Lower Dens by Angel Ceballos/Robotangel

Since its transformation from a cosy local to Camden’s premium indie venue, The Lock Tavern has become the ideal background for so many sternly-posed Facebook pictures. Despite downstairs providing ample room, the venue seems to be laid out in the least practical way possible, relegating gigs to a tiny upstairs bar with all the acoustic qualities of an abattoir.

Support came courtesy of local one-man-band Crewsdon, showing that jarring beats and ambient rhythms don’t take months to produce, performing his entire set on the fly, sampling everything from tearing paper to tapping Newcastle Brown Ale bottles.

After a quick turnaround Baltimore’s Lower Dens took to the stage, packing out the room to the point that half the audience was forced to watch from the narrow staircase. From the outset the band showed why they’re so critically acclaimed, opening with a version of ‘Completely Golden’ that surpassed the album track in every way, with Jana Hunter’s vocal shining through the room’s lacklustre sound, proving that Lower Dens are at home in a live environment.

Although the band’s LP, Twin Hand Movement, is their only record available in the UK, they injected every song with enough energy to make up for their relatively short set, with Hunter’s voice swinging from fragile to powerful while she maintained a trancelike state of calm.

However, the show was not all Hunter’s, with the rest of the band subtly altering the album’s tracks, making this far from a simple play through of their LP, with bassist Geoff Graham putting the same amount of feeling into every one of the repeated notes at the beginning of ‘Holy Water’ as many other performers put into an entire concert. Song to song, from ‘Rosie’ to ‘I Get Nervous’, Lower Dens were faultless, adding the kind of dynamic ebb and flow that makes a competent gig into a great one, and judging by the constantly growing crowd, The Lock Tavern’s customers loved every minute of the performance.

Janelle Monae. Photograph by Alex Kavanagh

September 8, 2010

Whilst reading this review, some of you will think I’m a plant; a member of Janelle Monae’s PR team that has infiltrated the impartial press as an audacious marketing strategy. Well, I’m not. I promise. Ask the editor. Run some checks. The simple truth is, this was one of the best gigs I’ve ever been to, and if you have to steal from a child to afford a ticket of your own, it’d be worth the shame.

Although not yet a household name in the UK, Janelle Monae is God’s Gift to the mainstream, and it surely won’t be long before she’s the crown princess of pop. Make no mistake, this girl’s heading straight for the big time. Nevertheless, you get the impression that whether it were a tiny in-store or festival headliner, she would approach either and all in-between with the same level of verve and self-assurance. She is the consummate professional. The show was tight as a drum from start to finish, the routines were slick, and she’s as skilful a singer live as recorded. The genuine chemistry with her band meant that anything pre-ordained to appear spontaneous did exactly that, and some interesting outfits added to the general ambience of otherworldliness that Monae and her Wondaland collective seem to specialise in.

Above all else, and in keeping with much of her material, the show was fun. Controversial I know. Watching a gig these days is often an exercise in anti-entertainment, but here there was a sense of occasion; an inherent desire to leave an impression on the crowd. The Metropolis-theme from the album remained intact throughout, and channelling her android alter-ego Cyndi Mayweather, Monae dialled through all the emotions, from plaintive crooning on the cover of Charlie Chaplin’s ‘Smile’ to the double-time rapping of ‘Dance or Die’. There was a Prince-like diversity on display here, lyrics given as much precedence as tone, futuristic bleeps and scratches blending into extravagant electric guitar solos.

Janelle Monae. Photograph by Alex Kavanagh

A limited set-list can be a problem for newcomers, but her songs are so varied and infused with such artistry that the show was never stretched thin. The highlights were always going to be the high tempo crowd-pleasers though – ‘Tight Rope’, ‘Cold War’, ‘Faster’ & ‘Locked Inside’ – and are arguably her forte. With the audience still buzzing from the high-octane prohibition punk of the set climax, ‘Come Alive’, Monae finished with a wholly unexpected stage dive, and showed a set of balls to match her talent.

So a truly universal artist arrives on the scene. She will prove impossible to pigeon-hole over the coming years – cyber funk, new wave, rhythm & Broadway – but to say she transcends genre is most certainly not an overstatement. Buy the album, see the gig, become a fan and wait impatiently for the next release.

Male Bonding

One of the main joys of Nothing Hurts, the debut album released by Male Bonding in May, was the way it effortlessly captured the spirit and speed of their live shows – a Male Bonding gig has always been a brief, chaotic affair, and the simple energy on Nothing Hurts encapsulated this perfectly, while also revealing a few of the subtleties in their music, and particularly their lyrics, that had previously just flown by too quickly.

Tonight’s gig is in Camden, a subtle shift across London for most people, but it feels more significant with this band – up until the release of the album, Male Bonding had very much stuck to East London, close to where they’re based in Dalston. But the band have roots in Camden, and tonight serves as an opportunity to see them outside of their comfort zone. Before they take the stage however, comes Philadelphia Grand Jury, an Australian trio – led by lead singer Berkfinger, the band look and sound like they this is their last chance. They start promisingly, with infectious energy, and end with an extended version of their own song ‘I Don’t Want To Party (Party)’ and a cover of Jay Z’s ’99 Problems’, where they end up in the middle of a confused but intrigued crowd.

Male Bonding follow, and it’s clear from the off that the band’s relentless touring has not blunted their power in a life setting. Drummer Robin Silas plays like his life depends on it, to the extent that his eyes seem to roll back in his head during the particularly fast songs (note to the uninitiated: all Male Bonding songs are fast), while bassists Kevin Hendrink bobs around the stage and guitarist John Arthur Webb tends to hold things together. Nothing much has changed, but there’s a simple energy to a Male Bonding show that’s difficult to resist.

There’s a couple of new songs that are scattered in amongst their current material that suggest the band are both unwilling to let up but also keen to experiment – one song has an extended intro, indicating that Male Bonding aren’t all about the short and the sweet. Overall though it’s an assured performance in a strange setting (it’s an XFM X-posure show, which can seem like a pre-record at times) that suggests they are more than ready to expand on the audience that appears to be just opening up for them. Songs like ‘TUFF’, ‘Nothing Used To Hurt’ and their irresistible finale ‘Pumpkin’ are torn through at top speed.

Every time I see this band, I’m reminded of my first Male Bonding show, and how difficult it is not to fall for their music – it’s not necessarily breaking new ground, but it’s refreshing to see a band grapple with their influences and turn them into something immediate, exciting, and, most importantly perhaps, personal.

The New Pornographers

May 19, 2010

In a week when the sun’s finally starting to come out in London, it’s difficult to think of a more suitable, or indeed well-matched, pairing of bands to soundtrack the start of the warm weather – Canadian sometime-supergroup The New Pornographers were backed by New York’s sprightly Here We Go Magic at a sold out show at Camden’s Electric Ballroom, where the charm, and the hooks, were laid on for an enthusiastic crowd.

Here We Go Magic’s set was promising – you get a sense that the band, led by Luke, formerly a solo artist, is still coming together, even on the eve of the release of their second album. This isn’t a criticism – Temple’s compositions are complex and veer from moments of pop immediacy to longer passages of psychedelic ambience. As a listener, they keep you on your toes – just when they seem to have settled into a series of shorter pop songs, the band will swap instruments and lurch into more experimental material.

New single ‘Collector’ is a case in point – the song storms from the off, country-esque guitars backed by organ flourishes as the band’s voice multiply. They sound a little bit like they combine the forward momentum of Neon Bible-era Arcade Fire with the precision of Field Music. Judging from their set, the promise is there – if they can balance their pop and experimental tendencies in an engaging way on their forthcoming record Pigeons, they well find their fanbase growing.

The New Pornographers are, of course, another collection of musicians led by one man adept at crafting indie pop songs, and tonight, at first, the band seem very much like a Carl Newman project. No Neko Case, no Dan Bejar (not that we were expecting them) – it was up to Newman to bring the energy of the band’s studio recordings to a live setting. He eventually succeeded, after something of a slow start, and he was matched all the way by Kathryn Calder, who has begun to play an increasingly large role in the band and whose voice quite often soared above the crowd of musicians crammed onto the stage.

Indie classics from Twin Cinema and Mass Romantic made the biggest impact, though the band’s most recent material seemed to stand up well. At times, however, it was difficult to equate the number of people on stage with the kind of energy being conveyed through the music – the hooks were their certainly, and the diehards enjoyed the hits, but the spark that seems almost ever present on record only made fleeting appearances. Newman is a master songwriter, for certain, and an entertaining frontman, and maybe this show can be considered something of a warm up for the festival season – where The New Pornographers should really come into their own.

Cats and Cats and Cats

Our amazing bills just keep on coming! After our storming show at The Camden Head one month ago, and our sure-to-be incredible gig in collaboration with Canadian Blast on November 24 at the Queen of Hoxton (tickets available here), I can now exclusively reveal the details of our next three-band spectacular at The Monarch on Wednesday January 20, 2010. Yes, that’s next year. Woah!

Headliners Cats and Cats and Cats are masters of their trade, crafting elegantly layered extravagance while never once containing their pounding experimentalism. A 5-piece who formed at the University of Hertfordshire, they’ve played Radio 1 sessions for Huw Stephens, released a split album with This Town Needs Guns through Big Scary Monsters and been brilliantly received by the NME, BBC 6Music and Rocksound. Tours profusely followed, including support-slots with iLiKETRAiNS, Errors, Tellison and 65daysofstatic. One minute it’s deftly-constructed orchestral folk-pop, the next it’s an agitated rhythmic fight-off; they’re masters of their own vision.

“Violin and trumpet echo over atmospheric and mathy guitars, accompanied by a shaky yet confident voice as the band pounds and crescendos all over the shop” – thefourohfive.com

“The musical culmination of everything good you can say about Mew and Arcade Fire – 9/10″ - DrownedinSound.com

“Gorgeous in a ferocious kind of way” - Steve Lamacq, Radio 1

Stairs To Korea is Will Vaughan, a frighteningly talented half-Icelandic multi-instrumentalist who crafts skewed pop music using an array of effects, synthesisers and a dinky white guitar. Sugar-coated harmonies meet bended brass lines and intricate guitar motifs in his unique paeans to growing up, going out and getting lost in the 21st century. And he’s signed to good-guys Brainlove Records, for extra kudos.

“Over three glorious minutes ‘Boy Bear It In Mind’ wrestles with more melodies and ideas than most bands do across a whole album. This is how pop should be” – Sounds XP

“The chorus evolves into a million-part harmony that ascends like a helium balloon gone AWOL into the stratosphere… an enjoyable re-twisting of traditional ideas” – Artrocker

“Equipped with a tender voice and pure talent in creating so many sounds with only one pair of hands, this man is the latest in our eternal hunt for shonky heartfelt interesting pop music” – Musosguide.com (that’s us!)

And last but not least is Ute, a young three-piece from Oxford who’ve been fast gaining a reputation for their incendiary, genre-bending live shows. Pushing the boundaries of folk, their music features entrancing clapping patterns, room-filling harmonies and pensive structures that leave the listener wondering what’s going to happen next. They recently played to a super-packed show at The Social and have played several super busy shows at the Strongrooms and The Windmill. They have shared the stage with such artists as Maps, The Big Pink and Maps and Atlases, and have received airtime from Steve Lamacq.

“knack for diversity and power… a mix of influences and sounds wrapped up in an accomplished package” - thelineofbestfit.com

“Ute mix genres and influences with a totally new refinement” - the mistaken press

“It’s their differentness that attracts me; a musically-adept combination of the familiar and the odd… definitely one to watch” - Nightshift

Get your tickets now! This is a super-strong line-up and you’d have to be comatose to miss it. Tickets are only £5 in advance from the link below, or £6 on the door:

Muso’s Guide presents… Cats and Cats and Cats, Stairs To Korea and Ute

Yesterday, we posted an ever-so-special feature involving Free Energy, currently all over Muso’s Guide, reviewing this week’s singles. Click here to see it. They had a jolly old time, and after that we took a few more minutes to ask them a few questions, and see how they found the old Reviewface experience.

They reveal that they wouldn’t buy the new LCD Soundsystem single (even though they do rather enjoy it), and we find out a lot about diaper-changing! Keep watching…

Video by Tim Boddy.

Yo La Tengo

November 8th 2009

At one point during Yo La Tengo’s mammoth, celebratory two-hour set at the Roundhouse in Camden, Ira Kaplan mentioned that the band had been together for a “very, very long time” – it’s been around twenty years, in fact, and the trio’s quiet focus, mostly understated energy and, at times, ferocious power pointed to a band enjoying many of the benefits of (relative) old age and none of the drawbacks. Songs from their occasionally stunning current record, Popular Songs, were intermingled with fan favourites and classics in a set that was confidently paced and emphasised the range and depth of the band’s song-writing over their career.

So it was a fan-friendly set then, but this being Yo La Tengo, it was very much fan-friendly on their own terms. The night started quietly with Electr-O-Pura’s ‘My Heart’s Reflection’ and the epic ‘More Stars Than There Are In Heaven’ – neither were obvious show-starters, and as a result the crowd took a little while to warm up, while the band themselves seemed a little tense. This was understandable – the Roundhouse is a tall, vast venue that can swallow a band up if they aren’t on the top of their game.

Strangely enough, the band showed signs of relaxing into the set with ‘Periodically Triple or Double’, one of the standouts from Popular Songs. Built on just the rhythm section and an organ vamp, it’s their most immediate moment on record for a while, and the band playfully hovered on the song’s stop-start gaps, demonstrating some of the little flashes of humour that critics often miss.

And then came the strings. Mid-set, a string section emerged to join the band for a painfully brief guest spot – a mere two songs in fact – but they were an obvious highlight. They recreated Richard Evan’s string arrangements on the gorgeous call-and-response vocals of ‘If It’s True’ and the swooning flourishes of ‘Here To Fall’. The latter is unique in that it has all the heady joy of a love song while still sounding decidedly ominous at the same time – it’s another multi-faceted love song from a band that has made a career out of exploring the unnoticed nooks and crannies of relationships.

As a live spectacle Yo La Tengo are surprisingly engaging, though they aren’t necessarily predisposed to give you exactly what you want (a changed-up ‘Autumn Sweater’ being a case in point). As a fan, you go expecting a few long songs, a few jams, but the band has enough skill after all these years to keep even their most indulgent moments interesting. For every epic, there’s a quiet moment of sweet reflection, or a sudden burst of noise.

All night, the band performed in front of a large version of the image on the back cover of Popular Songs – buttons, all different colours and sizes – and this proved to be reflective of Yo La Tengo’s songs. Some are small and delicate, others are big and garish, but they all have the same intention – bassist James McNew sang during ‘Stockholm Syndrome’, “I do believe in love”, which could quite easily be his band’s mantra. That they decided to close out that night with Georgia Hubley back on vocals, leading a hushed version of the gorgeous ‘Our Way To Fall’ and a cover of George Harrison’s ‘Behind That Locked Door’, says it all – Yo La Tengo and their skewed, odd, ordinary moments, in song and on stage.

We Were Promised Jetpacks

August 21st 2009

Having heard significant amounts of hype around this band of late, this particular Muso felt it was about time to head out and check this band out live to see just what they have to offer.

And glad we were to have made that decision…

It’s a busy Friday night in Camden Barfly, anticipation is in the air as first band That Fucking Tank are late arriving, they are due on stage now but still no sign of their arrival. Well, they say the best things are worth waiting for, so that we do and no sooner have we settled into a sofa with a pint of cider that the band arrive and promptly take to the stage. The verdict? We aren’t inspired. This kind of progressive instrumental offering feels like it needs the vocals, like they have simply been erased. The tunes do not say enough to pull it off as instrumentals and there is an abundance of similar monotonic tunes that just don’t float our boat.

We Were Promised Jetpacks take to the stage and immediately make an impact. ‘Quiet Little Voices’ is a highlight with its fast-paced rhythms and intense shout-out lyrics. The song does exactly the opposite to its indicative title, an in-aptly named track that captures the venue here tonight and gets the crowd moving.

Jetpacks are original. They are individual and arguably bring to the table a unique Scottish sound, just like Biffy Clyro did all those years ago. But the similarity of these two Scottish bands ends there. Biffy brought metal and Jetpacks bring alternative indie rock. There is, however, something a little endearing about a Scottish vocal (albeit ‘Same Jeans’ wearers The View). Their sound is rugged and real, perfection is a long way away; but this is the essence of their sound.

Single release ‘Roll Up Your Sleeves’ is likeable but not their best track thus far. There is less interest here and is that a slight hint of a Brandon Flowers style vocal chorus? Had the Killers sang this we would not be surprised. Perhaps not a bad thing; after all, how many million albums have The Killers sold so far?

‘Ships With Holes Will Sink’ is an all out rocking number that combines simplistic verses with deeper choruses that let it all out. There is a steady rhythm that draws us in with catchy riffs to shake your head to. Tonight, We Were Promised Jetpacks have perfectly captured their audience with an atmosphere that engulfs and drowns its spectators. Doubtless it is that anyone in here tonight will return for their next show.

Currently on tour in the US with Frightened Rabbit and The Twilight Sad we will inarguably be seeing much more of We Were Promised Jetpacks in the future, and quite honestly it will be a treat.

Italians Do It Better

June 11th 2009

Koko is unusually empty tonight. There’s a lot to be said for being able to move around relatively unimpeded but it doesn’t bode too well for atmosphere in a venue with notoriously patchy acoustics. Unfortunately for tonight’s Italians Do It Better showcase, there could certainly have been a better choice of location. Whilst the ornate surroundings lend themselves to music this decadent, without the sheer volume of bodies to soak it up the overall effect is to strip away its energy, leaving echoes ricocheting off Koko’s walls and galleries.

Glass Candy are the first act I catch, and whilst it’s hard to shake the feeling that there’s something ever so slightly contrived about their hipster persona – he’s wearing a scarf onstage in June ferchrissakes! – it’s also hard to deny that there’s something quite addictive about the music itself. Deceptively simple, built from the bottom up from tinny programmed beats and a chugging motorik synth backline, the real gem here is Ida No; she is a whirl of loose limbed energy, delivering coolly deadpan imagery in a curious blend of frosty Kim Gordon-isms and the acrobatic abandon of Karen O circa Fever To Tell. As soon as they finish the already limited crowd diminishes by at least half; by the looks of things most were only here for keyboard abuse rather than psychedelic Norwegian disco-house. Their loss.

I could write for an age about dance music’s transcendent qualities, the way that the best of it takes people above and beyond what simple repeated rhythmic figures should, chemically enhanced or otherwise. But spanning genres and times, from early house music through Detroit and Berlin to garage, dubstep and beyond, the true art lies in the skilful control of tension – the subtle or not-so-subtle build-and-shift dynamic leading to release. The kind of euphoria experienced on a dark, packed floor at 4am when a teased out build finally drops beneath clubbers’ feet to a crunching bassline can be hard to replicate outside that environment; perhaps one of the reasons why it can be difficult to listen with the same devotion elsewhere.

Hans-Peter Lindstrøm stretches these euphoric points until they break and beyond, and in doing so creates waves of sound which don’t so much ebb and flow as much as swell, ever higher, to tsunami proportions. It’s sonically overwhelming – or rather it would be were the venue choice more appropriate – but never messy, as each rippling melody gradually subsides beneath the weight of the next peak. The overuse of tunefulness in cheesy Ibiza house may be one of the reasons for the recent trend towards monster bass, but here it feels less like overuse and more like reclamation, refreshingly free of irony – and doesn’t require the volume and distortion only possible through a serious rig. It’s also one of the reasons why headphones are as appropriate an environment for Lindstrøm’s mini-epics as a massive speaker stack.

Nonetheless, tonight still feels a little like too much like right music, wrong time; I find myself wishing I was stood in the middle of a packed tent at four in the morning, instead of a conspicuously quiet room on a Thursday night. When the stargazing pulse of ‘Where You Go I Go Too’ suddenly heads skyward, a thousand minds should be rushing into space with it. Instead a couple of hundred souls smile, head in the clouds but feet still planted firmly on the ground.

Oh it’s Camden Crawl time! Or do I mean #camdencrawl time. “W00t,” they tweet. And it’s joyous: the sun is out, the streets are amoc with fearless hedonists on their way to funtimes and well, you know how it is, the tantric joy of the festival with the added bonus of a bed at the end of it all.

Oh no, you don’t. That’s why you’re reading this. So it’s noon or thereabouts, and The First Pint has found its way into our light-emitting palm (and throat). Smooth. Pint two handily lives about two metres away, Eddie Argos (in a resplendent two-piece) away from us. Shame we’re on the bloody phone and unable to stop, get down on one knee and refuse to leave until he marries us, really.

We saunter up to The Good Mixer for a bit of background DJing, and then to The Spread Eagle to catch the tail-end of Hollyoaks’ soundtrack-botherers Broadcast 2000‘s set, which is sunny and lovely, as it goes. Who knew that this tiny living room-space would go on to become the temporary home for one Mr Coxon the day after?

Next on the agenda, via a battle between vanity and weakness at a sunglasses-hoarding market stall, is the Lock Tavern. Everyone is here, it’s where the VICE haters are hanging out which can only be a fortunate burden. There’s a nameless one-man band on inside who proves himself pretty darn fun. And next up is Bleech at The Underworld. SIGH. How did we end up here? Did we kill a red squirrel in a previous life? We’re not being rude, but this is the kind of thing that limbless guitarists spew out in their sleep.

In need of a lifesize pick-me-up, we head for Man Like Me who are parading their joy on the stage at the Jazz Cafe across the road. After a fair few tip-offs about this collective, our faith in the world, ourselves, politics, revolution and people is swiftly restored. A completely brilliant performance is what this is, of seismic proportions.

The mammoth combination of excitement is obvious on record, but live it’s just wow. ‘London Town’ is our favourite song right now, we’re somehow part of Man Like Me’s “rinsin’ down with the bubblin’ bassline town”. They don’t aim to teach us life lessons, but their observations are so acute that it’s impossible not fall. Biggup yr tunez an’ ting. We could happily go home at the point where we learned our new favourite diss: “now you see you’re just a sweet sticky roll/but the type with no jam, just a hole”.

Have we peaked too early? It’s possible. On the way to Circlesquare at The Monarch (almost crawling now due to it being around the ninth hour of our existence and most likely about the 13th pint of the day), we hap upon the bus with Madness on it. They’re playing something incoherent and we hang around for just long enough to get a shot of Suggs’ back. [Ed-Hey, that doesn't say "take a shot at", my gosh can't believe you had to re-read that! Get over it.] It’s triggered a bit of a thought process – wasn’t last year’s ‘headliner’ Robyn? Since when did Jools Holland get hired on A&R duties? And where’s the music that’s neither (a) a guitar band, (b) a guitar band with a hint of math-rock, (c) krautrock-toting electro or (d) faux-dubstep? M83 were here in 2008. And Youthmovies, Tronik Youth… there’s certainly a lack of variation in this year’s bill.

We eventually get down the seesaw to The Monarch, a fairly empty room of people there to see Circlesquare. Light and twangy or heavy, abstract and industrial, there’s a lot to hold our interest here. From first impressions, the music takes on noise and dance in a strangely demure fashion, in a ‘sometimes too droney to amaze’ way, failing to entirely hold our attention. All the same, it does somehow capture us in a freeze-frame. Imagine Ian Curtis fronting Junior Boys.

And onto our first show of the hyped-up class of 2009 – it’s The Big Pink, at the Electric Ballroom. We’ve somehow managed to avoid the queues and once again, it’s a case of straight in and upstairs. Nicely done. Unfortunately, this band are a complete meh; their signing to the usually reliable 4AD is questionable, judging on this show. It’s early days in their gigging CV from what we can gather, but the feedbackfest is drab rather than spellbinding. Good name for a band though, right? Just a shame that they harp on My Bloody Valentine‘s mud sludgery rather than their ear for a melody. Worth following though, in case perchance they do happen to figure out how they could be good.

A text message telling us that The Enemy have cancelled their 10pm Roundhouse show due to a lost voice makes us brim with glee. We are simply oozing the stuff. And the fact that they’ve been replaced by Idlewild, who we defeatistly gave up hope on catching at the Dublin Castle earlier, makes us even more contented. So off we go, and the venue’s only 25 per cent full with a mere ten minutes ’til Idlewild start. How? Miscommunication? Does everyone still think The Enemy are playing? Roddy Woomble et al turn out to be pretty great (as expected), only probably cursing on the inside at still having to play songs from the debut when they’ve moved on so very much since. We’re right up front, with a mass of well up for it crowdies to the right having a nice little jump around. This would be a brilliant point to add a photo of the plebs but for our prediliction for the all-consuming earnest nod.

Barely any between-song chat, we’re instead treated to a selection of songs from throughout Idlewild’s back catalogue as well as a very new one quite possibly called ‘City Hall’. ‘When I Argue I See Shapes’ goes down like a thunderstorm, and it’s surely about time that Idlewild get the universal respect they ought to crave.

And the final bit of live music we choose to catch is The Invisible, back at the Electric Ballroom. The utilitarianism is still lingering as atoms of ethanol punctuate the air and become at one with the walls, and this band are happily subscribing to the school – they’re on top form. ‘London Girl’ has such wonderfully mathy guitar parts set against Tom Herbert’s chunk of deliriously funky bassline, while Dave Okumu‘s vocals are sweet, tranquil and perhaps the defining feature of The Invisible’s boundless polarisations. We are big fans of the loops on show here, that’s for sure.

The rest of the night speeds off into a tower, an inferno – a tsunami if you will – of oblivion. We won’t bore you with it… just wish you were there and spend the period between now and the 2010 Crawl planning your trip to spend the duo of days with us.*

*Please note that the ‘we’ voice used throughout this piece is not representative of the Muso’s Guide writers as a whole, but instead, as a personified representation of the many trails of thought inspired by the day’s events, namely conspiring to start one’s own festival in a garden of a Lord or Lady (as yet unidenfied), rid the world of landfill indie via trickery, to morph into a travelling one-man band… and so on.