Judas Priest

It seems that now more than ever that it’s a long way to the top if you want to rock and roll, a fact I realised following the news of metal titans Judas Priest’s impending retirement. Priest’s retirement will be lamented by the rock world, however the greater cause for concern amongst the rock community should be the apparent lack of suitable successors for Priest, or indeed the other great rock bands inexorably moving towards the twilight of their careers. Look at the headline acts of hard rock/metal festivals in the last 5 years – the vast majority enjoyed their creative and commercial peak in the 1980s. Subsequently, with the impending retirement of acts such as Priest, the rock/metal genre is seemingly heading for a crisis.

Recent festival headliners hold the key to the situation. Iron Maiden and Metallica stand as the two greatest possible coups for a metal festival as the unrivalled titans of the genre. Of the three Sonisphere festivals held one of the two bands has been the major draw at each event. However both will have probably ceased to be musically active by the close of the decade. Maiden’s members will not allow their incredible noughties revival to be tainted by an inglorious, irrelevant farewell in far off years to come. Similarly Metallica’s collective members are fast approaching 50 and given Hetfield’s prior health issues and their relative lack of inspiration post-1988 it seems another decade of Metallica is unlikely. Other festival headliners such as Def Leppard, AC/DC and Kiss are by comparison aged dinosaurs approaching extinction, still able to attract decent crowds from their own generation but having failed to connect to younger fans. Unfortunately newer headliners such as Linkin Park, Slipknot and SOAD have lacked genuine staying power within the heavy rock community, serving to divide rather than unite fans of the genre.

Divisions have been rife within the heavy rock world following the 1980s. The rise of death and black metal in thrash’s wake tangibly lessened the common ground amongst metal fans culminating in the fragmented metal world today characterised by an almost limitless number of subgenres.  Subsequently, despite being nominally ‘metal’ fans a typical 40 year old fan of Iron Maiden is almost as unlikely to be a fan of Behemoth or Decapitated as a 40 year old Coldplay fan. To me, Iron Maiden’s great riff, vocals and beautiful guitar harmonies and solos on ‘Powerslave’ serve as a perfect musical example of metal. However to a fan of technical death metal blast beats at 300 BPM and ‘pig squealing’ vocals may be more representative of metal music. In short, the vast differences within the genre mean that heavy rock fans can potentially have almost nothing in common with each other beyond a shared love of riffs reminiscent of a T Rex driving a steamroller into your psyche.

The ’00s much-vaunted new breed of metal acts spearheaded by the New Wave Of American Heavy Metal failed to set the world afire despite endorsement by Metallica and other established acts. Its leaders Trivium inexplicably squandered their enormous potential with the terribly derivative Metallica worshipping ‘The Crusade’ and subsequently never recovered. Similarly Lamb of God proved incapable of innovation beyond Pantera worship. Contemporaries Shadows Fall unceremoniously slipped away whereas Killswitch Engage, Avenged Sevenfold and Bullet for my Valentine alienated the core of the metal community by diluting their already rather tepid sound in search of mainstream recognition. The thrash revival bands such as Municipal Waste and Evile has similarly failed as no band has gone beyond imitating their heroes. However there are still some great metal acts in the ascendant. Mastodon have gone from underground heroes to the genre’s rallying flagship and their forthcoming LP The Hunter is eagerly anticipated by all who have become zealous fans of a truly special band. Machine Head’s redemption culminated with 2007’s masterful The Blackening and their forthcoming effort Unto the Locust is similarly anticipated, as is the new Opeth album. However, all 3 of these acts are decidedly on the progressive end of the metal spectrum and as a result are perhaps too obtuse to truly unify the genre.

What is clear is that hard rock/metal has never been more popular. Supporting Megadeth in 2008 were the (in my opinion) totally uninspired, unoriginal deathcore act Job For A Cowboy – yet the band had already clocked up over 8 million plays on Myspace on the strength of an EP. The metal scene is a burgeoning one and great new bands are there – ’ brilliant Blue Record recently cementing my faith in that one! However there is the possibility that acts such as Iron Maiden will not have a successor, and that that particular chapter of rock’s history is over. With such choice available and the vastly differing dynamic nature of the modern heavy rock/metal genre, perhaps no new band can write a ‘Hallowed Be Thy Name’ or ‘Master of Puppets’, songs that transcend differences and unite all in celebration of the power of the genre. This would be a sad occurrence, however many bands and fans alike will view the impending vacuum at the very pinnacle of the genre as an opportunity rather than a cause for concern. If the next generation’s leaders can fashion their inevitably diverse influences into something new but grounded in the genre’s heritage, the world of heavy rock could emerge stronger than ever. As a lifelong fan of the genre: to the next big thing (Just not Job For A Cowboy).

She Keeps Bees

Wandering the dark backstreets of Camden is not something I’d normally recommend to anyone but it is the only way you’ll find tonight’s venue. The Black Heart has proved itself to be a hidden gem of Camden Town by simply walking around the corner to find a giant black heart swinging from the wall. It’s the black cherry on the cake that stripped down ranchy blues rock duo She Keeps Bees are joining us tonight courtesy of The Allotment.

The Allotment are treating us to a three-strong line-up of female fronted rock bands this evening. Both Lulu & The Lampshades and surprise guests Peggy Sue & The Pirates smash out sterling sets; filling the room with personality and showing off quirks such as playing a typewriter with drumsticks which is only emphasized by the excellent village fete atmosphere provided by the organizers.

She Keeps Bees are nothing short of their reputation as thumping southern styled blues when they get going with their first song ‘Release’ from one of my album highlights of last year, Nests. There is something about She Keeps Bees which keeps at least one foot tapping . Jessica’s vocals tonight add to Andy’s thump and make them something slow enough to be sultry and gritty enough to be ranchy. The anthemic ‘Gimme’ engulfs this intimate venue with their raw garage groove and heads are nodding involuntarily. They show a slightly more country side to the pair with ‘Wear Red’ a loosely strung song with a belting vocal hook that still has it’s foot firming in the proverbial blues door.

I can’t help feeling tonight She Keeps Bees are better suited to a smoky New Orleans dive or the corner of a steamy New York street more than this twee The Allotment show but they pull it off well, even if it’s just by Jessica’s charm between songs. They prove that there is room for more than one boy/girl outfit in the blues rock world by giving a outstanding show which I would be happy to relive weekly.

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.

Benjy Ferree

Benjy Ferree’s second album is an ambitious attempt to tell the ultimate Hollywood story, the grimly totemic life and death of child star Bobby Driscoll, the original Peter Pan. Driscoll, known as Bobby Dee, played Peter Pan in the Disney film when he was 16. It proved to be the high point of a hitherto unstoppable child star career, and the rest has a relentless inevitability: the roles drying up, drugs, guns, assault charges, Warhol’s Factory, rehab, more drugs, and finally a lonely, down-and-out death at 31 in a derelict East Village tenement.

More even than Judy Garland, Bobby Dee lived the perfect Hollywood tragedy, matching Hollywood’s star factory, dream machine façade to its dark flipside, where bad things happen to actors when they wake up and realise it was all a dream. As Driscoll himself put it, he was “dumped into the garbage”.

So how does a songwriter like Benjy Ferree, with an unashamed love of stomping blues and stomping rock, tackle this modern Icarus myth. Listeners to his second album may be taken aback to find that the medium of choice is predominantly glam rock. This album has been touched by the hands of Marc Bolan and Freddie Mercury, a flamboyant but and risky tactic.

Opening track ‘Tired of Being Good’ takes us straight to heart of the album, with its chorus “I’m tired of being good when you know I want to be bad.” It has a driving boogie beat, and Ferree’s powerful rock vocal immediately touches off the comparisons with T-Rex, paper and comb interlude aside. The songwriting is very assured indeed, and almost enough to persuade you that this is a good idea. The lyrics in particular are delightfully constructed, as in “My conscience is a cricket, every time I curse you know he writes me a ticket”, referencing maddening Disney C-lister, Jiminy Cricket, who hovers at Bobby Dee’s shoulder. But there’s also something bombastic about the chorus of “Brother, come back home”, which substitutes energised, stylised performance for subtlety.

This is followed by a full-blown gospel number, ‘Fear’, in which Benjy and at least 200 backing singers chorus “It’s called fear, yeah. Oooh, it’s the gospel truth!” Ferree is determined to show how versatile his music is on ‘Bobby Dee’, but this excursion lurches rapidly into self-parody.

And then the glam rock is back. ’Big Business’ is one of the best tracks on the album, launching into a pitch perfect rendition of the blues-driven, kick ass, glam rock. Bolan would have killed for the chorus, “Bring out the pixie dust!”, which effortless trumps most of his own lyrical achievements. Ferree takes the same approach on several more tracks, starting with the next, ‘What Would Pecos Do?’, based on a fictional, US super-cowboy called Pecos Bill, raised by coyotes, who deals with danger by tying everyone up and asking questions later. The song itself is a two chord, Aerosmith romp. And next up, ‘Blown Out (Gold Doubloons and Pieces of Eight)’, with a similar feel, has been compared favourably with the White Stripes. Jack White’s genius is to write songs that sound so absurdly simple that they can’t possibly be new. It’s a lot harder than it seems. ‘Blown Out’ has a promisingly charged central riff, but is held back by its lyrics, which are tangled in an unconvincing pirate metaphor, and its vocals, turned up to 11 throughout.

If you’re not loving Ferree’s 70s style by this point, you’re in for a long ride. The album has 14 tracks, the majority over 4 minutes long. Some really don’t work, for example ‘Let it Be’-inspired rock ballad, ‘The Grips’, which is banal, soft rock; ‘I Get No Love’ with its trying “I get no love in the morning, yeah” chorus; and the turgid ‘When You’re 16’, which is weighed down by lyrics such as “It takes a lot of a person to look around and form a good impression”. Other, such as ‘Pisstopher Chrisstopher’ (despite its dismal title) and ‘Coming to Me, Coming to Me’ (which unexpectedly detours into metal) seem to have been written are much more enjoyable rock-outs.

Around the time of his first album, ‘Leaving the Nest’, Benjy Ferree looked like Bonnie Prince Billie and his music sounded like a cross between Oldham’s folk/country songcraft and Jack White’s RnB rocking. This created an exciting, intriguing balance, but ‘Bobby Dee’ suggests it’s a hard one to maintain. The tracks on this album have more going on in them – more backing musicians, more effects, more production. Ironically for its brittle subject matter, this has eliminated much of the fragility that seemed to lurk behind the strutting rhythms. Individual tracks on here would make anyone sit up and listen. But across an album, they pay diminishing returns and the gap between Ferree’s musical approach and the story he is telling widens into a chasm. Less definitely equals more when it comes to big-booted, glam-country, hard rock blow-outs.

The Blackout

Ah, emo, I’ve missed you. Only kidding. You might hide behind a lie of being “post-hardcore”, but I can spot you a mile off. The preposterous band name, the pretentious song title, the dumbness of having yet another heavy rock outfit from Wales (we already have to put up with Lostprophets, what have we done to deserve this?), it’s just not possible to take it seriously.

That said, this The Blackout song’s not all bad, it crunches along happily enough for a bunch of depressed kids, Sean Smith has the perfect voice for the band and it all seems harmless enough. It’s disposable, mass produced commercial fast-food mush. You won’t be “begging for more”, as Smith hopefully claims.

They’re hugely indebted to My Chemical Romance, but don’t let that put you off if you wear only black clothes and have a nine-inch fringe, as you’ll probably love this. Having had recent success on the UK Rock and Indie charts, this is a big chance for them to cement their future. They probably just about do enough.

Plasticines

If you’re not familiar with the Parisian rock chicks that are Plastiscines then strap yourselves in and prepare to go on an exciting musical journey.….

This single is the first time the girls have written their songs in English as opposed to French, not an easy task I’m sure you’ll agree, but the result of which is sounding extremely fresh and sultry at a time when we are being bombarded by much of a muchness in terms of musical output from female groups.

The all-girl rock band, made up of Katty on vocals, Marine on guitar, Anais on drums and Louise on bass, have released their second single, ‘Barcelona’, which starts out with great, punky hard beats – a totally memorable impact. Although this particular track evaporates quite quickly into a sound extremely reminiscent of many other girl groups gracing our stages (Girls Aloud etc), the French foursome add punchy kicks and a splice of husky, honey-dipped tones to ensure their originality stands them apart. And indeed it does, the track is fun, upbeat and bound to have you begging for more.

‘Barcelona’, is the first single from Plastiscines album About Love which is due out 2010 and set for big things. Having had their first interntional hit whilst still in high-school, appearing on Gossip Girl and supporting Little Boots these spunky four are clearly totally rocking-it!

Bloc Party

October 31st 2009

Bloctober comes to an end.

As Bournemouth marks the end of their 23 date sold out tour, Bloc Party play like it’s their last live show…

Surrounded by blood stained t shirts and pale painted faces, Bournemouths BIC is hosting Halloween with a feast of guitary goodness. The sole support act, Grammatics, kick-start the show with electro-pop infused songs from their recently released self-titled debut album. When compared with Bloc Party’s previous support acts, Metric, Foals, The Cribs and Delphic, Grammatics don’t seem to get the crowd motivated, but still receive a loud applause.

As the clowns, zombies and Frankensteins clear the stage ready for four piece, Bloc Party chants echo around the centre. The lights dim and they grace the stage for the last time “for the unforeseeable future”. Matt studies the his hometown crowd before erupting into ‘One Month Off’, seamlessly followed by ‘Positive Tension’. A song originally from their firstst collection of EPs still gets the crowd roaring “so fucking useless” along with Kele.

‘Mercury’ sees Kele jump off stage and sing with the crowd. Turning his cap backwards and wrapping his microphone lead around his hand, Kele has transformed into a rapper in an instant. After this seamless introduction the band stops for a breather, but not for long. “Here’s another one from the hit factory”, and then they burst into Intimacy single ‘Talons’. The crowd turns into a sea of bobbing heads.

After dodging numerous glow sticks being launched at his face, Kele jokingly comments, “this ain’t no Klaxons gig”. ‘Signs’ calms the crowd with subtle blue lights creating silhouettes of the band. The crowd clap in sync and Gordan taps away on the xylophone. “I think it’s time for some rock and roll” Kele tells the crowd, following with three hefty tracks from A Weekend in the City and Intimacy. ‘Banquet’ is the pinnacle of the night as the crowd erupt and shouted “I’m on fire” and Kele persists “SING IT!”.

“As the last song was about sex, let’s have one about love”. Ion Square sees Gordon tear himself away from his bass and tap away on the keys this time. Followed by more love-infused tunes from all three albums, it is clear to see that Kele wants you to feel every emotion during their two hour set. And you can see this; people clapping, swaying, chanting, jumping. It was an incredible aura that they created.

Bloc Party leave the stage only to return as a banana, a wrestler, a werewolf and a pumpkin head. They reopen with ‘So Here We Are’ before bursting into a set of guaranteed crowd pleasers. The “final song of 2009″, ‘Helicopter’ is their finale. well that’s what everyone thought until the lights dim again and they play ‘She’s Hearing Voices’; “this song is the reason the band got together”.

As they left the stage Matt jumps down from his podium, took the microphone and urged ‘keep the faith’.

Girls

Like me, the heartless bastards among you probably hate it when you’re made to endure the lamentations of a friend who’s just split with their partner. For a while they maintain a semblance of composure, momentarily joining in with the banter as if nothing’s happened. Hell, they even seem quite jovial. However, before long it all starts to go horribly wrong, and soon you find them blubbing into the remnants of their beer like a great clunking pansy.

You console them as best you can, which usually consists of half-heartedly patting them on the shoulder and telling them there’s plenty more fish in the sea. Soon their continual pissed-up blathering becomes tiresome and you give up, leaving them in a hunched, juddering heap in the corner alone. Any further attempt in communication results in another hackneyed anecdote about how they’ve made a mistake, or that this girl/boy was the best thing that ever happened to them.

It’s the kind of drug-fuelled ramblings you’d expect to hear from a teenager, or a tramp! Album from Girls is the much like musical equivalent of this. So it’s no surprise to learn that the creators of Album spent a large part of the time composing while hepped up on goof-balls. Alas, it’s not only the public displays of maudlin sentiment, but furthermore the kind of awful poetry that your friend then goes home to write in a pissed stupor.

Ok, so that’s a little harsh. After a few listens the merits of Album are apparent. ‘God Damned’ is good. Hiding behind the bryllcream haircuts and 50s bop style lies a genuinely tender and endearing love song. ‘Hellhole Ratface’ follows suit. It’s a gentle swaying number that builds well with reverb drenched guitar lines taking it to epic like levels. Slightly discordant, psychedelic, long but not outstaying its welcome.

However, all too often the utilization of revivalism becomes tired, such as on the surf rock homage, ‘Big Bag’. What he appears to be doing is breathe some lo-fi punk aesthetic into a fatigued genre, and with often-vapid results. This isn’t really helped by tracks such as ‘Headache’. Far too often Album is comprised of dull pastiche, borrowing too much without really bringing anything new to the table. Thankfully throwaway tracks sits between finer examples of songs on Album.

‘Summertime’ demonstrates what Girls can achieve, and marks a welcome relief from the breakup dross that permeates much of the album. Away from the languid misery, there’s songs such as ‘Morning Light’. It’s a blistering mind blower that brings a welcome and remarkably optimistic change to an album that often suffers from being laden with tired lo-fi and languid shtick.

Overall you’re left hoping that the subject matter of the next Girl’s album isn’t so melancholy.

Spiral Stairs

Moving sideways from Preston School of Industry and in advance of the much hyped reformation of the mighty Pavement, Scott Kannberg has created his first solo album under his stage monicker of Spiral Stairs. What else he’s been working on for the last five years I’ve no idea, but the time spent on this mixed bag of 11 songs has generally been well used although I found my attention wandering at around the halfway point.

Many of the tracks herein lean towards the melancholic and are alt. country in style (‘Blood Money’, ‘A Mighty Mighty Fall’, ‘Wharf-Hand Blues’) with some particularly sweet steel guitar on the first of those three. The album starts off in fine shape though with ‘True Love’ with its ringing guitars and crashing cymbal work. ‘Cold Change’ is another poppier cut, with a decent bounce in its step and cheery organ usage all the way through. ‘Subiaco Shuffle’ begins fairly rocky with good pace but becomes a bit of a plodding Cajun-esque stomp for the greater part of its five minutes before belatedly rocking out.

Properly rocky (punky even), and the best track on the album, is the short, sharp number ‘Stolen Pills’. A couple more songs in this vein would have significantly raised the record’s profile – not maybe to the level of any of Stephen Malkmus’s post-Pavement work but in terms of similar albums from 2009 it would have matched Lou Barlow’s I’m sure and definitely would have been better than Cass McCombs’ Catacombs. As it stands this is merely a decent effort that’s not likely to get many more plays in my house so going back to his old job with SM and the other guys is certainly no bad career move on Kannberg’s part.

Lord Auch

A few years ago those in the infamous Leeds music “scene” were all buzzing about one band in particular. Their dark, post-punk sound and energetic yet unruly gigs meant their name was on just about everyone’s lips. One fellow Leeds band even wrote a song documenting one of those infamous nights, indeed, riots were predicted. Their name? Black Wire. Sadly, Black Wire disbanded in 2007, but fear not, from their ashes rise a whole new beast. Former members Si McCabe and Danny Prescott moved on to form Lord Auch. Alongside Liam Wade, Stelios Kurunis and Nicholas Jones they release the delightfully titled ‘To The Shithouse EP’.

Opening song ‘Sappho and Double Skin’ sets the tone for what is to come throughout the rest of the E.P. It’s dark, foreboding and at times rather unsettling. Indeed, it’s all dark imagery and obscure lyrics (“my nurse is called Lynda/and she makes me numb/and the story of who can give me a little girl”). Si’s deep, and at times, strained voice means you never quite feel comfortable listening, that doesn’t mean you can’t enjoy it however. Strangely enough, at times this song reminds me of Paul Simon’s Graceland album. That is if Graceland were to don a pair of tight jeans, a cape, and stalk alleyways in the dead of the night with Nick Cave, and a mariachi band.

In contrast to the busy, hectic opener, the second track, ‘Drunkards Rigadoon’ is rather a sparse, but no less sinister affair. The opening minute or so of dark, moody keyboards and drums again creates a sense of foreboding and gloom. By the time the chant like lyrics of “We are damned, we are doomed/meet before Rigadoon/where the lights are low/where the drunkards go” kick in, it almost feels like they’re trying to goad you into joining them in a life of damned, doomed drunken failure as they stumble down that alleyway. Which, to be honest, is hard to turn down. Together with the bleak sounding keyboards and the atmospheric guitar, they create that menacing feel is which is present throughout the EP.

The title tack and closer is a funkier, more bass driven song. As Si declares “let’s have a fight” you get the feeling that any night with these would end that way. The female vocals that follow as the song develops only add to the haunting, macabre feel that is certainly present here. Black Wire may have died, but their ghost is most definitely here.