Chimpomatic

Best of 2007

BC

Albums
Radiohead - In Rainbows
The album really lived up to the hype of it's release and it's proving to be their most consistent album yet.
LCD Soundsystem - Sound Of Silver
This is a shock favorite. Probably the most played album of the year
Arcade Fire - Neon Bible
They had a lot to live up to after Funeral but their second album was bigger and better. One of the few followup albums to actually expand on what made them so good to start with.
Spoon - Ga Ga Ga Ga Ga
This was no surprise, they just did what they always do and it wins every time.
The National - Boxer
Some of the richest music put out this year, a near perfect album and just what we wanted after Alligator.

Honorable Mentions
Okkervil River - The Stage Names
Wilco - Sky Blue Sky
The More Shallows - Book Of Bad Breaks
Pela - Anytown Graffiti
Iron & Wine - The Shepherd's Dog
Electrelane - No Shouts, No Calls

Songs
All My Friends - LCD Soundsystem (Sound Of Silver)
Atlas - Battles (Mirrored)
Slow Show - The National (Boxer)
(Antichrist Television Blues) - Arcade Fire (Neon Bible)
John Allyn Smith Sails - Okkervil River (The Stage Names)

Gigs
Beastie Boys - Brixton Academy
Wilco - Shepherds Bush Empire
Beirut - Camden Roundhouse
Black Mountain - Cargo

TV
Sopranos
Flight Of The Conchords
Heros
Prison Break
Entourage

Turkeys
Death Proof (This needs it's own category)

Disappointments
Ian Brown - The World Is Yours
Couldn't even review this as it would mean I'd have to listen to it more than once.
24 - Day Six
Thank God for the writers strike and the incarceration. Although I was pleased to see Keifer taking one for the team by opting for a Christmas sentence so he can be free for shooting next year, that's Bauer would have done.
The National - Shepherds Bush Empire
An album of the year but didn't translate well live.

#Music
#BC

20th Dec 2007 - Add Comment - Tweet

Best of 2007

CSF

2007 has been a great year for music. The internet is finally paying off, with dozens of bands hitting the global mainstream through grass roots word of mouth and diy publicity. But it's not just the new boys bringing out the good stuff, with most of my current favourites putting out new records.

Wilco's Sky Blue Sky was a mild disappointment next to A Ghost Is Born, but was still a great album and an even better live show - but while the Kings Of Leon's Because of the Times started the year on a high their live show cut things down to size. The Beastie Boys instrumental Mix Up was a low-key release, but they still delivered the goods live - way past expectations. Band of Horses surprise second album didn't quite hit the highs of Everything All Of The Time, but their live show was barnstorming - proving they've only just got started. Arcade Fire also followed up their debut with an outstanding second album, and Eddie Vedder went semi-solo with his soundtrack for Sean Penn's movie Into The Wild.

Radiohead's In Rainbows has to get a special mention for the world's biggest band's adoption of guerilla marketing, genuinely lighting a fire under the record industry like only a massive band 7 albums deep could do.

Led Zeppelin are the clear winner in terms of stars, but I think it's fair to say that Best Of's don't qualify, so my top five albums of 2007 are:

5. Blonde Redhead - 23
Probably the only surprise in my list - for me certainly - Blonde Redhead's 23 found the low-key indie band hitting their stride and turning in a richly rewarding album.

4. Electrelane - No Shouts, No Calls
After getting their instrumental callings out of the way with Axes, Electrelane returned and surpassed the sound of The Power Out for their fourth album.

3. Spoon - Ga Ga Ga Ga Ga
Spoon's sixth album matched it's conceptual title with a mix of complex songs and catchy pop. Nice to interview them too.

2. LCD Soundsystem - Sound of Silver
Daft Punk Is Playing At My House always struck me as catchy but superficial, and the lead single from LCD's second album - North American Scum - did little to change my mind. Repeat listening peeled back the layers however and Get Innocuous! or All My Friends are unbeatable. Their 45 minute megamix makes for a great bonus track too.

1. The National - Boxer
After finding their feet with third album Alligator, The National turned things up a notch with the superb Boxer. Eschewing the bombast of hits like Secret Meeting, the album is dark and rich - so layered that it takes several listens to even break open.

Gigs
Some pretty good gigs this year too:

Wilco - Shepherd's Bush Empire
A long time coming. With their new squad Wilco could hardly be a better live band.

Beastie Boys - Brixton Academy
After the dismal 1999 Wembley show, the Beasties seemed destined to stay mainstream - but a self-initiated return to their roots has paid off nicely. Still got Time Time To Get Ill.

Black Mountain - Cargo
While still notably nostalgic in sound, these retro rockers blew the socks of Cargo with their forthcoming album In The Future. See next year's best-of list for more info.

Movies
Disturbia - Great modern spin on Rear Window
Bourne Ultimatum - A solid finale to the modern Bond
Knocked Up - Perfectly capturing the stupid antics of a group of friends.
Jesse James - Not up their with Mallik of Leone, but Andrew Dominick's second feature was a grand attempt.
Zodiac - Although long and flawed, David Fincher's 70's epic was an entertaining ride.

TV
Curb Your Enthusiasm - Still cracking me up, six seasons in.
Flight Of The Conchords - Guaranteed entertainment from the Kiwi troubadors.
Entourage - Aspirational TV from Ari, Drama and the crew.

Biggest Disappointments
Kings of Leon live - While the 'seats' were the problem, this band seemed out of proportion for their sound and style.
Death Proof - the worst film I have possibly ever seen. Seriously.

#Music
#CSF

20th Dec 2007 - Add Comment - Tweet

Best of 2007

LG

OK, OK. I'm about to get on a plane, so here you have it:

1. Radiohead - In Rainbows
2. Arcade Fire - Neon Bible
3. The National - Boxer
4. Wilco - Sky Blue Sky
5. LCD Soundsystem - Sound of Silver

Tough choice for third, as I actually think the Wilco album will last longer, but hey... Totally unoriginal list, but I've been out of a lot of the year. Have a great xmas.

#Music
#LG

20th Dec 2007 - Add Comment - Tweet

Best of 2007

CJ

Writing this list it is apparent I haven't listened to enough new music this year. My preferred albums are by familiar artists not quite hitting previous heights but producing solid releases all the same. Band Of Horses, Springsteen and Radiohead fit the bill here. 

The National's Boxer is the stand out this year for me, moving things on from Alligator, producing a superb album in its own right.  Despite a disappointing performance in Hammersmith, Kings Of Leon's release was their best to date.

Best film - Letters From Iowa Jima
Best gig - Hopefully Springsteen at o2 on Wednesday 19th December, otherwise Rifles at Astoria

Biggest turkey - Bernard Matthews' Bird Flu outbreak

#Music
#CSF

18th Dec 2007 - 1 comments - Add Comment - Tweet

The National

Shepherd's Bush Empire, London

As a non smoker I'm a big fan of the smoking ban but last night I saw it's down side. The National's front man Matt Berninger has always maintained a sultry persona as he drapes himself on the mic with a cigarette as smoldering as his lyrics, but without it he looked awkward and fidgety and almost ill at ease with performing. This, coupled with his bands insistence on rocking out at the end of pretty much every song made for a surprise drop in favor for the band that, until In Rainbows popped up, held the top spot for their stunning Boxer album.

First of all, lets get this in context. There may have been a drop in favor but that only took them down to 'not the best gig of the year.' Boxer is such a rich album and it translated badly live is all I'm saying. Like LG stated in his review of the Glasgow show, they seem to be forcing the issue of being a rock band by elevating many of the songs to full-on guitar frenzy finales when it really doesn't need it. Like an approaching tsunami Matt's vocals get buried by the overwhelming size of the music and when the lyrics are as strong as Berninger's it is not wise to lose them in swelling instrumentation. But as the front man drifts to the back of the stage the crazy violinist seems all too happy to take his spot at front and centre.

But as the show progressed they seemed to settle into it a bit more and their natural brooding power came out in songs like Daughters Of The Soho Riots and Ada. Alligator's songs were not treated to as much elevation and so had more of a complete strength to them. Fake Empire is an instant live anthem with Boxer's fantastic drumming raising the already frothing crowd to a clap-along high. This was maintained with the fierce Mr November where Berninger displayed a rare moment of animation by balancing at the front of the crowd and with the words "I used to be carried in the arms of cheerleaders," he really looked on the verge of launching himself into the sea of adoring hands.

This is a band nearing the top of their game musically but they still seem uncomfortable live. They need to discover who they are on stage like they have done on record so perfectly. Maybe they're better in Paris where the smoking ban is yet to kick in.

#Music
#Gig
#BC

8th Nov 2007 - Add Comment - Tweet

The National

ABC, Glasgow

I love The National, I do. On Friday 2nd November, however, I heard them play live in Glasgow at the ABC and have to admit to being worried. Having heard a disastrous set played by the band at the Latitude festival this summer, when they arrived with no instruments and a bad mood, I was hoping Friday night would be a redeeming event.

I could blame my disappointment on the psychotic Glaswegian next to me who kept spilling his beer and attempting to snog his mate’s girlfriend or the couple in front who insisted on screaming a conversation at each other for the duration of the whole gig. But unfortunately the real cause of my uncertainty was The National’s front man, Matt Berninger. I couldn’t help thinking his voice, underplayed and lethargically seductive on the albums, feels a bit strained on stage. Competing with the great rhythmic build up of guitars, violin and percussion, I could hardly make him out and felt constantly nervous that his rasp would finally snap a vocal chord and disappear altogether. Nothing so dramatic would ever happen of course, at the end of a song he would bashfully wonder around the stage, pick up his pint and look a little overwhelmed at the crowd.

‘Fake Empire’, ‘Looking for Astronauts’, ‘Mr November’ were all fantastic with extended climactic assaults on the ear, overlaying a cacophony of drum thumping, feedback and violin screeching. Even here though I wasn’t totally convinced. The band, holding their guitars up against the amps and whacking the symbols, didn’t seem anywhere near as angry as the noise suggested, looking instead very sincere and just a little bit self conscious. It all sounded a bit like the acoustic attack unleashed by Wilco in the final, exhausting crescendo of their live set. Just a little more polite.

#Music
#Gig
#LG

6th Nov 2007 - 1 comments - Add Comment - Tweet

Pela

Anytown Graffiti

Great Society

You can look down the mouthwatering list of releases set for a year ahead and form a pretty good idea of what's in store. This year we have certainly had our fair share of expected treats but when an album like Pela's debut Anytown Graffiti pops up off the radar the treat is even more sweet to the taste. Pela are 4 guys from Brooklyn and together they make deep, heartfelt music that rises on mesmeric rhythms and soars with front man Billy McCarthy's frenzied, earnest vocals.

I must confess, I first fell in love with The National during their 2005 release Alligator, then tracked through their back catalogue fueling my addiction and desperately making up for lost time. Although I missed their 2005 EP All The Time I feel to be joining Pela from the ground floor and it feels good. The National comparison is also apt as Pela's blend of emotional song writing and rich compositions evokes Matt Berninger's light touch and sensitivity. Musically they are both drummers bands and the constant, driving rhythm here forms the structure with all manner of instruments hitching a ride.

As the military drum roll of Waiting On The Stairs counts us in McCarthy's pent up howl sounds raw and unkempt against the tight and minimal music. The album highlight comes early in the form of Lost Of The Lonesome. It's a sparse, hollow song that slowly opens up to a chiming, pastoral rock anthem. The lyrics tell of loneliness and love flailing in hopeless desperation and McCarthy's delivery reflects this perfectly. Their first ep was a more gentle affair than this and Anytown Graffiti shows a remarkable maturity already since 2005 with their sound rising to a more confident scale while also maintaining the soft gentleness of their earlier work. The Trouble With River Cities and the beautiful Your Desert's Not A Desert At All both reflect this sensitivity and display a compellingly understated melancholia.

Like The National, Pela's songs are full of ambiguities and wonderfully emotive lyrics that evoke strange and surreal imagery. An uneasy feeling of struggle to comprehend this modern life is very much present here but nothing is spelled out. In this thematic haze lurks paranoia, confusion and sadness but also a deep romanticism that holds this album high on its shoulders. It's a huge album but will never tell you so. It will just keep dropping hints with every listen. So here we are on the ground floor, who knows how high this thing goes but the views already pretty good from here so I'm in it for the long haul. Going up?

#Music
#BC

29th Oct 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.

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#LG

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

The National

Boxer

Beggars

The National are a rare and special commodity indeed, they seem to exist in an alternate reality all of their own. They have an almost Teflon power to repel any concrete judgments that aim to stick to their ethereal outer surface. Though they never claim to make music that breaks boundaries, creatively they exist in a bubble. Their sound recalls artists like Nick Cave and Leonard Cohen but even as I write this my head's telling me "well not really." Artistically they follow their own path religiously. You would never catch Matt Berninger penning an openly anti-war lyric,  instead he expertly crafts word groupings that defy imagination and meaning yet inspire a certain magical imagery that is totally unique to them. The write up on their myspace page puts it perfectly. "The band sings about the kind of dreams that ruin lives, and they make of those dreams the kind of music that saves them."

With Alligator, their 2005 debt for Beggars Banquet, The National pricked up the ears of music critics, bloggers and any one with a heart and at their London gig at Koko they looked openly stunned as the rapturous crowd sang along ecstatically to ever line. It's easy to create honest and unadulterated art in virtual obscurity but how do you do it when your last album genuinely changed lives? Well, Boxer is how.

This follow up contains not a single trace of self awareness. It is as honest and unique as its predecessor and for that reason is like discovering the band all over again. It uses Alligator as a starting point and goes deeper, plumbing newer and far more richer depths of sound and mood. Musically they show a remarkable maturity using great washes of strings to block in their dream-like landscape then send out a resounding boom across this land with pounding piano and the best drumming this band has ever produced.

From the outset it's pretty clear we're in for a treat. Fake Empire is just the kind of opener you want to hear from a band with this much expectation. A rumbling piano counts in Berninger's voice which is gloriously baritone and heralds the first glimpse of the awesome drumming we see so often on Boxer. Mistaken For Strangers has more bite to it, with chugging guitars accompanying the pounding drums. Songs like Green Gloves and Slow Slow just ooze from the speakers with thick, all consuming quality. Slow Slow's gently strummed structure ticks along with a majestic string accompaniment and  ends up soaring on a beautifully toe-tapping rhythm. Matt Berninger writes with almost stream-of-consciousness fluidity and his strange tales of diamond slippers, gay ballets on ice and rosie minded fuzz seem to drip from his tongue with such ease that it's quite hypnotic. Unlike previous albums Berninger never raises his voice on Boxer and the blood curdling scream of songs like Sad Songs' Available and Alligator's Abel has all but vanished. Instead we get a voice almost unfathomable in depth which seems to be used as much as an instrument as a conveyor of narrative.

If I had to include one slight complaint it would be the choice of ending on the record. Gospel brings things to a close on a relatively week note especially as the song preceding it is so wonderful. In my opinion Ada would end this album with more of a lasting power with its haunting melancholia and gently simmering unease. But it seems foolish to dwell on this as you'll rarely be listening to this album once and pretty soon you'll have had it on repeat so often that you wont know how it ends.

This album has a strange power. Its depth is slow releasing and after the third play you'll wonder if someone has switched cd's on you. The myriad of layers encoded in its rich tapestry will reveal themselves to you with ever emerging magnificence until its overall splendor will have you open mouthed in awe and wonder. If it hasn't got you after the fifth listen then there's something wrong with your brain or your audio equipment. You can't do much about your brain but if it's the latter then I recommend hiring a Bentley for a weekend and giving it a go on that stereo. Believe me, it'll be worth every penny.

#Music
#BC

10th May 2007 - 2 comments - 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

Arcade Fire

Neon Bible

Rough Trade

In 2005 the Arcade Fire gave us Funeral - and with it music was exciting again. No sooner had the music industry heard all 10 songs that it set about desperately trying to find the next source of this feeling. The well timed release of Clap Your Hands Say Yeah saw that band ride this wave with another stunningly exciting debut. So it's 2 years on and Clap Your Hands got in there first with their reply, so what of Neon Bible? Is this a one trick pony? Well, what do you do after such a powerful debut? As we are seeing with Some Loud Thunder, the answer is to play it cool and take it all down a notch. No such idea ever crossed the mind of Win Butler and co. when making Neon Bible. The agenda is clear here, take everything great about Funeral and times it by ten - reveal the iceberg. It's the sound of a band who know full well that they make big music. The best word to describe Neon Bible is massive. If you intend to listen to this album you will need to brush up on 'The Platoon Position', as mid way through the opening track Black Mirror you'll find yourself in need of a suitable body position to justify such grandiosity. It's triumphant music which is surprising considering all the previous themes of death, resentment and wasted life are at its heart and the inclusion of war and the demise of America it's thematically pretty bleak. Musically and stylistically it hasn't changed much from Funeral although it seems quite obvious that someone's been listening to Bruce Springsteen. So with the immortal words of The Boss "Just wrap your legs round these velvet ribs and strap your hands across my engines,"  I will begin with what will undoubtedly become a tired and over-used driving/cars metaphor to describe this album.

If the opening track with its rumble of thunder and deep, pounding drums is akin to the feeling of getting behind the wheel of a high performance vehicle then Keep The Car Running is the point where you come over the brow of a hill and see the open road ahead. The delicate guitar strum at the start hints at the pace ahead and makes your heart flutter with impending excitement.

Title track Neon Bible is the early stop at the service station to refuel when all women and children hear the words they dread. "Get what you need cos we're not stopping again." And with Intervention we are most certainly back at full speed. It's the grandest song on the album, shit it's the fucking grandest song this side of God Save The Queen (National Anthem not Sex Pistols.) Anyone frowning at my use of cuss words will see that they certainly are justified. Starting with a chapel organ the size of St Pauls Cathedral if every hair on your body doesn't stand on end consider yourself paralyzed. I don't know how this song will be played live as no building with a roof could possibly contain it.

Black Wave is pure Blondie with it's sublime melodies courtesy of Regine Chassagne, who until now has been the power house behind the backing vocals. Ocean Of Noise brings things down a notch with it's washes of strings and soft vocals but the driver of this car wasn't joking when he said we wouldn't be stopping again. This was merely a momentary drop in intensity before the full mariachi band bring this song to a glorious close.

The Well And The Lighthouse comes in with rapid pounding drums and Butler's frenzied vocals forever building and with Antichrist Television Blues The Boss really comes to the forefront. With it's strumming acoustic structure, passion fueled tales of working for the minimum wage and unstoppable tempo this would make Bruce wish he'd written it. As do many of these songs this one builds and builds to such tremendous heights then suddenly stops and makes you think that had it not stopped so suddenly you could very easily have shit yourself with joy. Windowsill is more of a slow builder but guess what, it lifts you up on yet another earth shattering wave of sound and rings you out at the end.

The inclusion of No Cars Go is the only questionable element to this album. Having heard its original form on the early EP this feels like all too familiar territory and even though it's been working out since its first appearance its inclusion here still feels a bit unnecessary.

Things are brought to an exhaustive close with My Body Is A Cage and please welcome back on to the stage, the huge fucking chapel organ. "My body is a cage that keeps me from dancing with the one I love, but my mind holds the key," sings Butler "Set my body free." This song is the end of a movie, it's the unfeasible tracking-crane-shot that lifts from close proximity and keeps on lifting, encompassing everything, showing us the whole picture. And with it's climax your body drops from the Platoon Position and though all your senses try to stop you, you press play again.

So to put this tired metaphor to rest, this is an awesome journey that covers a lot of ground. It never hits traffic, it sometimes slows down for safety reasons while passing through small villages but never opts for monotonous motorway driving and always takes the scenic route.

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7th Feb 2007 - 6 comments - Add Comment - Tweet

Oxford Collapse

Remember The Night Parties

Sub Pop

Recalling a time when bands were about a few college friends playing guitars in a garage, off-beat drumbeats and a guy singing (maybe even two guys signing), Brooklyn's Oxford Collapse are a refreshing blast of nostalgia for a time when being in a band was about hanging out, having a good time and playing shows for friends - probably in the garden of a college pool-party, as the title and cover art of Remember The Night Parties might suggest.

Oxford Collapse are latest signing on Seattle's legendary Sub Pop label, and it's a fitting home. I'd place these guys somewhere between 80's post-punk from the likes of The Replacements and classic-era Sub Pop bands like Mudhoney. Bands from a time before 'Alternative' was a genre on your iPod. With the multiple attack force of Michael Pace and Adam Rizer on vocals, this three man band are all rhythm and chorus with barely a lead guitar break in sight.

Following on from two albums on the New York indie label Kanine, Sub Pop roped in John Agnello for production duties (Sonic Youth, Dinosaur Jr.), and the bands first album in a top-end studio has yielded superb results. Where their previous album A Good Ground had a dilapidated, shambling charm, it was lacking some focus - and although their press release still describes the bands live shows as 'shambolic,' the issue has certainly been addressed here.

Following the gentle breaking-in of He'll Paint While We Play, Please Visit Your National Parks (mp3 here) sets the tone for a childhood summer style trip out to The Lake. Loser City ups the pace, with the most Mudhoney-esque track on the album firmly positioning the album in the Super 8 soaked memories of childhood, proclaiming "Broke your projector, incurred expense."

However, the album's best point is also it's worst - it's all rhythm and chorus with barely a lead guitar break in sight. Coming up to half way through it begins to drag slightly... but just when I started to lose interest is when it really picks up, making what would have been Side-B in the old days the preferred choice - an uncommon situation with most albums. The most successful tracks are those which sway from the standard MO - going instead for a less homogenised whole and building the sound of the songs on much more varied, simpler and punchy frameworks.

The high strung guitars, stuttering drums and wailed-verse -vs- chorus-wailing of Lady Lawyers make for an obvious college radio favourite, that ratchets up the pressure over the absurd lyrics. A string of great tracks follow, from the escapist Let's Vanish, through the military drumming of Kenny Can't Afford It, and the down-tempo hazy remembering of Forgot To Write to the sing-a-long name-checking finale of Your Volcano.

Evocative, narrative lyrics coupled with a sea of guitars build the sound of this world, and rather than just music or just lyrics it is the overall approach that creates the nostalgic mood. A world where if John Hughes was directing Oxford Collapse would definitely be playing in the punker's bar on the wrong side of the tracks - and they'd probably turn up as the band at the prom too, wearing shabby tuxedos and forcing the preppies to let themselves go.

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3rd Nov 2006 - 1 comments - Add Comment - Tweet

Akron/Family

Meek Warrior

Young God Records

This is the third album from the enigma that is Akron/Family and as always it is a weird and often wonderful journey. This New York based quartet do everything they can to confuse you, alienate you, dazzle you and ultimately impress you with their brand of freak folk, post-rock and whatever other genre they decide to drop during this 35 minute slice of madness.

I say madness but for their standards this is quite normal. It's basically a regular alt folk, semi religious record in the style of Danielson or Davandra Banhart that's framed by two crazy, freak out monster jams. To open an album with a song like 'Blessing Force' lets the listener know early that to sit comfortably would be a mistake. Tribal drums, crashing cymbals and feedback start things off, before this turns into group chanting which heralds what we all think is the start of this song, but no. Another whiplash change of direction and the song careers off in another direction, that of head-fuck, twisted guitar and yet more sprawling drum landscapes. Then 3 minutes later we get the free-form jazz section and if you look ahead on your iTunes time bar you realise with horror that you have 2 more minutes of this ear-piercing noise to go. Just as the Rowntrees Fruit Pastel adverts dare you to eat one with out chewing, Akron/Family dare you not to skip this bit. I took up this dare once and finished the track but never again. As ambitious as 'Blessing Force' is, it does sound a bit like a nine minute show-reel and as the beautiful lo-fi folk of 'Gone Beyond' gently follows you can't help thinking that what just went before was nothing but a glitch in the system and somehow a particularly experimental Liars track found its way on to the start of this album.

So from here on in we get the delicate country ditties of the title track, the sparse soundscapes of 'No Space In This Realm' and the fragile finger picking of 'Lightning Bolt Of Compassion'. Then comes the other freak-out monster jam. 'The Rider (Dolphin Song)' is a measly seven minutes though and easier to stomach than its predecessor. It's a dark, brooding scuzz-bucket of noise that explodes erratically into formless improv. It's the evil cousin of Radiohead's 'National Anthem' and finishes you off with a deafening squall that must utilise every instrument in the studio. But the Family don't leave your bruised and pummeled corpse there. No, they pick you up, dust you down and take you to Sunday School with the closing track 'Love And Space'. Here, each band member gets a turn in chanting the "Lord Open My Heart.." mantra and all the craziness from the past 35 minutes is nicely forgotten.

This is another brave example of Akron/Family's talents. By painstakingly constructing their beautiful folk landscapes, only to destroy them in a reckless act of sabotage, they challenge the listener to question what they're listening to. While this is the albums strength it is also its failing. The experimental moments are too few and far between and instead of the annoying wrecking balls they try to be, when put amongst the delicate psych-folk of the other tracks they become the best songs on the album and are so powerful that the others appear out of place. But there is more than enough on Meek Warrior to confirm that Akron/Family are one of those important bands that refuse to be classified and will go on challenging you and daring you whether you like it or not.

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31st Oct 2006 - Add Comment - Tweet

Devastations

Coal

This is the second full length from Melbourne trio Devastations and I think it might just see me through to the next National album - whenever that might come. Musically it certainly is comparable, largely due to front man Conrad Standish's low mumbling voice. Thematically it's a different story - these are love songs indeed but they are more like Nick Cave's Murder Ballads than label mates The National's strangely uplifting songs.

Sex And Mayhem starts things off with typical meandering vocals accompanied by an ever-increasing layer of instruments. But if you thought things were going to be as cheery as this, then The Night I Couldn't Stop Crying makes you think again with it's ominous, jangling guitars and Standish's particularly dark mumblings barely audible over the screeching guitar feedback. Things take a slightly different turn with the introduction of Tom Carlyon on vocals on Terrified. This is not a turn for the worst by any means, the lyrics are still dark but sung with an almost Bryan Ferry croon. If things are all getting too mumbly and simmering for you at this point Take You Home soon changes that. It's the most up-tempo song on the album and builds nicely to a crescendo of guitar noise and feedback.

Though I prefer Standish's vocals the album is brought to a glorious close with Dance With Me. It tiptoes in quietly with Carlyon's lonely vocals but is steadily joined by piano, accordion and a string section to produce a truly heart breaking finale.

This album is aptly named, as if ever there was a musical equivalent of coal then this would be it. Dark, impenetrable and slow burning. Great stuff.

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30th Aug 2006 - Add Comment - Tweet

The National

Koko, Camden

"The English are waiting and I don't know what to do." Sings Matt Berninger of The National at Koko last night. This line seemed all too true for the charismatic lead singer who looked visibly stunned and overwhelmed at the rapturous applause that greeted him and his band. While cracking open a bottle of champagne he admitted, "this is the first time we have played to this many people who have just come to see us." I too was quite surprised at the frenzied response to every song and the general hysteria that resided in the hall that night. And it was well deserved.

Opening with the glorious Secret Meeting and just about playing every song they know, as well as a few new ones, this soon evolved into a truly stunning and memorable gig. It's such a treat these days to see a front man with a personality, who is genuinely reacting to the passion and emotion of the songs - rather than assuming an act. On songs such as Daughters Of The Soho Riots, Berninger whispers into the mic as if he was holding his lover, his hands gently yet firmly clasping the neck whilst he pours his heart out as if they were the only two in the room. In between verses and songs he would pace around nervously, biting his nails like a troubled man waiting outside his lovers door, rehearsing the devastating words he is about to utter. After screeching the repeated mantra 'My mind's not right' on Abel, Beringer looked genuinely shaken at the power of his own voice.

As is often the case at great gigs, the crowd is treated to revamped and reworked versions of familiar favourites. The achingly beautiful Wasp Nest smouldered like the cigarette permanently burning between Berninger's clasped fingers, then gradually rose to a mighty crescendo that morphed into the awesome Murder Me Rachel. The highlight of the set, and the moment that brought this gig into four-star territory, was the mighty Mr November. If much of the night saw Berringer straining to keep his emotions under wraps, this was the point where he lost the fight. Clearly feeding off the crowds unified and deafening chant of "I'm the new blue blood, I'm the great white hope," the front man gave it all he had, screaming over and over "I wont fuck us over, I'm Mr. November." Fantastic. And all this while being flanked by two twin hobbits from Lost's Driveshaft.

Click here for more pictures, and here for a review of November 2005's gig at ULU.

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1st Jun 2006 - 1 comments - Add Comment - Tweet

Radiohead

Hammersmith Apollo, London

OK, what you are about to read is a totally 100% biased, one-sided opinion masquerading as fact but I don't care. This was a perfect gig. All morning I have tried my hardest to pick holes in it and find some kind of fault but I'm afraid I concede, simply perfect. Whenever people ask me what was the best gig you have ever been to I get nervous because I feel my answer should be some seminal moment in music history, like "Sex Pistols at St. Martins" or the "Stone Roses at Spike Island", when all that really ever came to mind was "MC Hammer, Wembley Arena supported by the mighty Snap". But now I have an answer to be proud of.

I suppose the only slightly less-than-perfect point was that they opened with a new song Videotape that Thom Yorke plays on the piano so no one can actually see him until the second song. But that was National Anthem and the show was under way. This was followed by 2+2=5 which is when the crowd really found their legs or lost them depending on where you were standing. I had heard that this tour was going to be an opportunity for the band to air some new songs and some of the lesser played ones. This was true but they still managed to treat us to such classics as Karma Police. This is what I would refer to as 'A Platoon Moment' where I assume a Willam Defoe, hands-in-the-air-euphoric stance only this time not being gunned down by the Viet Cong. This pose was invented for this band and for this moment. It was nothing less than spectacular.

Three of the most impressive moments were the opening tracks to 3 of their best albums. Everything In It's Right Place, Airbag and best of all Planet Telex. Here the band arranged a supped up version of such magnitude that it was almost unrecognisable and sounded like something off Kid A or Amnesiac. The set list didn't seem to be set in stone either and after repeated crowd requests for OK Computer's epic Let Down they finally obliged. Maybe it isn't a song that is often played as half way through the second verse Thom seemed to forget the words and backed away from the mic looking confused. The crowd soon came to his aid and rose with a crescendo of straining voices bringing a grateful smile to the front man. What was also very evident is that we are in for a treat judging by some of the new stuff that was played. Arpeggi being a particular highlight, a slow building number that evolves into a power house finale making full use of Ed O'Brien's impressive backing vocals which are fast becoming Radiohead's secret weapon.

So two encores later and a string of classics having delighted and exhausted the worshipping crowd we are eased down from the clouds gently with Everything In It's Right Place, which saw Yorke come to the front of the crowd and dance along with us with a big smile on his face. I will end this review by apologising again for my rather over emotional sentiments but I am not of sound mind. If you want an over technical and slightly cynical opinion go read Pitchfork but as for me, if I was Sam Becket from Quantum Leap, I could definitely 'leap' now.

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19th May 2006 - 6 comments - Add Comment - Tweet

The National

Alligator

Along with Arcade Fire this album was one of the highlights of 2005. I wasn’t that familiar with The National before this but soon became obsessed with Alligator. It is so infectious and unlike anything I can think of. Lyrically this album is fascinating. Curious and often beautiful poetry is delivered with deep, baritone restraint by front man Matt Berninger. The often confessional subject matter is strangely hopeful and yet tinged with melancholy

The National hail from Brooklyn (or is it Ohio - Ed.) and yet have little in common both thematically or musically with the New York house style we are used to hearing. Lyrics like “My bodyguard shows her revolver to anyone who asks and yes she comes to attention when you come up to me too fast,” and “Come be my waitress and serve me tonight, serve me the sky with a big slice of lemon,” hint at a surreal and yet romantic view of this world that thought provoking and touching. It’s hard to break this album down into standout tracks as it is such a complete work of unrivalled originality but if I had to I would say Lit Up, Friend Of Mine and Geese Of Beverly Road simply rule.

Alligator is the reason I constantly find myself trawling through the new releases, because every so often you come across something like this that moves you with its beauty, its honesty and its quality. The trouble is that everything else gets judged accordingly and I am rarely satisfied now.

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10th Apr 2006 - 1 comments - Add Comment - Tweet

The National

ULU, London

The National have been making quick progress up my album of the year chart, so this was a good chance to put these pups under the microscope (even though they are only a mere 3 albums in).

Support act Film School kicked things off, and I spent quite a while deciding whether their Cure stylings and sound were contrived or genuine... but being American ponces (as opposed to British ones) did them some favours and they may be worth watching out for. When The National took to the stage however there was no doubt that they were a cut above. They kicked straight into the new classic Secret Meeting with such power and gusto that the audience was instantly gripped. I was surprised that singer Matt Berninger wasn't the dude on the cover of the debut album... but if Britt Daniel from Spoon is Richie Cunniingham, then this guy is a cross between Crispin Glover and Sam Shepard. Alternately smoking and moodily skulking around the stage... which all made me realise how many bands don't have an instrumentless singer at the moment. This created a real focus for the six piece band, who did seem a lot more of a band (rather than a single vision of a single person) than I had imagined.

There was a bit too much swapping around between the bass and guitar guys (chimp concert rule number 3, stick to one instrument), but the set motored along without much interruption, consisting of a lot of tracks from the current album Alligator, with a few other numbers from Sad Songs For Dirty Lovers and the Cheery Tree EP, all amped up a notch from the studio versions, with a fair bit of screaming.

If you don't have Alligator yet, get onto it. And keep a eye out for these guys in the future. Ossum.

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23rd Nov 2005 - Add Comment - Tweet

Ian Brown

Live at Claremont House

Thanks to the National Trust's push to update themselves, Ian Brown played this outdoor gig in the spectacular setting of a turf ampitheatre in the grounds of a stately home in Esher, Surrey. I like Ian Brown's solo stuff, so was happy to see him live. We'd discussed on the way down whether there would be any Stone Roses songs - as he has been so far reluctant to dwell on that particular back catalogue.

However, once permanently bitter and twisted support act Aziz Ibrahim was finished "Your parents saw Hendrix, you can tell your kids you saw me" it was a nice surprise to hear Ian Brown kick off with I Wanna Be Adored. Then Sally Cinnamon. Then about another hour of Stones Roses classics. "This is what you were expecting, yeah?" he said, as I upgraded my picnic position to front row. Thanks to a brief punch up, the crowd parted like the Red Sea and I cruised straight down to the front in time for I Am The Resurrection. The nostalgia set finished with Fool's Gold before he thanked the band (a tribute act called Fool's Gold apparently) and continued with a brief blast of his solo material - much of which has become classic in it's own right.

Great gig. Tick another one off the list.

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27th Jul 2004 - Add Comment - Tweet