Cold Cave

May 12, 2010

Maybe it’s the slight drunkenness, maybe it’s the moving horse head in the pub before the gig, maybe it’s the hour I spend trying to talk to a Dutch girl in rudimentary German when all I know are requests for snack food and lewd come-ons, maybe it’s the way Cargo seems like a cross between a Mediaeval dungeon and a BBC set for a dystopian science fiction drama, with huge exposed pipes and thick black curtains. Whatever the reason, opening band Factory Floor come close to being the cheapest hallucinogenic experience I’ve ever had bar sleep deprivation and that time I didn’t eat for 5 days.

Listening on record, their music is much easier to trace; Krautrocky bass rhythms, insistent drum loops and vocal processors with the reverb function set firmly to “toilet bowl”. In Cargo however, the circular ‘Atrocity Exhibition’ pounding of Gabriel Gurnsey, the shuddering and swirling synth slurry effortlessly tweaked and beckoned by Dom Butler and the shrieking stabs of violin-bowed guitar from the statuesque (reviewspeak for hot) Nik Void don’t just take centre stage, but obliterate it. The whole experience is somewhere between euphoric and terrifying, much like being drowned in a vat of peanut butter and jam by Ian Rush (my touchstones for euphoria may differ from yours).

Factory Floor own me now.

But on to the headliners, Cold Cave. Formed by legendary hardcore person/hardchorister Wesley Eisold (who has hilariously written several songs for Fall Out Boy, fact fans), grace us with their presence for significantly less than 40 minutes – and in a recession, too!

What we do hear of them, however, is promising. Wesley is doing his best Robert Smith after swallowing a reverb pedal impression over tracks that stick to the same tried and tested formula of:

REALLY LOUD DISTORTED NOISE -> DRUM BEATS -> HUMAN LEAGUE -> ABRUPT ENDING

That isn’t meant to denigrate; I like all of those composite parts and put together they really work, with the distorted squalling giving some much needed muscle and threat to their creations which can occasionally wander into anaemia on record. But there’s not a lot of variance, meaning that even a whistlestop set drags a little.

‘Love Comes Close’ betrays itself as a rip-off of New Order’s ‘Temptation’ but proves popular with the otherwise typically East-as-you-like crowd (I think I heard someone applaud once) – my personal high point is ‘Life Magazine’, where Jennifer Clavin of 4M (my name for Much Missed Mika Miko) takes centre stage for the only time in the whole set. Her heart-seeking missile vocals and the Computerwelt propulsion really lift matters with a perfect serving of fizzy pop.

If Cold Cave have taught us anything, it’s that hardcore, punk and noise (aural pugilist Prurient provides high quality knob-tweaking alongside previously mentioned artists and drummer Guy Licata) can all come together at the dinner table and add up, somehow, to POP. Sure, Factory Floor own me, but if I’m having to pick a wedding band to get people dancing (I’m assuming the wedding isn’t in East London) I’d go with Cold Cave any day. Although Factory Floor might be able to hypnotise someone into marrying me. I’ll have a word.

These Are Powers - Candyman

Having been the bearer of ill tidings – that Liars’ Sisterworld isn’t the spectacular return to form we’ve long hoped for – it’s gratifying to know that there is a sisterworld out there, in which the long-departed rhythm section continue to excite, titillate and horrify. These Are Powers may not fill the Liars-shaped hole, exactly, but they aim to fill other ones you didn’t know you had. (Apologies for any lewdness… the press release has just informed me that the artwork is based on a fetishistic practice known as “sploshing”.)

For newcomers, These Are Powers would be Pat and Bill (on bass and beats) with Anna Barie (vocals), all of them manipulating electronics. 2.5 albums into their career, TAP are on a trajectory from one kind of filth to another; where the first album was a pummelling, post-hardcore, New York hellscape, with dirty production not far off Oneida and early Sonic Youth, the latest EP sees them delighting in slick sounds at once shiny and squelchy, synaesthetically evoking all the colours of a Britney Spears video, but without the tiresome predictability of mainstream pop. Lead track ‘Candyman’ takes a sped-up reggae beat, and sets Anna Barie yelping like Annabella Lwin from Bow Wow Wow. If only, you think, If only the lyrics were about drugs (like the classic Donovan song of the same name). Like licking a hallucinogenic toad, she sounds like she’s getting off on every fluid and excrescence leaking from her sugar-coated man/girl/lover.

Second track, ‘Gutterspaces’, slows it down and lets you savour the clear patterns of the melodica, like Moroccan palace architecture overhead, and then we’re back to the churning sleaze of ‘World Class Peoples’. The remixes are substantial re-workings, FYI, with added jungles of sampled sounds; more conventionally dance, for sure, but they might as well be new tracks. Maybe this is appealing because it takes that NYC-intellectual fascination with the sensuality of world music / Afro-Caribbean music, and instead of appropriating it and whitening it, or authenticating it with “actual native” collaborators (Gorillaz et alia), TAP parody the fetishization itself, to the N-th degree (like Beck on Midnite Vultures; like Prince; like Bow Wow Wow). With or without the inter-racial fantasies and projections of “sensuality”, These Are Powers really do make music you can feel, and that’s their achievement.

The Mary Onettes

The Mary Onettes have made my job easy; I could do away with mentioning how their name reminds me of Earthbound (that SNES game from the 90’s) and just cut the whole review down to one sentence: Do you like The Cure? Yes? Then you’ll probably like The Mary Onettes.

Annoyingly that ‘probably’ means I have to elaborate and actually write a proper review, damn. Hailing from Sweden, The Mary Onettes are essentially an 80’s inspired pop band, taking their cues from gloomy acts such as Echo and The Bunnymen, and of course, The Cure.

However, where The Cure were known to produce the occasional upbeat tune, such as ‘Lovecats’ and ‘Friday I’m In Love’, this band maintain a steady level of mediocre melancholy in their sound, making them great for sad funeral moments in low budget films and sitting rocking gently in the dark, but not good for much else.

While Islands is without doubt a well performed and polished album, it just lacks energy, with each track agonisingly dragging into the next, like the horror that was the Freddie Krueger TV series (although The Mary Onettes could probably benefit from the excitement of having razor sharp fingers).

On paper it should all work, flowing orchestral strings, light guitar work and steady percussion, all with smooth, warm production and melodic vocals laid over the top. ‘God Knows I Had Plans’ is a perfect example, mixed to perfection, with lovelorn vocals and a sound softer than air, and it would be great by itself, but with a whole album of samey tracks, it just grates.

So, if you’re not one for the cheer of Christmas, or if you’ve just seen a box of kittens carried by the world’s most adorable monkey run over by a convoy of Coca Cola lorries, then this could be for you. If you still actually have some semblance of warmth in your heart, then there are far better albums out there for you.

Bowie's Lodger

By 1977, the collaboration between David Bowie and Brian Eno was running out of steam, which is fair enough when the last two years had each produced a genuine masterpiece of ambition and invention. Their final work together, Lodger, a more blurred musical vision than either of the previous two, is seen to represent the duo veering away from each others musical trajectories. After it, Bowie would lunge again at the mainstream, at first cautiously with Scary Monsters, and then without abandon with Let’s Dance. Eno, on the other hand, was busy hitching his wagon to David Byrne’s jerky star, making albums every bit as experimental and impressive as Low and Heroes.

Lodger is indeed noticeably distinct from the duo’s previous efforts. The first track hints at it – an epic ballad, ‘Fantastic Voyage’, is driven entirely by a piano and Bowie’s beautiful vocal, crooning a lyric which has a clear narrative of Cold War-era paranoia (it even contains a clear threat, that Bowie would ‘never sing anything nice again’ if bombs were dropped. The Cold War ended a mere ten years after this song – coincidence?). Its coherence and traditionalism would not have got anywhere near the preceding albums. Nor would the three chart-friendly singles, ‘DJ’, ‘Boys Keep Swinging’, and ‘Look Back in Anger’, all placed next to each other in the centre of the album for ease of picking. And following these, there are simply more songs  – no more long ambient tracks of harsh, isolated piano stabs. There are in fact no instrumentals on this album, and without Adrian Belew’s coruscating guitar continually turning songs on their head with layers of noise, it would be Bowie’s most accessible album for some years.

Not necessarily a bad thing though, and if this is the sound of a duo running out of steam, it still manages to be exciting and infused with an energy most bands would give their lead guitarists left arm  to possess. The triumvirate of singles which make up the middle section are great, slightly discordant slices of art-rock, particularly ‘Look Back in Anger’, which rumbles along with a Can-like metronome beat, its incessancy and repetitiveness something rarely heard in popular music. ‘Red Sails’ is the cousin of ‘Blackout’ from Heroes, a hugely enjoyable romp with Bowie’s inexplicable melodies merging with the uplifting brass backing and a typical Belew solo. Mentioned already, ‘Fantastic Voyage’  is a triumph of emotion, and contrasts with ‘Repetition’, led by Bowie’s dispassionate vocals and a detuned bass-line. Just like the opener, it is a song with a narrative, this time of domestic violence, and is as clear as anything from Young Americans, if not quite as uplifting. The whole feel of the album is one of adventure and travel, which, while not particularly subtle (’Fantastic Voyage’, ‘African Night Flite’, the front cover being a postcard), gives the album a restless and invigorating feel.

Exploration brings with it risks though, and the album has its fair share of missteps. Songs such as ‘Move On’, dont do enough to hold the attention of the listener, and sound like ideas being sketched out  rather than fully formed. The world music influence, too, is clumsy. Bowie should be applauded for the attempt, as it precedes more landmark albums such as Remain In Light by the Talking Heads. But whereas songs on that album use polyrhythm and single chord grooves in a way which still sounds fresh today, Bowie’s attempts are more superficial, with silly chanting on  ‘African Nite Flight’ and overbearing Middle Eastern strings on ‘Yassassin’. Bowie clearly wasn’t as intrigued by the possibilities of African music as Eno – ever the musical chameleon, he showed no hint of world music influence until 1983’s ‘China Girl’. It’s debatable whether this belated attempt would have impressed Eno.

Perhaps it was the very beginning of the end – Bowie’s priorities had already began changing, becoming slightly more conservative, and albums after this got progressively worse for a miserably long period. But overall, that does not diminish anything about this one, which takes pride of place in Bowie and Eno’s masterful Berlin trilogy. Lodger’s charms survive its missteps and what emerges from a full listen is an endearing hodgepodge of styles, with high-points that rank well up there with Bowie’s best work. After all, you don’t need a side of instrumentals to make an adventurous album.

Lawrence Arabia’s star is swiftly rising, he’s talented and a New Zealand export; a rarity in the last case.  James Milne’s second album Chant Darling, follows his 2007 self-titled debut but certainly doesn’t lag behind it; ten new uniformly charming and mostly brilliant tracks will cement his image as favourite NZ expat for many.

Opener ‘Look Like A Fool’ begins with an honest tale of (you guessed it) looking silly in front of a nice girl; Milne’s accent sounding somehow Beatles-esque. As the initially melancholy instrumentation swells behind these earnest vocals, Chant Darling’s signature sound becomes quickly apparent; gorgeous strings dictate subtle mood shifts and the clever vocal/guitar harmonies are wonderfully warm and full.

By third track ‘Apple Pie Bed’, a lightly overdriven guitar line and gleeful falsetto harmonies have made their welcome introductions and a plethora of 60s/70s pop influences suggest themselves but don’t overwhelm.  As the album progresses though, the delightful realization that every track has some kind of signature, stand out element or passage will rapidly dawn on you, as will the innocent, extravagant, quirky genius of it all.

Indeed, this is not music to brood or plot to; it’s a consistently fun semi-homage to classic pop nuggets as seen through a lightly tinted psych lens buoyed by some pleasingly original ideas. To suggest it’s tongue-in-cheek would be a disservice but a dramatic or cathartic LP this certainly isn’t, and it knows it (to its credit).  So long as you’re prepared to end this record in a blissful good mood then you won’t begrudge Lawrence Arabia his whimsy, and whilst you might not feel like singing his praises you’re certainly apt to chant them.

TPOBPAH

December 2nd 2009

It’s been a hell of a year for New Yorkers The Pains Of Being Pure At Heart. They’ve triumphantly ridden a wave of blog-driven hype for the whole of 2009, picking up a legion of plaudits for their effortlessly wonderful debut album which has culminated in a top 10 place in our very own albums of the year poll. I had them far higher than 8th in my own personal list, but hey, such is democracy…

Tonight’s trip to Newcastle’s O2 Academy 2 sees them hauling in a respectably sized crowd of skinny check-shirted types. At first, it seems they are going to struggle to live up to our (admittedly colossal) expectations, as the songs commence in a worryingly anaemic manner. ‘This Love is Fucking Right!’, one of the most buoyant, gleeful moments on the record raises the curtain in fairly underwhelming fashion, as it is tossed out almost indifferently. It gives us serious cause to worry that Newcastle’s first experience of The Pains of Being Pure at Heart will be a disappointing one.

However, after a couple of songs, the band visibly begin to relax and settle into their stride. As they do so, the volume seems to pick up, the drumming seems sharper and more urgent, and their distinctive wash of sound fills the room. It all culminates fittingly in the sky-scraping ‘Gentle Sons’, a microcosm for the whole set which starts off with a powerful ‘Be My Baby’ drumbeat and gradually builds into a tumult of almost My Bloody Valentine-esque proportions.

In spite of the obvious progression in the quality of the performance, sadly the Academy remains absolutely devoid of atmosphere. Maybe it’s down to the less than top-quality sound which obscures the vocals even more than is probably intended, or whether the crowd are just having a bit of an off-night, it’s hard to say. However, it doesn’t make the band’s job any easier, nor does it reflect on their efforts to engage us with their songs and occasional smattering of likeably awkward between-song chatter.

One other slight gripe is that it is clear that the newer songs are the ones which inspire the most enthusiasm in the band. In particular, the tracks aired from their gorgeous new ‘Higher Than the Stars EP’ seem to be delivered with the most fervour, as does the apparently nameless new song (very much in the vein of their previous work, by the way, and no worse off for it). It seems that perhaps they’ve now reached that stage which all bands will eventually reach after having toured the living shit out of their debut for God knows how many months. No matter how good the songs, their jadedness in playing them night after night after night begins to show. Tonight is only a minor example of this, and we still leave with our faith in The Pains Of Being Pure At Heart firmly in tact, but perhaps now is the time for them to go to ground and commence the daunting task of following up this year’s breathtaking recorded output.

Bo Ningen

It’s fair to say that I am something of a newbie to the vast genre of J-rock. The name Bo Ningen means nothing to me at all. I haven’t a clue what the song is about. Nor can I contextualise it for you without a frame of reference.

But, despite my relative ignorance, I think it’s great. It’s pin-sharp, catchy, futuristic, indeed, everything you could ask for from a modern rock song. At barely three minutes long it’s not quite the showstopper it could have been, but its brevity simply encourages repeated listens. And without labouring the point too much, its foreignness is a complete breath of fresh air into my collection. Not having any idea what vocalist Taigen is on about detaches the listener from the track somewhat, yet inexplicably draws them in at the same time. It’s a disarming but not unpleasant effect.

It starts with crashing cymbals counting it in (as surely all songs should) before a car alarm guitar line wails over Taigen’s barked vocals. It’s a bit like Blood Red Shoes if there was twice as many of them, making twice as much noise, but only half as much sense. But when it’s this earnestly delivered, making sense doesn’t seem to matter.

The band are enjoying a growing reputation as one of the best live bands in London at the moment but there have been questions over how their sound transmits to a recorded setting. Surely the gloriously rampant, sugar-rush experimental noise-rock of Koroshitai Kimochi will allay those fears with its boundless energy and wealth of ideas.

Koroshitai Kimochi sounds very much like I would expect the number one track on the pop charts from Mars to sound like. And that’s a very good thing. Now, where to explore next?

Blue Roses

Let’s get this straight – Blue Roses (aka singer-songwriter Laura Groves) is in possession of a ‘voice’.

And not just a pretty voice, not even just a strong voice – but a voice with a remarkable, unique quality which may have warranted legions of favourable Kate Bush comparisons, but ultimately means Laura transcends them.

In today’s overcrowded British female singer-songwriter market, where Kate Bush comparisons are bandied about willy-nilly, and have almost become lazy journalistic short-hand for ‘Female singer-songwriter, looks slightly bonkers’, Laura is a misfit – she has none of Florence Welch’s embarrassing histrionics, none of La Roux’s trashy futurisms, or any of Natasha Khan’s art house glamour – instead she has embodied the earthy, demure appeal of a wounded Bronte heroine, each of her songs possessing a swooning, gauzy romanticism reminiscent of a female Chris Garneau, or Soap&Skin at her most complacent.

The EP opens on the title track; the delicate ‘Does Anyone Love Me Now?’ which introduces a gentle, undulating guitar motif before spiralling off into flurries of dizzying whimsy, Laura’s steady, increasingly strident vocals balancing themselves atop the waves of the gently building, waltz-time melody. ‘Does Anyone Love Me Now?’ was always one of the more immediate tracks from Laura’s self-titled – and although there’s nothing as prosaic as a chorus, the instantly recognisable “woah-woah-woah” refrain grounds the track, and lets Laura experiment with different orchestral textures – such as the clickety-clack percussion and buoyant handclaps that introduce themselves near the end of the track, or the twinkling harp that strings itself over Laura’s plaintive cries of “Two nights in a row, I didn’t see the moon hanging in the sky!”

Next up is a live version of ‘Doubtful Comforts’- also taken off Laura’s self-titled – surprisingly, with Leeds-based indie rock band Grammatics. However, Laura hasn’t quite ripped off her petticoat and swathed herself in leather just yet – the live version stays strictly faithful to soft guitar chords and kitsch cowbells of the original – the only difference is that Grammatic’s lead singer Owen Brinley chimes in for the second half of the song. As a duo, Laura and Owen work well together – Owen’s fervent yelps contrast nicely with Laura’s flouncing, feminine trill – although if I could have chosen Laura’s duet partner (I wish!), I would have went for someone with a highly masculine voice – like Bill Callahan or Zach Cordon – to heighten the concurrence between the bellowing male voice and Laura’s high, girlish quaver.

The third and final track is a cover of blues singer Irma Thomas’s ‘Anyone Who Knows What Love Is (Will Understand)’. On this track, Blue Roses manages to sound exactly – and I mean exactly – like St. Vincent. The combination of the pounding drumbeat, ghostly, sixties-inspired harmonies and whirring background synths makes Thomas’s classic sound exactly like an outtake from ‘Actor’ – and although Blue Roses may not have exactly put her original spin on it, the transition from soul standard to wonky pop song is remarkable.

Although the quality of material on ‘Does Anyone Love Me Now?’ is remarkable, at only three tracks long – and none of them new material – this is a slim release, even for an EP, and essential only for hardcore Blue Roses fans. For new listeners, I’d suggest picking up a copy of her fantastic debut self-titled album, if you want to get more ethereal prettiness for your pennies.

The Saturdays

Britain’s quickest accelerating girlband have returned with their second long-player, the intriguingly titled Wordshaker. Running off the back of a platinum-selling debut in 2008 (Chasing Lights) and a well-received cover of Depeche Mode’s ‘Just Can’t Get Enough’ for Comic Relief, these five ladies are well placed to continue their assault on the charts.

The need for a solid second album will have been prevalent in the minds of The Saturdays themselves and their label, Fascination Records. The perpetuating breakdown of the Sugababes and the current hiatus of Girls Aloud have left a cavernous hole in the market – something that the girls are filling with aplomb.

The record gets underway with lead-off single, ‘Forever Is Over’. A deliciously catchy tune ridden with call-and-response hooks was originally penned by ex-Busted member, James Bourne. I am left in no doubt that he will be pretty satisfied at handing over the song, as the end result is nothing less than vibrant and captivating. In a trend carrying on from the group’s earlier material – the key vocals are left to the powerhouse that is Vanessa White. ‘Forever Is Over’ marks a welcome return to the electric guitar to a pop market that is saturated beyond recognition with electro-sounds – a factor which is, admittedly, also a large part of Wordshaker.

The Saturdays each gain a co-writing credit on ‘Deeper’ and is a track of considerable merit. The majority of the record’s songwriting is credited to Norwegian songwriter, Ina Wroldsen – a constant with the group, working alongside them on their earlier records.

Other standout tracks from the record are ‘Ego’, the second single which is to be released in January 2010.  Featuring an epic drum track and, as aforementioned, an energetic electro underpinning which serves the general ambience of the album well. The track depicts the girls berating a partner for rising to ideas and ambitions above their station which come at the expense of their relationship – ‘And now you wanna pretend that you’re a superstar/And now you want us to end what’s taken you this far’.

‘One Shot’ raises the temperature of the record somewhat with a chorus that will overwhelm one and all. “All I am is constantly waiting for somebody good enough for me/Waiting for you, baby” – some will level the accusation that it is a tried-and-tested formulaic system of lyrics but this should not diminish the fact that however as much this may be true, Wordshaker performs successfully and goes beyond merely ticking the boxes of a standard pop album. The vocals are delivered with a measured sincerity and genuine passion.

Finally, the standout tune of the record is the title track, ‘Wordshaker’. Performed on their recent ‘Work Tour’ over the summer months – it has already been well received by fans and the studio version confirms its brilliance. “You’re such a wordshaker, talk and you take it back, twisting, turning, you’re such a wordshaker, I gotta shut you up”. The girls have been encouraging followers on Twitter to get #wordshaker as a trending topic to promote the record – describing it as an exclusive word that they have created to encompass anyone and everyone whose words simply can’t be taken as read.

The rest of the album is a consistently affecting effort – with vocal hooks that will refuse to leave the listener’s head. Wordshaker has served to solidify and expand the group’s loyal fanbase and raise their holdings in the pop business – they can almost certainly consider themselves well and truly promoted to the pinnacle of the pop pantheon.

Robbie Williams

Post-Take That, Robbie Williams was a renaissance in motion. Drinking, smoking and actually living after so many years in boyband servitude, his spirit was released and his nascent music career sputtered to life.

Sputtered initally, until the might of ‘Angels’ swept through karaoke bars from Fochabers to Fowey and back.

With the guiding hand of Guy Chambers on the tiller, the good ship RW made a beeline for legendary status, and he got halfway there. But time – and ego, having landed – lay heavy on the writing partnership.

After a few years in the wilderness of LA, Rob is back from following Martians, rehabbing, balancing his chi, or whatever else the gossip rags are saying. He wasn’t putting any thought or effort into the big ‘comeback’, if a listen to Video Killed The Reality Star is anything to go by.

The album kicks off with ‘Morning Sun’, which is itself preceded by the mouth organ part from ‘Thunder Road’. That human touch is forgotten as the track swells into an adenoidal torch song with Elton John at its core, all bombast and insincerity. The incongruity of an ‘I Am The Walrus’- style chant amongst the cloying strings only serves to underline RW’s egomania – there ain’t nothing that he can’t carry off, this legend in his own mind.

Single ‘Bodies’ doesn’t get better with repeated listens, coming from ‘Wild Wild West’ and merging into a Backstreet Boys B-side. The issue of Williams’ lyricism comes to light starkly here. He seems to be bent on making clever-clever puns and pop cultural references, but it is at the cost of any comprehensible meaning- “God gave me the sunshine/Then showed me my lifeline/I was told it was all mine/Then I got laid on a ley line/What a day, what a day”. For a lead single, it’s not much of a leader, but it’s sort of the best we got.

From there it’s onto the Showaddywaddy swagger of ‘You Know Me’ – sappy as Sarah Brown and twice as outdated, ‘Do You Mind’ – like the J. Geils Band without a sense of humour complete with the exhaustively self-aware line “This is a song full of metaphors” and so on.

The low point would have to be ‘Blasphemy’, a track that insists on giving RW a low piano/rich voice singing part that he simply doesn’t have the range or resonance in his voice to carry.

The title of the record was hailed by tabloids et al for its chutzpah, but really it means nothing – just another lame attempt by this pop music has-been to regain some of that old renaissance magic.