Tribes - Baby

By Jiten Karia

Tribes, the guitar band representative of this year’s Next Big Things, swing a hefty bag of hype as they release their debut album Baby. Popular with The Mystery Jets and Zane Lowe amongst others, and having supported The Pixies, the Camden four-piece are now boldly, and worryingly, about to make a splash on the music radar.

The last few years haven’t been particularly kind to such bands with supposedly promising groups like The Drums and Delphic disappearing as quickly as they appeared in the public eye. While the UK’s infatuation with indie/rock has not died, many news bands since the debutants of the mid-2000s (i.e. Arctic Monkeys, Bloc Party, etc) have been a little flash-in-the-pan, a trend Tribes hope to break.

A major obstacle, however, is listening through the mesh of influences that have been drawn into the album. The band’s material has previously been attributed to a list of influencers including Nirvana, Pixies, Brit-pop and The Libertines and there are definite elements of each to be found in the amalgam. In the case of Baby then, it’s easier to go with it, because the record is actually quite good, if not incredibly innovative.

Take, for example, ‘We Were Children’, which was previously named “Hottest record in the world” by Zane Lowe. Played to a crowd, as I saw when they supported Funeral Party last May and in the track’s video, the song and album make perfect sense. The lyrics are chanted with all the frustration of a 20-something and, fused with joyfully noisy guitars and drums, it forms a decent anthem for the audience. Similarly, their other single from last year, ‘Sappho’ befits a sing-along. Johnny Lloyd’s alternation between hushed whispers and swagger-filled vocal help bring alive the wretched story of love and add just the right amount of sleaze.

Other notable tracks from the album include opener ‘Whenever’ (bass-driven and a little shout-y in a good way) and ‘Walking In The Street’. One thing that firmly establishes itself in this debut is Tribes’ ability to craft a song. Baby, aside from the two slower tracks (‘Nightdriving’ and ‘Alone Or With Friends’), is an example of how to make good, catchy tracks.

However, getting hooks and riffs right is not exactly an impossible task and the band’s lack of original edge could be a death sentence depending on how well or not the album sells. The record is fairly good, with a decent array of memorable tracks, but gimmicks, boldness and/or utter genius often determine an act’s longevity nowadays, all somewhat sadly lacking here.

Lisa Hannigan - Passenger

By Jiten Karia

As much as I love Damien Rice, I always found it a shame that Lisa Hannigan’s name didn’t join his on the covers of his albums. Prior to the release of her debut Sea Sew, she existed in the shadow of Rice, playing off his often intensely impassioned voice with her own delicate and almost crystalline singing. You only need to hear ‘9 Crimes’, ‘I Remember’ and ‘Volcano’ to understand the impact Hannigan’s voice has on the overall feel of O and 9. Without her as a foil, I sometimes wonder whether Rice’s music would have had the same emotional resonance.

When Sea Sew was released in 2009, the background singer finally came to the fore in impressive style. Notching up a Mercury Prize nomination (amongst other prize nominations and wins), Hannigan’s solo effort was an almost perfect break from the misery that defines Rice’s music. There was a simplicity and warmth in the instrumentals that meshed completely and wonderfully with her voice.

It saddens me somewhat then that her new album rarely matches the joyful feel of Sea Sew. While that’s not a bad thing necessarily (her career of course did start by contributing to some hideously miserable music), Passenger generally traverses the range of musical greys, only briefly sparking up to recapture the charm and spirit of her debut.

Take the opener ‘Home’, which booms to life with horns, strings and drums only to fall a flat very quickly. Hannigan’s voice is her most valuable musical tool, but in this case sits uncomfortably amidst the track’s noisy grandeur. Elsewhere, ‘O Sleep’, which is fairly bland anyway, is hijacked in the choruses by Ray LaMontagne, whose tones fail to play off Lisa’s quite as well as Damien Rice’s once did.

When Passenger does come to life however, the results reveal how good Ms Hannigan still is at crafting songs. The first single to be released, ‘Knots’, is a swashbuckling foot-stomper that complements her sweet brogue. ‘What’ll I Do’ is an equally fun ditty which flows between rolling verses and choruses of ‘ohs’ and ‘ahs’ impossible not to chant along to.

The high points aren’t all necessarily chirpy though as the brooding bassline and wistful vocals of ‘A Sail’ go to show. Similarly, the barebones usage of guitar and violin accentuate Hannigan’s voice in the beautiful ‘Little Bird’.

Passenger is not a bad, great or even average album. In fact, it’s pretty difficult to pin down knowing her musical history. Taken by itself, the record is pleasant enough listening and there is nothing glaringly obvious to complain about. However, when listening to it as a follow up to Sea Sew I can’t help but feel a little less enthused by it. Lisa Hannigan’s debut was a fresh start – warm and adventurous. This, in comparison, is nice but plain and (sadly) sedate.

Emmy The Great

By Jiten Karia

London’s Cecil Sharp House screams intimacy. Or at least it would scream were it not the home of the English Folk Dance and Song Society, a slight irk for tonight’s leading lady, Emma-Lee Moss aka Emmy The Great, who by self-admission has been trying to escape allusions to folk music for the past four years.

Instead, the walls whisper and coddle you into a very folksy warmth.

Screaming would ill fit this tiny venue with its foot-high stage, polished wood flooring and tastefully decorated walls. It is so quaint and the atmosphere so polite that you’d fear raising your voice would be offensive. Indeed, it is folk-ish to the extreme.

Though that fact may not sit very well with Ms Moss, the charms of folk music (there is no charm to folk dance) have some resonance with her, particularly considering the mythological overtones of Virtue and the acoustically-driven First Love. Therefore, Cecil Sharp House should be an almost perfect setting for the night.

Before the first track can even begin though, a hidden problem makes itself apparent as the tiny stage can barely contain the entire band’s equipment and guitars crash to the floor the second they are touched. Sadly, it is an omen of sorts for the night. Whilst the venue is atmospherically incredible, it becomes clear that a fully-electric band was not what it was made for. During the course of the set, feedback crops up intermittently and the close proximity between the amps and snare causes unwanted rattle during acoustic tracks.

The result is an unpolished set.  Ms Moss appears constrained at times and while part of this has to do with a bass drum being less than half a yard behind her, a pattern reveals itself as she mixes between older and newer material. Tracks like ‘We Almost Had A Baby’, ‘MIA’, ‘24’ and ‘First Love’ are impeccable, honed to live perfection after years of performance. The pacing and vocal delivery show a performer at ease with her material.

However, there is noticeable flatness with some songs from Virtue. At times tracks sound hurried and lack much of the emotional tone reflected on album versions. ‘Iris’ and ‘Exit Night’ are two such examples where the sprightliness of the album fails to come through quite as well on stage. However, tracks like ‘Trellick Tower’ and ‘Creation’ are better on the whole, even though the former suffers hugely much from bass-afflicted snare ratter.

The highlight of the night however, is a cover of Weezer’s ‘Island In The Sun’. The assured yet carefree attitude Emma-Lee Moss gives off during the song reflects the positives of the gig. When she is at comfort with the track, she is nothing short of Great. After a little more time refining Virtue for live performance, consistently strong sets will be the norm.

Blood Orange - Coastal Grooves

By Jiten Karia

If his musical record is anything to go by, raising Devonté Hynes must have been a trying challenge for his parents.  In the space of six years he has (officially) released four albums under a minimum of four different guises – his stint as Lightspeed Champion arguably the most successful.  Never seemingly able to sit still, he has also produced and written tracks for a host of other acts including Solange Knowles, Diana Vickers and Basement Jaxx.

However, when approaching this album, you can’t really take into account the history surrounding Test Icicles, Lightspeed Champion or Dev himself as each of his musical paths meander to individually different styles.  It would be folly to suggest there is any clear folk, punk, country or indie (forgive the labels) influences to Blood Orange, especially as it would gloss over the elements of classical, garage and grunge music that are mixed throughout numerous self-released bootlegs.

This (somewhat personal) need to differentiate between the many sides of Dev Hynes is necessary when you first pick up Coastal Grooves, because it is so unlike his old stuff that it sort of makes sense that the moniker has been changed too.  The music storytelling that was exemplified by Falling off the Lavender Bridge’s ‘Midnight Surprise’ has effectively vanished, and in its place is a feast made for the ears rather than the mind.

A distinctive funk bleeds through the entire album, at times bombastic and bassy (‘Sutphin Boulevard’), and at others more serene and blasé (‘Champagne Coast’, ‘Complete Failure’).  And throughout almost all of it Hynes’ sings in a semi-falsetto, resulting in a strange vocal delicacy composed of breathless whispers and short, sharp wordpunches all masked in that intriguingly bizarre Anglo-American drawl.

‘Are You Sure You’re Really Busy?’ is probably the best example of this new-ish direction taken by Dev.  The bass doesn’t so much pump through your body as much as it infiltrates it, soaking in and seducing the mind while a voice talks you to into a sleazy bar.  All the while, a guitar idles in the background, waiting to creep in and spike you with a solo.   There is so much character to the instruments in this one track that the vocals are almost superfluous.

Another notable highlight of this funktastic record is ‘S’cooled’, which commands a mellowness that unwinds the mind beautifully.

Coastal Grooves is, by any standard, a brilliant sounding album and a superb show of Dev Hynes’ growing ability as a composer and musician, but it is also a little saddening.  With this ‘debut album’ from Blood Orange being rather good, there is a niggling doubt that perhaps the era of Lightspeed Champion is over, and with it that lovable and geeky charm.

7 July, 2011

When Death Cab for Cutie finally emerge on to the stage there is little to suggest that only five days ago they were playing to a Milton Keynes audience monumentally bigger than the 5,000 packing out the Brixton Academy today. There is no noticeable swagger about them and the fact that Ben Gibbard censors himself by saying “What the eff is up?” in his welcome only adds to their apparent humility.

Death Cab For Cutie

In reality though, they are an astonishing success story. Thirteen years and seven albums after first emerging from Seattle’s indie scene, Death Cab has grown from strength to strength with their popularity showing no sign of waning. This night is, in many ways, a demonstration of how they have managed to keep going so strong.

Launching into the trance-inducing intro of ‘I Will Possess Your Heart’, a steely determination takes over Gibbard’s demeanour, and the band exudes a quiet confidence that has no doubt been boosted by Saturday’s gig in front of 65,000 people. By the end of the song, the pattern for the evening is set as each track is emphatically welcomed and chanted back with adulation by the audience.

The likes of ‘Codes and Keys’, ‘Crooked Teeth’ and ‘The New Year’ tear through Brixton with an impressive echo delivered by the packed house, but the most impressive part of the set is how the band goes about it with some professional flair.

To put it in perspective, you only need to listen to Death Cab’s 2008 re-release of Something About Airplanes, which includes the band’s first live performance from Seattle’s Crocodile Café, a venue previously played by Nirvana, REM and Pearl Jam. Back then, they were the relatively unknown support to Gibbard’s other band, The Revolutionary Hydra, and the telltale signs of a new band were all present. The recorded tracks from 1998 present a young, nervous, vocally sketchy and muted Death Cab for Cutie. It’s a raw take of the band in their earlier days and represents what lies at the core of their music from the beginning.

Since then they’ve grown more polished and adventurous with their instrumentation in live performances, as shown off tonight. The breaks in between tracks are no longer filled by fiddling with a guitar’s tuning or anxious promotion of cassettes, and are instead kept tight and filled with brief dedications and continued thanks to their supports and the audience. At the Crocodile Café they had to make a quick impact and sounded overeager. That’s not to say they still aren’t eager to please the audience, but instead, they now have control over the tempo of their set.

When the opening series of notes that signal ‘I Will Follow You into the Dark’ chime out, a slow sing- along commences, an inevitability based on how Gibbard builds up to it.

This evolution from a small-time indie band to international giants still feels a little strange though. As ‘The Sound of Settling’ starts up to mark the end of the main set, there is still an audible hubbub from the bar and the sides still have space to breathe and have a conversation between songs. Death Cab for Cutie have the tracks and poise to be filling venues much larger, but I can’t shake the feeling that the Crocodile Cafes and Brixton Academies of the world may still be the best place to see them live.

Back in January, I found myself walking rather aimlessly along Regent Street, killing time before meeting a friend.  The sun was going down, it was achingly cold and my toes were freezing through hole-riddled trainers.

Emmy The Great - Virtue

On that afternoon, Sigur Ros’ Takk made complete sense to me for the first time as it started playing through my headphones.  I didn’t spontaneously understand Icelandic and find infinite meaning in all of it, but everything about the album clicked at that point.  It was already a great record, but that moment crystallised it to perfection, almost providing the perfect soundtrack to that mundane point in my existence.

In that context, it was with surprise that I had a similar moment with Emmy The Great’s Virtue. Rather than a picturesque moment in central London, it was instead in a dirty Volkswagen Polo, coming back from my final shift of work at half ten at night.  And rather than the crystallising experience that etched Sigur Ros into me, Virtue washed over and left me in a calm stupor.

The point of this digression from what is meant to be a review relates to the capacity of an album to exceed basic positive and negative descriptors.  This may differ from person to person, but there’s no doubt (in my mind) that everyone has an album/song that’s just a little bit special based on just a few moments in time. Anyway, onwards to a review of why this album deserves your time.

Virtue comes two years after Emma-Lee Moss’ debut First Love, an acoustic-heavy affair that balanced mature lyrics and topics with an undeniable charm.  Since then, events and fortunes have changed Moss’ style with a greater emphasis on mythical imagery and figures, as well as a developed sense of narrative.  The stories told within ‘We Almost Had A Baby’ and ‘MIA’ placed themselves in the real world and held the first-person perspective, but now her stories are more fantastical and characterised, as evidenced by the likes of ‘Cassandra’ and ‘Exit Night/Juliet’s Theme’.

Moss’ ability to weave a tale is not major news considering the tales in First Love, but Virtue comes into its own as a major development in her vocal capabilities and as a departure musically.  Whilst the former was a largely collaborative work, Moss and Euan Hinshelwood, her long-time musical partner, split roles between themselves, with Hinshelwood responsible for the dramatic shift in how the album sounds.  The acoustic warmth that enshrouded the debut is largely gone, with even the softer-sounding tracks (i.e. ‘Creation’ and ‘North’) sounding less quaint and more ethereal.

Through this new sound, Hinshelwood adds a new dimension to Emmy The Great.  Lead single ‘Iris’ is perhaps the best example of this, using a chunky bassline, drumbeat and guitar trills to lend a new vibrancy to what could easily have become a simple acoustic track.

The other side of this vocal/instrumental split has been the ability for Moss to shine with her voice.  With musical responsibilities lifted, her focus on developing backing vocals for her characters and adding range to her voice is impossible to miss. You need only to hear ‘A Woman, a Woman, a Century of Sleep’ and ‘Paper Forest (In the Afterglow of Rapture)’ to note a distinctly more confident voice compared to two years ago.  Both demonstrate a greater command and range from her debut and show her voice off as delicate yet powerful.

All of leads back to why Virtue got my adoration and why it deserves your attention.  More than anything, the album is about change and consequent growth.  The shifted narratives and musical progression show Moss as an artist of depth and increased maturation.  She has ditched any semblance of her old ‘folk’ tag and as a result, Virtue sounds liberated and more complete.

The First Days of Spring was perhaps Noah and the Whale’s saviour from falling into obscurity at a time where they were stuck with the ‘nu-folk’ tag. Emerging from the shell of a broken heart, Charlie Fink’s narrative crystallised post-break up emotions with cinematic overtures and a scale of ambition far beyond what was expected following Peaceful, the World Lays Me Down.

Noah And The Whale - Last Night On Earth

Two years on, Last Night on Earth presents a new incarnation of Noah and the Whale. Any semblance to the folk sentiments that ushered in the success of Mumford and Sons and Laura Marling has virtually vanished, replaced with a synth-led vibrancy that resonates through most of the album

Take, for example, the album’s lead single, ‘L.I.F.E.G.O.E.S.O.N’, an impossibly sweet track with a chorus that will permeate your skull from your first listen. Though you could very well describe their debut single ’5 Years Time’ in the same way, the naive joy that spoke so loudly three years ago has transformed into a reminder that indeed, life does go on, and that fact is something that should be embraced.

As expected after the sombre affair that was The First Days of Spring, this themes of moving on and grasping the now repeat sporadically through the album. Subtle references to a past long gone and the opportunity of events to come (‘Just before We Met’ and ‘Waiting for My Chance to Come’ amongst the more conspicuous examples) show a natural change in Fink as a person and it’s something that shines through when compared to the previous albums.

Despite this maturation over three records, Noah And The Whale aren’t not seasoned enough not to occasionally fall into lapses of poor lyricism. For example, in ‘The Line’ Fink’s conjured-up female character lacks any sense of realism due to this problem: “She said I live my life like a diamond/ Bright and hard, like a diamond”.

However, these and other instances are few and far between, and don’t take away from the overall quality of the record. Tracks like ‘Give It All Back’ and ‘Waiting for My Chance to Come’ infuse synths and strings to produce a warm euphoria begging for summer to come quicker. The finale of ‘Old Joyí’ harks back to introverted and solemn ‘My Door Is Always Open’ from The First Days of Spring, but whilst the latter indulges loss in a pyrrhic freedom, Last Night on Earth (once again) looks away from the past and towards the future.

Though Last Night On Earth may sound like a radio-friendly pop reinvention for Noah and the Whale, the album has an underscored depth of meaning that leans on Fink’s revitalised admiration for life.  It may not be as emotionally impressive as The First Days Of Spring, but if things are gloomy you’d be hard pressed to find anything as enlivening as this.

Elliott Smith - An Introduction To Elliott Smith

Whilst listening to An Introduction to Elliott Smith, the thought occurred to me that there would be no point in ever releasing a best-of collection for Elliott Smith as every one of his track has its own particular brilliance and intricate beauty. Looking at the tracklisting, some of the obvious choices for an Elliott Smith compilation are omitted. Tracks like ‘Say Yes’, ‘Baby Britain’ and any of the No Name tracks would seem like shoe-ins for anyone looking to get into his music, and that is perhaps the reason they are left out.

Any fan may be quick to name their favourite track or album, but the truth is that there is no supreme culmination of the breadth of his work, or indeed of any artist’s work.  Though XO and Either/Or are often thought of as the best group of tracks, it would be amiss to deny the raw brooding emotion of Roman Candle, as clearly demonstrated by ‘Last Call’, the debut album’s only inclusion on the compilation.

Similarly, ‘The Biggest Lie’ (a song that often brings a tear to my eye) appears on An Introduction as a representative of Smith’s self-titled album, an underplayed treasure that he himself remarked was his darkest work, though whether or not that is a good thing depends on the listener.

It would be possible to pore over these tracks all day and analyse why they should or shouldn’t be in an Elliott Smith compilation, but it would be futile. This album is not meant for people who know his music in the slightest – that aim is obvious from the title. The only scrap for old listeners would be the early stripped-down version of ‘Miss Misery’ (which is actually very, very good).

What it is then, is something that will reveal one of the greatest and most tragic singer-songwriters of recent history to a larger audience. There is no ‘bad’ Elliott Smith track, and as every previous album is somehow contained, it’s the perfect taster that will allow people to grow into fans – fans that will inevitably fall in love with the voice and lyrics of a man who had words for when there were none.

Tame Impala - Innerspeaker

When you first sit down to Innerspeaker, it’s not advisable to drive or operate any heavy machinery for an hour or so as you’ll likely be awash in a musically-induced euphoric high. Drawing influence equally from The Beatles and Cream (amongst hints of British music of latter decades), the Perth trio Tame Impala serve up an accomplished example of modern day psychedelica that will simultaneously chill spines and liquefy thoughts.

Right off the opening track ‘It Is Not Meant To Be’, Tame Impala capture the drug-addled essence of the 60s and 70s with guitars that lead ears past normal aural boundaries and drums that tether you to conscious planes with hypnotically precise rhythms.  Indeed, a passing listener could easily mistake this album for some classic stoner record from last century.  After all, the effects used on the vocals and guitars give a dated sound, verging on an almost-underwater feel to large parts of some tracks.

In many ways, Innerspeaker could be regarded as a throwback to the golden era of rock and roll.  The production and sound give off a very hippie-esque vibe and some tracks, including ‘Jeremy’s Storm’ and ‘I Don’t Really Mind’, feel like they could descend into epic hour-long jams as the guitars and vocals meander away from the constraints of a typical song structure.

Saying that, the entire album often feels like it flows into itself with little to no stoppage in between.  This, on one hand, makes it a delight to listen through as a whole.  However, with very few stand out tracks (‘Lucidity’ and ‘Bold Arrow Of Time’ being the exceptions), it can be difficult to listen to it in fragments.  Getting lost in the twelve songs is part of the experience whilst listening to Tame Impala and attempting to jump into Innerspeaker part-way through is a little like expecting to understand Donnie Darko (or Inception based on preference) mid-movie, and especially if you haven’t seen it through a few times before.

Naturally though, there is a lead single in the shape of ‘Solitude Is Bliss’.  Swathed in lashings of wah-wah, it does an adequate job of encapsulating the band’s sound for any passing listeners, but as it’s standalone, you never quite get the same feeling, and therein lies the problem.

Tame Impala have created a stunner of a debut, but it only works as a whole.  Granted, this is ideal for fans of real music, there may be a problem in engaging those who flick over it as yet another psychedelica album.  One track may not grab their attention, but should Innerspeaker get the patience and time it deserves there will be the realisation that it is amongst the best rock albums of this year.

Jonah Maddox - Together We Are Taller

Oh deary dear. It seems Mumford & Sons have gone and upset a lot of people with their Mercury nomination. Though some saw the album as a whimsical folksy departure from the guitar-strewn indie that has dominated a large part of the awards of the last decade, some music purists (i.e. anyone with taste beyond pop laced with folk airs) saw Sigh No More as the equivalent of having a metal stake slowly worked into your temple – a situation not helped by the perpetual airtime ‘Little Lion Man’ still seems to get on 6Music. Unfortunately, it is this kind of divide that has split general opinion about the new era of folk.

Still, this new wave of typically charming, sometimes beautiful music continues to grow largely thanks to the likes of Ms Marling and her boyfriends (past and present). Amongst the array of new acoustic-y artists is 27-year-old Jonah Maddox who arrives onto the scene with his debut solo album since splitting with indie outfit Les Oeufs – yet another example that the musical landscape is shifting (for the Mercury Prize at least).

Together We Are Taller sees Maddox take a distinctly routine approach to making a folk album with lashings of harmonica, violin and banjo combined with delicate guitar melodies to give everything a rose tint of acoustic warmth. Pleasant and satisfying it may be, but tedium sets in when entire tracks consist only of his voice and that over-used sound of plinked-out notes. For example, in ‘Fold’, two thirds of the track can lull a listener into sleep with Jonah’s noticeably restrained vocals and repetitive guitar. It’s only after two and a half minutes that there is a glimpse of some definite talent as his vocals and chords are allowed to build to something forceful, even if it only lasts for about 30-odd seconds.

Going through the album it’s a theme that repeats itself over and over. More often than not, the slower, more stripped down tracks are reminiscent of songs written by the hundred of teenage boys who believe that acoustic guitar plus sappy lyrics equals emotional and musical depth. Luckily though, the album never quite completely descends into this as each of these tracks is partly redeemed by a burst of energy towards the end.

There are real tracks of beauty to be found in Together We Are Taller. The only true bit of folk comes in the form of ‘Happy Places’ where Maddox demonstrates his ability to enchant with voice and instrument in perfect harmony. Meanwhile, ‘Pandas Fighting’ is a track that slowly grows under your skin with its quietly building rhythm.  The track climaxes with the violin playing on heartstrings as Maddox sings “I don’t have far to fall, but I fall hard/And I believe its love every time”. It’s perhaps the most honest and relatable lyrics on the album and consequently makes the track the highlight of the album.

Maddox shows in Together We Are Taller that he’s without a doubt a good musician with glimmers of brilliance. The only problem to resolve is the lapses into teenage songwriting that weigh down the record. Though it will be no pop-folk behemoth, Jonah Maddox can be proud of a well constructed somewhat-folkish album that regains some of the credibility that has been lost in the genre after Sigh No More (#anyonebutmumford please).