale, ‘Rebellion (Lies)’.  As the performance came to a close fireworks showered over the back of the audience and someone lit a series of paper lanterns that billowed softly up into the night sky.  The band seemed just as entranced by the moment as they looked out over 20,000 arms clapping in time to the music; ‘Every time you close your eyes’ they sang but we didn’t dare.

If I’m honest I’d have to say that Butler’s voice repeatedly got lost in the roar of the music and I found myself anxious that he was straining to meet the range which his songs demanded in a live performance.  Perhaps I was just distracted by the tuneless moron next to me who insisted on droning loudly and inanely along with the music: and there are a lot of opportunities to accompany the songs of the Arcade Fire with a choice bit of off-key humming. 

Latitude 2007 will be the first and last festival I ever attend.  Three days of crowds, camping and mountains of faeces, book ended by two fantastic performances by Wilco and the genius of Arcade Fire.  If anything it has convinced me to spend a lot more time in the Shepherd’s Bush Empire enjoying whole-hearted performances by some of the great bands who were compromised by poor organisation and shorter sets.  To my mind learning that may have made the whole experience worth it.

Overall experience - 2
Music in general - 3.5
Arcade fire and Wilco - 4.

#Music
#Gig
#LG

19th Jul 2007 - 2 comments - Add Comment - Tweet

Kings Of Leon

Hammersmith Apollo, London

The Kings Of Leon live show is a professionally executed display from start to finish. It can be dazzling, it can be powerful but leaves little to chance and allows practically no room for maneuver. The songs are so strong and front man Caleb Followill has a voice that more than filled the cavernous space of Hammersmith Apollo (good job really seeing as we had the cheap seats right at the back) but they never strayed from the script and said very little to the adoring London crowd. However the epic Knocked Up from the new album was a clear highlight. It's open, sprawling structure gave ample room for the band to look up from their instruments and allow the crowd to take over the role of backing vocals. This was a band who musically are at the top of their game but now need to go that extra mile when playing live and transform this awesome back catalogue into more than just good rock music.

- BC - 3 stars

Overall a tight performance from the KOL quartet, but unfortunately nothing more than that. In advance of the gig I'd listened to a playlist of all three albums on random and thats exactly what the gig was like.  A bit more crowd interaction and innovation in the live set required from a band who should by now be more confident on stage than they seemed.

- CJ - 3 stars

10 for Fans (the Song)
9 for fans (the crowd)
8 for the riffs
7 for the sound
6 for the drums
5 for the big lightbulbs
4 for the douche bag who threw a whole pint of beer at the stage
3 for the bands personality
2 for the total lack of air-con
1 for my crow's nest view

Total 55% = 2.75 stars, but I'll round that up to 3 as I'll admit I wasn't in a very good mood.

- CSF - 3 stars

Since when has the experience of standing right at the back of a venue in the aisle been sold as "rear circle standing"?!!! total rip-off from hammersmith apollo, esp when everyone stood up once KOL came on, making it impossible to see anything. so that put a bit of damper on things. audience w a view seemed to be loving it all though, much more of a singalong atmosphere than i was expecting, and when the sound wasn't muddy they pulled it off, decent set culled from all 3 albums; thought the new stuff worked best. could have done w an extended jam version of knocked up maybe, but still sounded pretty great. all v tight, thought they could afford to loosen up a little and spiral off from the recorded template occasionally - they're obviously a good enough band to freestyle every now and again. giving it a solid 3*, w the hammersmith apollo rear circle standing experience in mind

- C71 - 3 stars

#Music
#Gig
#Chimpomatic

13th Jul 2007 - 8 comments - Add Comment - Tweet

Bill Callahan

Woke On A Whaleheart

Drag City

Enough praise has been showered on Joanna Newsome in these hallowed pages over the past year or so that it's only fair to give her other half a word or two - if only to avoid any awkward moments round the Newsome/Callahan dinner table. After a long and prosperous relationship with Drag City, Woke On A Whaleheart sees Callahan emerge from the (Smog) and release this little gem under his own name. Though all the trappings of a (Smog) record are present here the name thing isn't the only change that's occurred since 2005's A River Aint Too Much To Love. Callahan's deadpan delivery and startlingly simple poetry have always been the driving force behind his music. Like a tree in the depths of winter Callahan's music has always stood proudly firm in it's stark nakedness and this is where it's beauty lay but as special as this may be it's great to see a new spring time creep into this sound and with Woke On A Whaleheart the tree is starting to bloom.

This analogy seems a fitting one as much of Callahan's lyrics are to do with nature. The opening track continues the river theme where the previous album left off. From The Rivers To The Ocean is the gentlest of openers with deep piano chords and soaring strings. First single Diamond Dancer is more rhythmical while Sycamore is pure bliss. It's a beautiful piece of work with Callahan's baritone musings tunefully weighting down the delicate finger picking that floats effortlessly around this song. Callahan is also joined by some gospel infused backing vocals that feature frequently on this album giving the whole thing some subtle religious undertones. The Wheel continues the country traditions honored by Callahan in the past as does Day with it's rolling saloon piano structure.

The whole extravaganza is brought to a close with a marvelous slow builder that sees Callahan sounding like a modern-day Johnny Cash. It rumbles along slowly picking up instruments and layers along the way until they all come together for the repeated chorus, " A man needs a woman or a man to be a man." It's a glorious end to this album and shows the old Smog tree in full bloom like never before. The inclusion of backing vocals and layers of instruments to accompany the lonely yet warm vocals and guitar have provided much meat to these bones and though it by no means discredits the work that has gone before it signals a welcome new dawn for this avant-garde mystery man.

#Music
#BC

9th Jul 2007 - Add Comment - Tweet

Monkey: Journey to the West

Palace Theatre, Manchester

The flagship event of the Manchester International Festival is an ambitious one: An opera with music by Damon Albarn, designs by Jamie Hewlett and direction by Chen Shi-Zheng entirely in Mandarin. The two-hour work involves a cast of 45-odd martial artists, acrobats and singers - and in the case of Fei Yang, who plays Monkey, often all three simultaneously.

The event is nothing short of spectacular. The opening sequence, with animations by Hewlett, which deals with Monkey's birth (hatched from a giant egg, which was expelled from a great stone) is perfectly coordinated with the live music. Later in the scene, which switches effortlessly to the live players, Monkey with other monkeys climbs up the bamboo trees - which is reminiscent of the scenes in Crouching Tiger and Flying Daggers, except that these people are really doing it.

The story, which many chimps will be familiar with, is a Chinese classic. Monkey is obsessed with seeking immortality and magical power, and travels over continents to find a teacher. He eventually finds Subodhi, a Taoist master, who teaches him how to fly on a magical cloud that can carry him on great distances, and the art of transforming himself into anything he wants.

He then dives into the Eastern Sea and finds the Old Dragon King to whom he boasts of his prowess and requests a weapon to equal his ability. The King gives him the magical iron rod, which can change from the size of a needle to the size of a mountain, and is so powerful it holds down the ocean floor.

Monkey travels to Heaven to demand recognition of his power, and gate crashes a birthday party for the Queen Mother of Heaven. Incensed that he was not invited along with gods and sages, he wreaks havoc - eating all of the heavenly peaches, each of which takes 9000 years to ripen and bestows an extra thousand years of life. He fights with all of the gods and sages, winning every battle, and proclaims himself a Great Sage Equal to Heaven. The Queen Mother of Heaven eventually pleads with the Great Buddha to step in to get the Monkey King under control. Monkey is imprisoned under the palm of Buddha.

Five hundred years later, the Buddha sends the goddess Guan Yin to find a believer to journey to India to bring the Holy Scriptures to China. She chooses Hsuang-tsang, a handsome, devout Buddhist monk and gives him the name Tripitaka after the Scriptures themselves. Guan Yin enlists Monkey to protect Tripitaka and they embark on their journey, finding Pigsy and Sandy on their way and offering them the chance of redemption in return for their service. They encounter many adventures and obstacles on their Journey to the West.

The text, which alternates between spoken word and song is delivered entirely in Mandarin, the inclusion of subtitles which are hard to read due to the heads of the people in front, help only a little. Surtitles wouldn't have worked here either, since the theatre has a huge amount of restricted-view seating. That aside the story is easy to follow, and it is often the case in opera, even those sung in English, that you cannot hear the words.

The sound-world is exotic and far from conventional. The orchestra consists of some western instruments - 2 violins, cello, trumpet, trombones, tuba and percussion - as well as instruments from China such as the Pipa, Zhongruan and Zheng, which are all string instruments. Damon Albarn also includes a substantial amount of electronics, including an Ondes Martenot (as used extensively by Jonny Greenwood), and keyboards. Also in the pit are 9 singers who contribute to the overall sound, often wordlessly. All of the music is amplified too, which adds a further dimension to the sound. The entire opera is held together by the young conductor André de Ridder, who can be seen cueing the singers on stage - often whilst they are suspended mid-air, mid-flight and mid-fight.

The music is a mixture of Ennio Morricone (particularly Farewell to Cheyenne, from Once Upon a Time in the West), Philip Glass (circa Koyaanisqatsi), and Tibetan Buddhist chant. Albarn manages also to avoid writing music that sounds Chinese, whilst simultaneously doing exactly that. His gift for melody and riff-making are also pleasingly evident here.

Taken as a whole, then, this opera does what opera should do at its best - it entirely captivates for the duration of the show. I was completely caught up in the story, the music, the animation and the action on stage. I couldn't help thinking though, whether this opera was successful because of the huge spectacle, and if the lavish production was stripped away it would be as impressive. It is certainly as big a production as those found at the Met in New York, or the Royal Opera House at Covent Garden.

Rumour has it that the production will be transferred to London at some point. It moves to the Théâtre du Chatelet in Paris from late September. I saw cinematographer Christopher Doyle after the show, perhaps he will be making a DVD of this run. Definitely worth seeing.

#Music
#Gig
#cnrth

5th Jul 2007 - 6 comments - Add Comment - Tweet

Spoon

Ga Ga Ga Ga Ga

Anti

For me, Spoon are one of the great American Indie bands - seemingly always recording, and always on tour. I got into them late, but like all good bands they have a back catalogue that keeps on giving... all the way back to their rough edged debut Telephono.

Telephono led them onto a major label deal with Elektra, who then dropped them after A Series of Sneaks failed to do the required business - a story covered in their Agony of Lafitte EP. Their subsequent records each expanded the success of the last, and 2005's Gimme Fiction seemed like a big hit - with I Turn My Camera On seemingly playing in all the clubs. I guess I was just in the right clubs, as number 44 in the charts doesn't demonstrate sales being where they should for a band this good. Their critical success continues however, and following last year's sidestep into soundtracks (for Will Ferrell's Stranger Than Fiction) Britt Daniel and co are back with another great record.

Don't Make Me A Target heralds the bands return, and quickly seems to address these political times ...or maybe that's just me reading things into it. Either way, politics doesn't get in the way of a thumping good tune, that quickly dispenses with the lyrics for a guitar and piano attack. The Ghost Of You Lingers is on the edge of pretentious, but falls just the right side of brilliant. It's an unconventional song, with effects and layered vocals that seem like they're building up to something which never comes, but where it takes you on it's own terms is more than satisfactory - dark, atmospheric and moody.

Cherry Bomb rolls back the years to the Girls Can Tell era and the kind of high-school story that seems to be the Spoon staple. Touching, moving and sentimental - built around great music with a banging piano trumpet and drums. Don't You Evah is a cover of a song by The Natural History, and there's some classic Spoon in tracks like My Little Japanese Cigarette Case and Don't You Evah.

The album is more of a fall back to the classic Spoon sound, before the mildly misleading diversion of Gimme Fiction. It's the sound of cruising in a 50's hotrod, chasing girls and drinking milkshakes with Richie Cunningham.

The band has moved forward and become more sophisticated, building more complex, layered backgrounds for their deceptively simple songs. There seems to be some influence coming in from the sound track experience and Rhythm and Soul ticks a lot of my favourite boxes to great effect. Great tempo changes. Great keyboards. A touch of Small Stakes Ice Hockey rock. I've narrowed the magic ingredient down to a squeaky little sound or a barking dog - which will make CSF junior chuckle one day. Animal Midnight has it, and so does On Parade.

Ga Ga Ga Ga Ga is short, at 36 minutes / 10 songs ("the perfect number of songs for an album" apparently), but it never seems it. This is a classy and well-produced record, with some great songs, magic touches and restrained, clever song-writing. It's not a massive step forward - which is no complaint from me, as it is the sound of a great band knocking out another great album.

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5th Jul 2007 - Add Comment - Tweet

Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix

(dir.David Yates)

Another thoroughly enjoyable school year from the muggles, mudbloods and wizards of Hogwarts. Doesn't top the Prisoner Of Azkaban for style, but if you've enjoyed the first four, this doesn't disappoint.

This time round, Harry's dealing with being attacked in the media, who along with Robert Hardy's uptight Ministry of Magic, refuse to believe that Voldemort has returned. At school, he's getting bullied by both pupils and the new Defence Against The Dark Arts teacher, Imelda Staunton. She's perfectly cast as the weak-tea sipping Dolores Umbridge, as evil as Voldemort in her own prim and proper way, edging her way to the top of the Hogwarts ladder with an endless stream of nit-picking rules.

If you've read the book, there's a lot to get through, and that's perhaps the only problem here - at times you can feel that it's a very abriged version; that said, it still works, really only cutting a lot of the repetition that JK Rowling uses to draw you into the school year. There's no quidditch match, which is fine, some fun scenes with Dumbledore's Army trying to summon up their Patronuses, and sweeping scenes of the English countryside matched by a few London flyovers which give it a real sense of place. Could have done with a touch more of the scene where Harry sees into Snape's mind and watches his memories of school, but other than that, most of the key moments are included.

The three main kids, Daniel Radcliffe, Rupert Grint and Emma Watson, are all improving as they get older (just hope they manage to film the last 2 before they get too old for the teen roles). And again, it's an exercise in watching the cream of British actors - Helena Bonham Carter, Gary Oldman, Richard Griffiths, Brendan Gleeson, Ralph Fiennes, David Thewlis, Maggie Smith, Julie Walters, Jason Isaacs, Alan Rickman, Emma Thompson, Robbie Coltrane etc... you'd feel pretty annoyed if you didn't get the call, really.

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4th Jul 2007 - Add Comment - Tweet

Dogs

Tall Stories From Under The Table

Weekender

This album has taught me a lot about the current music scene and how I listen these days, and here's how. Despite the increasingly unstable world in which we live the protest song is pretty much non existent. Few bands have the individuality to really describe a certain time or place. Dogs don't make protest songs at all so you might wonder why I'm wasting your time in talking about this. Well, the reason lies in their similarity to bands like The Jam. "But The Jam never made protest songs either" I hear you cry. But what they did do better than most was perfectly capture the times in which they were recording. And since these times were less than rosy their songs become a form of protest. This startling similarity with another band would normally put me right off but although Jonny Cooke's voice is very Paul Weller it's more the spirit of The Jam that makes this record so appealing. It has the same stirring energy that renders it more marching music than moshing music. Plus, Mr. Weller is a big fan and actually plays piano on the final track so that makes it alright.

It has also brought to light interesting observations about how I listen to new records these days. The constantly turning marketing machine makes it very hard for a band's true talent to shine. Even the most sincere music can appear as little more than the result of a board meeting and as a result the innocent faith we used to have in rock has been lost and an emerging ban has a lot to prove for me from the outset. As soon as I see their advertising plastered all around Shoreditch, we've got problems. I realised with Dogs that an album by a relatively new band unfortunately starts off rubbish and has to prove itself otherwise. I came to this observation because that's just what this album has done.

Less than a minute into track one and something is stirring in the belly. Dirty Little Shop kicks this album off with a triumphant fist in the air. The vocals are grimy yet swelling and the accompanying guitars and drums are strong and driving. It's pretty much this from here on in. There really isn't a duff track here. The Jam thing is glaringly obvious and you do start to wonder if this is going to be a problem but your tapping foot tells you to lighten up and just go with it man. And once you get to This Stone Is A Bullet you'll be glad you did. It's the album figure head and it's as near to the mob rousing anthem as Mr. Weller ever got (well ok, it's not, but while you're in it you think it could be.) Forget It All is a driving, spiky little number complete with hand claps while Little Pretenders shows Dogs bearing their teeth in this forceful guitar onslaught that is continued on the awesome, energy bursting By The River.

Like I explained earlier, I can't help my cynical mind working overtime and trying to ruin a lot of new music for me. Maybe it's my age, the honeymoon period I enjoyed with emerging bands has long ceased but in its place there is something more profound. Yes bands have to work hard to rise above this cynicism but once they do they rarely go back. At this age it's hard to fall for the NME hype as it's not directed at you. So you might miss out on a few really special moments in new music as they happen but you'll get to them eventually. Dogs' 2005 debut Turn Against This Land pretty much passed me by but i've found them now and my life is better for it. Dogs are 5 unpretentious Londoners making solid songs direct from their experiences, they recall great bands who did the same back when they were brimming over with the same energy that drives these guys. Highly recommended.

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3rd Jul 2007 - 8 comments - Add Comment - Tweet

Clinic

Funf

Domino

Like an international friendly, the B-Side is often an opportunity to see an artist discover new heights while the pressure is off, it's a chance for new elements of their game to be given an airing and for these elements to be shown the luxury of a total removal from any grand context, be it a tournament or an album. But as with nearly every friendly under Sven's reign a collection of B-sides and rarities can often turn into a total mishmash of experimentation and half baked ideas. And at the risk of killing this perfectly good analogy, England's friendly against Brazil the other week proves that even the best team in the world can be caught out by a bunch of cretins if they're not careful. So, as awesome as Clinic have performed in the past, I approached Funf with caution for all the reasons stated above.

I may conclude with a cheeky football reference but for now this analogy is over, I promise. This collection gives a pretty concise cross section of Clinic's history but for that reason it sometimes trips itself up. It spans a career that started on a high note with their debut Internal Wrangler right up to last years fantastic Visitations and it really shows the quality of a band when a collection such as this is not easily mapped chronologically. The singles off the debut are as varied as the album itself. Magic Boots is a raw piece of early dirt-rock while the album opener The Majestic holds all the sparse, eeriness of a time long forgotten.

Nicht, off 2004 album Winchester Cathedral's The Magician, is a furious onslaught of pure filth and is not a pleasant listen with its underproduced, tinny teeth bearing but is thankfully followed by one of the albums highlights. Christmas shows Clinic strip away all the noise and allow their uneasiness all the space it needs, Ade Blackburn's clenched teethed vocals quiver over delicate guitar and their trademark organ.

It's hard to imagine any single off the latest album mixing in less than impeccable company and Lee Shan, the flip side to the awesome Harvest (Within You) doesn't let the side down. It has all the twisted surf-rock delight of it's A-side with a steady build up of jangling guitars and Blackburn's forced vocals brimming over with tension. One of the main delights on this collection is when these vocals are removed and the music is allowed centre stage. The album closes with Golden Rectangle, a marvelously underplayed instrumental that illustrates perfectly why this band is so unique. Their music evokes a nostalgia that isn't easily identified as it often sounds like it's coming from the vast halls of an empty ballroom once occupied and full of life but is now full of echoes and ghostly voices that accompany the eery melodies of melancholia. 

And so being English the mere mention of the word melancholia brings be back to my football analogy. This collection of 'Friendlies' is very much a mixed bag where we have seen over the years Clinic try out some new ideas that haven't worked and indulge themselves in some areas of their game that really have. When the pressure's off it's a joy to see this band ease up on the gas and explore the subtle nuances that make their albums so memorable. It's not the result that counts here but the quiet fine-tuning of their art in preparation for when it really counts.

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1st Jul 2007 - Add Comment - Tweet

You Say Party! We Say Die!

Lose All Time

Fierce Panda

With a catchy band name straight out of the school of Clap Your Hands Say Yeah this Vancouver 5 piece release their follow up to last years Hit The Floor. Its noisy, frenzied post-punk-disco that should tick all the right boxes with the NME demographic, but you'd be wise not to let that put you off. This sound may be running very much according to the current course of trend but it's got enough grit and ugliness to keep it this side of tired.

Vocalist Becky Ninkovic is the main reason why this band recall certain elements of The Yeah Yeah Yeah's with often shrieked lyrics being delivered over hard hitting and gloriously spiky guitars. Appearing like they're making it up as they go along this band have a refreshingly light touch that adds to the rawness of their sound. Just as Karen O and crew have polished their act up in recent times the same is probably due for this lot but as it hasn't done The Yeah Yeah Yeah's any harm this album is proof that YSPWSD can handle any growth that comes their way.

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1st Jul 2007 - Add Comment - Tweet

Hollywood Homicide

Ron Shelton

Two cops, more interested in pursuing other careers, search for the killer after a nightclub murder. Harrison Ford makes one movie per year these days making this choice inexplicable. It really is that bad..

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1st Jul 2007 - Add Comment - Tweet

Souvaris

A Hat

Gringo

In a music scene overrun with convoluted titles such You Say Clap Your Hands We Say Yeah Yeah Yeah's (is that right?) it's a joy to review this album called A Hat. It would be such a shame if it's brief title was the only reason this record was a joy to review and thankfully it isn't. Following on from their 2005 album I Felt Nothing At All, A Hat is a smoldering powerhouse of instrumental muscle very much in the same vein as Tortoise or Explosions In The Sky but has a healthy spattering of Battles as well.

As if making up or the album's title these songs are anything but brief. Not counting the first intro the shortest song here is over eight minutes and the other 3 are all around the 14 minute mark and for a band that produce uber serious, post-rock marathons they lighten the load with their titles. The second track builds on airy, spacious melodies but gets progressively louder and harder until it finally bears its teeth in pounding guitars and drums, would you believe it's called Quit Touching My Ass?

Hand or Finger? is less sprawling and is more immediately accessible both in its length and spiky guitars and pounding drums. The album finishes on a long-haul of swelling guitars and wave upon wave of crashing symbols that suddenly drops away in place of a home straight of funky bass lines and delicate electronics, and all this under the title The Young Ted Danson.

Each song plays like a soundtrack to its own movie. They change tempo repeatedly, sometimes taking their time and sometimes giving out no warning at all. A strange sense of narrative drifts through them that really holds your attention. This way they maintain the lyrical structure but stay purely instrumental.

Souvaris have a healthy mix going on here. In formal terms they fit perfectly with their post-rock counterparts but with playfulness and a clever ear for the pop hook they manage to pull themselves out of the self-indulgent fog that often lingers for too long in this genre. There is a refreshing sense of irony about this album that if it were a person would be fun to hang around with but would also be capable of great depth. They'd back you up in a fight but could quite easily have caused it in the first place.

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28th Jun 2007 - Add Comment - Tweet

Bonde Do Role

Bonde Do Role With Lasers

Domino

Describing Bonde Do Role is tricky.  Theirs’ is a brand of ‘baile funk’, originating from Brazilian ghettos as espoused by current indie darlings CSS.  Describing ‘baile funk’ is also tricky.  Perhaps it is easier to utilise the words of Pedro D'eyrot, one of Bonde Do Role’s MCs.  He explains that ‘baile funk is “like hip hop gone punk.  We have a word for it in Portuguese which is ‘rebola’ and it means dancing with your hips.  Basically, it’s booty music with people screaming over it and lots of energy.”  That’s about it, and very catchy it is too.
 
‘With Lasers’ is an album influenced by a list of genres as long as your arm.  D’eyrot says that it is like ‘digging through the garbage in Brazil and using the pieces to make a club mess’.  By my reckoning this must mean that the bins in Brazil do not just contain household waste and beer cans but a myriad of different vibrant sounds.  There are pre-grunge guitar riffs, beloved of air guitarists Bill and Ted, galore.  There are chants that remind me of primary school skipping games the girls used to play.  Mix these in with rhythms that could shake Brazilian football stadiums and beats that shake the bootys of Carnival dancers.  Throw in some samples lifted from obscure Latin American cartoons and sound effects resurrected from some long forgotten Super NES or Sega Megadrive games.  Amongst all this supposed garbage will also be found synth loops associated with provincial German discos circa 1987, Portuguese cheerleading and some primitive rapping.  It’s a hell of a mixture which leaves quite a cluttered sound.  Clutter can be bad buts it’s more akin to a second hand shop full of gems rather than the contents of a Granny’s house clearance.
 
The whole mixture is held together by the MCing which is of the primitive variety reminiscent of the 80’s when everyone from Blondie to John Barnes tried their hand at rapping.  The fact that it is delivered in Portuguese gives it an exotic and beguiling air which the lyrics may not warrant.  The female MC sounds a bit like Black Eyed Fergie but as she’s singing in a foreign language I’m not quite put off by her rhymes which could just be about London Bridges and Lady Lumps for all I know.  When she throws in a few grunts, groans and sex noises here and there it all becomes more alluring than inane.
 
All in all Bonde do Role’s debut album does have something of a disposable feel to it – much like the contents of a Brazilian bin no doubt – but like a cheap toy its fun for now.  The album is full of infectious energy and insistent beats that’ll get you in the mood for dancing with your hips.  Sophisticated it is not but then who cares?  Pedro D’eyrot doesn’t.   “For us it's all about the fun, and if it's not fun it's not worth doing. People can think whatever they like about us, but I'd like them to listen to Bonde Do Role in 10-15 years' time and laugh their asses off.”  He’s probably right, we probably will laugh in 15 months let alone 15 years.  But for now I hazard a guess they’d be worth seeing live and you might just well play this at every party you host this summer, shaking your booty with people screaming over the top.

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28th Jun 2007 - Add Comment - Tweet

Cape Wrath

Pilot

Channel 4

Promising opener for this new 7-part C4 drama. David Morrissey stars as the father of a family who move to a suburban gated community looking to make a new start. Soon transpires the gates aren't always open, and the plot thickens...

Stylishly done, it's a decent riff on witness protection schemes, that manages to steer just the right side of "dark/weird/ooh what's going on in this apparently normal cul de sac" plot without getting too wacky.

With Felicity Jones, Harry Treadaway, Lucy Cohu, Tom Hardy, Nina Sosanya, Melanie Hill and Don Gilet. Starts 10th July, C4, 10pm; already showing in the States as Meadowlands

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28th Jun 2007 - 6 comments - Add Comment - Tweet

Transformers

(dir.Michael Bay)

Dreamworks

After their planet is ravaged by civil war, two warring factions of shape-shifting robots arrive on earth in search of a digital rubik's-cube gizmo with the power to turn ordinary electrical appliances into all consuming monster robots. The Decepticons are led by the evil Megatron, who was discovered frozen in the ice by troubled geeky teen Shia La Beouf's grandfather. Luckily he's just bought a new car that turns out to be one of the friendly Autobots who are here to save us - led by the articulated lorry-esque Optimus Prime.

As a kid you would probably shit bricks at how cool the robots are in this movie, but as an adult it's like watching a 120 minute trailer that shows all the best bits. An experience not too dissimilar to lying down on a motorway being run over constantly. The premise is thinner than Highlander II, with very little explanation for why the robots can assume some shapes they like, but don't bother at other times - when being a steam roller might be more useful than being a cool little dune-buggy.

Hollywood heavyweight/lifecoach Michael Bay adds his usual flair, taking his cue from the George Lucas school of film making - where you can't see the CGI because it's all CGI, and it works pretty seamlessly. There are some great sequences and effects - notably the helicopter-bot assassin that attacks the US Army a couple of times in an attempt to steal their bandwidth or something.

It's a fun ride, so don't take my cynical opinion on it all. I was always more of a Lego fan.

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25th Jun 2007 - 3 comments - Add Comment - Tweet

Sebadoh

The Freed Man

Domino

In this humble chimps opinion, there can never be a bad time to remind yourself of the musical genius that is Lou Barlow, but 2007 has provided particularly rich pickings for fans of the indie veteran.  We've already witnessed the triumphant return to recorded form of amp abusers Dinosaur Jr, with the awesome 'Beyond' an album that featured a rejuvinated Barlow back behind the bass for the first time in 20 years.  Now, at the other end of the Volumic scale we get a repackaged and re-released version of 'The Freed Man', the self-explanatory titled first album from Sebadoh, the band Barlow formed after a well publicised fallout with Dinosaur Jr's J. Mascis.

The importance of Sebadoh in the underground indie scheme of things can never be underestimated. The lo-fi intimacy, invention and sheer refusal to be pigeonholed provided inspiration for many great bands that followed; class acts such as Guided by Voices and Pavement to name but two.  Whereas subsequent albums were more rounded and accesible, the 52 'songs' that make up the reissued Freed Man give an invaluable insight into the inner workings of the band from Boston.  I say songs, but it really plays out like a series of half ideas; the hyperactive result of stoned and wandering minds, which Barlow and partner Eric Gaffney undoubtedly possessed.

Tracks start then end without warning or breakdown altogether, all intercut with taped interviews and random commercials recorded from TV.  With the longest of those 52 tracks clocking in at just over 2 and a half minutes ('Julienne' and even that is really 3 songs stuck together), The Freed Man is restless but not irritating and most definately rewarding.  Like discovering a notebook of Picasso's sketches as he worked to create later masterpieces.

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25th Jun 2007 - Add Comment - Tweet

Taken by Trees

Open Field

Rough Trade

After serving for 11 years as the voice of Swedish indie popsters The Concretes - as well as contributing unmistakable vocals to last years Young Folks single from Peter, Bjorn & John - Victoria Bergsman decided to leave The Concretes behind to go solo, taking her love of trees to conjure up the name Taken By Trees.

The acoustic guitar and single drum of Tell Me set the pace for the album, which is minimal melodic pop. Like a Scandinavian Camera Obscura, or a regular Stina Nordenstam, the album is built almost entirely around Victoria's attractive voice. There's not much suggestion of depth to the lyrics, just breezy pop that ambles along without causing any offense. Songs are often story-telling tales in the third person, with some minimal instrumental tracks making nice use of pipes and atmospheric effects. Lost And Found sounds like an ideal choice for a single, with the lovesick delivery sounding more than a little like fellow Swedes The Cardigans.

It's all pleasant enough, but lacking the heart or emotion to make it powerful. It ends up as nothing more than pleasant pop that provides nothing new, and you may feel like you have heard it all before.

The back up vocals of Hours Pass Like Centurys beef things up a bit, and the effects and xylophone of Ceder Trees starts to offer something a little different, but it's not really enough and is definitely a case of too little too late. It's all at the same level and is very conventionally structured, with verse / chorus / verse all the way through - but that's pop I guess. It's all pretty much reliant on you falling for her sexy voice and if you just go with the flow that might well be enough.

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24th Jun 2007 - Add Comment - Tweet

The White Stripes

Icky Thump

XL Recordings

After the success of Jack White's near-permanent side-project of last year took off, the rumours flew that The White Stripes were to be no more. Only a fool would fall for that gag though, especially from a band that has a history of telling fibs and only needs a few days to record a new album. They spent a whopping 3 weeks recording this one, and it shows.

Lead single Icky Thump follows the method we've seen before of a banging radio friendly single that's track one on the album, but if I'm honest it hasn't had as much impact on me as either Seven Nation Army or Blue Orchid did. However, where those two tracks seemed like the only track on each album of that ilk, Icky Thump does sit in with things here more harmoniously.

Judging by the suits on the cover there's more than a nod to Gram Parsons and Emmylou going on here. You Don't Know What Love Is sees Jack White taking his lessons from The Raconteurs and creating an FM friendly 80's rock track.... with a touch of country. It's straightforward, but immediately engaging, oozing with personality. The production quality is definitely up on their previous efforts, which has a always been a bug-bear of mine. I never understood why using vintage equipment shouldn't result in such basics as a consistent volume level.... The Beatles and The BEach Boys always managed OK.

While the production quality may be up, the inconsistency is present in the style of the songwriting which seems to never offer the same idea twice. There seems to be few common threads running through the themes of the songs, and it very much sounds like a compilation album. 300 M.P.H. Torrential Outpour Blues is a heavy-handed down beat number, with vaguely obnoxious guitars. Conquest is a cover of Corky Robbins, complete with Mexican trumpets. Prickly Thorn makes an impression with it's infusion of bagpipes, although it leads into St. Andrew (This Battle Is In The Air), which unfortunately hides Meg's vocal contribution in cut-up tape tricks. Great title though.

Things sound tired with Little Cream Soda's rambling jam with chat. The focus seems to have been lost and the stop/start dynamic of this track and Rag and Bone in particular is already sounding a little tired - although Jack's line about "doghouse, outhouse and ...." show that he's obviously a Tommy Lee Jones fan.

I'm Slowly Turning Into You and A Martyr For My Love For You form a great centerpiece to the album - finally something a bit more serious, sitting somewhere between the outstanding musical edge of the The White Stripes and the more straightforward style of The Raconteurs. They seem much more thought out and complete than a lot of the album, and give the ever present glimpse of what a great album the band could make if they cut their output level by three and harnessed more of their live brilliance on their records.

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23rd Jun 2007 - Add Comment - Tweet

Editors

An End Has A Start

Sony BMG

If my record collection was a sinking ship (which before the days of promo cd's and hooky downloads it was) this new album by Editors would be one of the first to go overboard. That's not to say it's bad, it's just totally unnecessary if you have their excellent debut. Very little progress has been made from their soaring musical arrangements that on The Back Room combined to great effect with Tom Smith's baritone strength as frontman.

It's the same story here but the highs are nowhere near as lofty. It's a shame because in their own right these are really solid songs. The title track is a driving tour de force but if you've got All Sparks you don't need it. Bones is the slow, rumbling track that gently builds to a powerful climax but then so did The Back Room's Fall and Camera.

Smith's voice has a booming depth that commands real power but his band provide a sound that we hear all too much these days. The restraint he showed on The Back Room was the source of the tension that held it all together but it's just a bit tiresome here and I just wish he'd let rip now and again. He comes close on The Racing Rats but still frustratingly manages to keep it together. Songs like this and Escape The Nest make the best bids for the peak but by taking the same rout as their predecessors they will be forever shackled.

I like this band, they swim in the same pool as the other NME-loving new comers but don't subscribe to all the pretension that comes with such company. I like the way they're called Editors and not The Editors, I really liked The Back Room and all the b-sides that came with it and really wanted to like this. I was primed and ready, I was an easy target, but they missed, and I'm sure they couldn't give a monkey's that they missed me but I do and that's all that counts.

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#BC

21st Jun 2007 - 5 comments - Add Comment - Tweet

Cheeseburger

Cheeseburger

Kemado

This album needs very few words to convince you that it's worth a listen. The title says it all. These guys are American (Brooklyn), they make easy to digest rock music which will taste real good on the way down but never professes to give you any lasting sustenance. It's greasy, dirty, frowned on by girls and goes well with beer.

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21st Jun 2007 - 2 comments - Add Comment - Tweet

Alias

Collected Remixes

Anticon

Is this the sound of an underground label on the turn? I doubt it judging by the quality Anticon releases that flank this one but you really have to wonder what place this collection of easy listening remixes has either on this label or on the discography of an artist with the pedigree of Alias. Together with people like Sole and Dose One,  Brendon Whitney was among the first wave of artists to launch the Anticon assault and with his work on the Deep Puddle Dynamics project and his debut The Other Side Of The Looking Glass Alias established himself as main player in this pioneering collective.

Which makes this release all the more curious. It's not bad at all, in fact many of these tracks in their own right are pretty solid but put them in a context such as this and boredom soon sets in. This is a pretty varied cast featuring the likes of Lunz, Sixtoo and Lali Puna and yet it all sounds like a substandard Alias record. All distinctive characteristics of the original songs seem to have been ironed out in favor of the presiding bass heavy, synth beat that Alias is all about at the moment.

Some standout moments are Why?'s inclusion on the 13 & God remix, lush atmospherics on Lucky Pierre's Crush and the song of the album has to go to Sixtoo's Karmic Retribution/Funny Sticks with it's booming beat and apocalyptic grandiosity.  But these are the songs I would have expected to shine as the originals are so good and a part from that it's all pretty forgettable. I normally recoil from remix albums for the opposite reason, that they are too fragmented, so I guess that's one distinctive feature about this record.

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20th Jun 2007 - Add Comment - Tweet

The Broken Family Band

Hello Love

Track & Field

2006's release made it quite clear that Balls wasn't just a catchy title but a manifesto, a mission statement declaring that there was a new sheriff in town and his name was rock. With the latest album Hello Love the plan remains the same and although the steps forward aren't as big as Balls it still moves this band a healthy distance away from their alt-country roots. Not that these roots are something to be disassociated with but the increase in volume and intensity that has occurred over these last two albums have moulded this band into a force to be reckoned with and the country twang which is still very much present but now given extra bite is all the more potent a vehicle to deliver their brand of forked-tongue love poetry. Front man Steven Adams says of this rock element, "We like the fact that we're getting heavier with each record and we all enjoy hitting our things hard. Ten years in, we'll sound like The Bronx."

This comment says a lot about this band. They know where they're going but have no intention of hurrying to get there and from the start this has been their charm. They have a refreshingly light-hearted approach to music and though this album could see them adopting a slightly more serious approach by a: toning down the whole 'Cambridge boys do Nashville' thing and b: singing more about love as opposed to hate the fun and frolics are still kicking about.

Things pretty much continue on from where they left off in 2005. The record hits the ground running with Leaps. Adams' vocals start straight off the bat with the first beat of the drum and we're off and loving it. First single Love Your Man, Love Your Woman is the flagship song on this album. It's got all the balls of the previous record with its stomping drum structure that builds to a shrieking repeated chorus, screeching guitars and thrashing cymbals.

After all the acerbic words of jilted love Adams has penned in the past So Many Lovers sees a certain degree of positivity through hindsight with the line "You should be happy to be among the infinite number of people who have loved and lost." The new softening up is also reflected by the dreamy female backing vocals on songs like Julian and the beautiful You Get Me.

Someone has clearly melted the jaded heart of this band for them to produce such strong declarations of love and with this grand thaw we get honesty such as Dancing On The 4th Floor with its admission "Nearly all the songs are lies except this one." So Hello Love is a duel personality with the softness of this new acceptance of love and the hard musical muscle of some of the more rockier tracks. The result is an ever approaching fullness to this band's sound and their road map to The Bronx may be a long one but the journey has already started well and in the words of Hey Captain "All of us on board believe in you."

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#BC

19th Jun 2007 - 2 comments - Add Comment - Tweet

Cut City

Exit Decades

Gold Standard Labora

Many people may have come across this record while searching the web for any news of Interpol's next move. Whether intentionally or not, Sweden's Cut City had their debut leaked under the name Interpol - Mammoth and the clever thing about this genius piece of marketing and internet manipulation is that once you've downloaded this it would probably take the average casual Interpol fan a few plays to realise that it isn't the New York wonder boys after all, but a band who sound exactly like them in nearly every way. This overwhelming similarity would normally turn me right off but the cunning strategy and the fact that it's a pretty good listen have endeared this beautiful pastiche to my ears.

With heavy drums, chiming guitars and Max J Hansson's monotone vocals songs like opener Like Ashes and Anticipation have all the driving force and deep penetration of the myriad of influences that present themselves with every note. You can't help thinking through albums like this how similar the whole retro music trend is to chinese whispers. Interpol were clearly influenced by Joy Division and while Cut City give more than just a passing nod to the Factory trailblazers it's Interpol from whom most of their sound has developed. So somewhere along this chain of inspiration the sound is diluted. Intepol's Paul Banks  is no where near as intense a vocalist as Ian Curtis and here we see Hansson to be a diluted version of Banks.

But if the forthcoming Interpol album sucks, and now that the new Editors album does suck, Exit Decades will more than fill the gap in your Joy Divisionesq, barritone post-punk slot and no record collection is complete these days without such a slot.

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#BC

19th Jun 2007 - 2 comments - Add Comment - Tweet

Shrek The Third

(dir. Chris Miller, Raman Hui)

Dreamworks

Lame threequel to this previously excellent series; really the only point seems to be to remind you how watchable (and re-watchable) the first two are. Mike Myers, Cameron Diaz, Eddie Murphy and Antonio Banderas are all back as Shrek, Princess Fiona, Donkey and Puss in Boots.

A duff plot involving the succession to the Far, Far Away throne is thrown in as little more than an excuse for a trip to add Jason Timberlake as a goofy, but still v handsome Prince to the gang. Shrek doesn't want to be king (or a dad), meanwhile Rupert Everett's Prince Charming is back. He does want to take over — ooh, who will get the crown in the end?

Couple of OK jokes, Eric Idle's Merlin is not bad; but considering the non-stop, smart and unexpected gags that filled up the first two, you don't come away from this feeling very happy ever after at all.

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#chimp71

18th Jun 2007 - Add Comment - Tweet

James Yorkston

Roaring The Gospel

Domino

The Stones once sang that you can't always get what you want but sometimes you get what you need. But such sentiments were written in the days before globalisation and rampant consumerism.  These days you can you usually get what you want even if it's not strictly what you need.  Our local high street doesn't need a new branch of Subway, JJB Sports or Nandos but that's what we're going to get because apparently that's what the punters want.  In 2007 when everyone seems to have a voracious appetite for musical consumption one thing we definitely don't need is another singer-songwriter out of the folky troubadour mold.  Another one just isn't needed.  There's plenty to cater for our needs already.  Where-ever one stands on the spectrum it seems your needs are catered for; from the Magic FM listening tweeness of the likes of James Blunts to the indie kid loving Bright Eyes of this world.  So we don't strictly need James Yorkston but he is what we should want. When it comes to sorting the musical wheat from the chaff this boy would be top of the pile ready to be sacked up and sent to the mill.

Where many of these troubadours subscribe to the notion that 'imitation is the sincerest form of flattery' and make little effort to disguise the fact that they have just re-hashed the winning formulas tabulated by the likes of Bob Dylan, Nick Drake, and Neil Young, 'Roaring the Gospel' shows that Yorkston’s influences are wider and deeper than that.  Yorkston is a protege of Bert Jansch and I'd hazard a guess that in addition he is not only familiar with Dylan’s back pages but also knows every nook and cranny of such albums as Van Morrison’s Astral Weeks, Love’s Forever Changes and Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young’s Deja Vu.  'Roaring the Gospel', his fourth album, cherry picks some of the finer moments from his heros and blends them together to tasty effect.  Add to this mixture lyrics and a voice that seeps celtic folk traditions and the brew is quite potent indeed.  It might not be entirely groundbreaking but it is an approach that provides Yorkston’s tunes with a character and identity which is very much distinct from his contemporaries.

It is not just the range of influences that ensures Yorkston is sacked up as wheat rather than discarded as chaff; it is also his refusal to follow the route of many of his competitors who feel the need to return to a back to basics style orthodoxy of 'man with guitar recording songs in the solace of his room.'   As a result he has avoided the pitfalls of introspection and melancholy which some manage to make appealing but most don't.  The range of instruments utilised in the pursuit of a sound that is warm, rich and charming is both daring and dizzying.  Yorkston adds colour to his tunes with the odd unexpected flourish. On 'The Lang Toun' the humming presence of bagpipes is inspired.  Accordions don't often make an appearance in modern music but add a certain panache to 'Sleep is the Jewel.'  And when was the last time you heard an oboe used in tandem with a banjo, let alone to used to such magical effect as on 'Seven Sirens'?

I hope James Yorkston has sharp elbows because he really needs to be pushing his way to the front or he'll be lost and dismissed amongst the crowd of all the other singer-songwriting troubadours we don't need.

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#Muxloe

16th Jun 2007 - Add Comment - Tweet

Happy Mondays

Unkle Dysfunktional

Sequel

Generally pointless and pretty disappointing entry in the Mondays' CV. Sounds pretty much as you'd expect, rambling lyrics from Shaun Ryder that no longer sound inspired, less-than-great beats, daft titles like Angels And Whores, Cuntry Disco, Anti Warhole On The Dancefloor etc

Occasional flashes of what was once a great band; dig out Freaky Dancing if you want to remember them as they should be remembered. Should be enough to put anyone off the idea of the Stone Roses getting back together

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#chimp71

13th Jun 2007 - 3 comments - Add Comment - Tweet

Silversun Pickups

Carnavas

Sire

At the 2007 party of screaming dullards, where haircuts are mistaken for personality and t-shirts for opinion, Silversun Pickups would undoubtedly be the un-coolest attendees, which of course, when compared to the remaining herd of technicolour banshees, puts them in the lead and out of sight in the cool stakes.

In Carnavas, the LA four-piece have made a record that blissfully ignores current trends and unashamedly heads back to the early 90s where fuzz guitars were king. So unnassuming you might dismiss it at first or even miss it altogether, Carnavas soon gets you hooked and reels you in.

First listens recall the likes of Veruca Salt, one of the female fronted groups following the grunge troupe circa 1992-1994. Except, Silversun Pickups' singer is called Brian. However his femine voice sits comfortably over the dreamlike and wandering guitar work throughout the album and his screams hold their own as the anger notches up on the likes of current single Future Foe Scenarios and early favourite Lazy Eye.  A welcome blast of nostalgia in 2007 and beyond.

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#chimpovich

12th Jun 2007 - 1 comments - Add Comment - Tweet

The Ponys

Water Rats, London

"Ok. Back to the real shit"

Close to the end of their set, guitar problems forced an awkward foray into Michael Jackson jokes for Pony's frontman Jered Gummere. Once remedied it was very much back to the real shit indeed. The four-piece from Chicago are clearly more comfortable with rock n roll than stand-up and with a sound as huge as theirs, that musical confidence is not misplaced.  Largely working through their recent, third and great album Turn the Lights Out, they filled the room with distortion, reverb and no small amount of psychedelic vibes, before ending as hoped and expected with album closer Pickpocket Song.

Whether it was down to time constraints, or I was just having too much of a good time, it felt like they cut short the rockout jam at the end of Pickpocket Song.  Infact, there were quite a few songs that felt shorter live than on record; but that's no critcism - there was no shortchange in the amount of energy from the band.  I'm hoping The Ponys will be around for a while and if they are, their sound will be hugging the walls of bigger venues than the Water Rats in the future. It was a privilege to check them and their real shit out - up close and intimate.

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#Gig
#chimpovich

12th Jun 2007 - Add Comment - Tweet

Pissed Jeans

Hope For Men

Sub Pop

Pissed Jeans is the bare chested alter ego of white collar worker Matt Korvette, who sheds the skin of his day job in Allentown (known to me only through the Billy Joel track I'm afraid) and strips off to the waist to lead his band through sweaty all-ages punk shows.

With this second album, the band have been signed up to Sub Pop - and you probably couldn't imagine a better home (er, except maybe SST or Dischord). In these days of Zach Braff co-opting the Sub Pop rosta for his feel-good movies, it's good to hear a band throwing down the kind of sludge rock sound that got the label started.

People Person could not be a more ironic title for the album opener - a relatively fast punk number that has a similar effect to being mugged. With the brutal vocal force of Black Flag-era Rollins, vocalist Matt Korvette's lyrics are hard to pin down for sure, but it's either "I am a people person", or "I'm not a people person". I'm guessing it's the latter as Pissed Jeans are definitely not here to be your friend, but if you relax and go with the flow you might just have some fun.

The album generally works at a slower, pounding pace than the opener - whether its the heavy swing of A Bad Wind or the feedback drenched atmosphere of The Jogger. Things almost seem like they might break-out of the weight of this album on the amusing anecdote I’ve Still Got You (Ice Cream) or drum led Caught Licking Leather, but fear not. Much less post-modern sounding than recent punk-sludge from the likes of The Bronx, this is coming from the genuine roots of lifelong garage banders - who are clearly fans of Black Flag or sick-coloured vinyl specialists Flipper.

If you can withstand the bettering your ears will take, you will see through the wall of noise and expose the story-telling side of this album, stretching out tales of white collar workers in the "Straight World". It's a tall order that will certainly not be to many people's tastes - but for many pre-Nirvana post-punkers it will be a breath of fresh air.

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#CSF

11th Jun 2007 - Add Comment - Tweet