Various Artists - Late Night Tales: Metronomy (****)
For the latest LNT mix, Metronomy’s Joseph Mount blends Southern
hip-hop (Outkast) with avant-garde jazz (Chick Corea), ending up at
Gallic alt-folk (Herman Dune) via nods to most that lies between. It’s a
confident interpretation of the series’ brief, with curious bedfellows
fluidly interlaced and locked into a twilight tempo. Even its more
daring segueways sound apposite: for example, the breezy pop of the
Alessi Brothers yielding freely to Autechre’s undulating, fractured
rhythms, or the retro synths of Tonto’s Expanding Head Band gently
washed away by a pedal-steel waltz (Pete Drake’s Forever).
For the obligatory cover version, Metronomy tackle Jean Michel
Jarre’s Hypnose: understated and faithful, it slips smoothly into the
mix’s folds, without overshadowing its lovingly selected surroundings.
For the now-standard spoken word coda, meanwhile, Paul Morley concludes
his Lost for Words piece – previously heard on the Trentemøller, MGMT
and Belle and Sebastian compilations – with an enjoyably freewheeling
verbosity.
Out 3rd September
Sycamore - Sycamore and Friends (****)
Like the tree after which they are named, Sycamore’s branches
extend far. Between them, core members Jer Reid, Stevie Jones and Shane
Connolly have roots in El Hombre Trajeado, Issho Taiko Drummers and
Tattie Toes, amongst others; the record’s guesting “friends”, meanwhile,
include Bill Wells and The One Ensemble’s Daniel Padden. The six pieces
that constitute their debut are subtly intoxicating – a rich mix of
tricky melodies and heady textures that eschew straightforward
structures.
Opener New Cold is an immediate standout: one of the few tracks to
feature prominent vocals, it buffets wordless wails (from Connolly’s
fellow Tattie Nerea Bello) with exotic and propulsive twin guitars. The
closing A Sun – with its droning, groaning interlude – also deserves
mention, building to a noisy finish forged from percussive rattles and
string whines. Sporadic lulls elsewhere do nothing to diminish the
record as a whole, raising hopes this union is an on-going project and
not a one-off.
Out Now
Chilly Gonzales - Solo Piano II (***)
From prankster rapper to electro-funk maestro, the artist formerly
known as Jason Beck has long demonstrated a playfully flexible attitude
towards genre. In the last two years alone, his iconoclasm has
produced a chess movie and an orchestral hip-hop album, but of all his
varied guises, it’s as a classically-trained pianist that he’s arguably
most distinguished. Not only is 2004’s Solo Piano apparently his highest selling album to date, but he once beat Andrew WK in a head-to-head piano battle, and that guy can play.
Solo Piano II presents another 14 compositions in the
titular style, and as before, Gonzales elegantly undercuts his natural
inclination towards showing-off. There are no tricks or twists to this
Ronseal-titled collection, just neo-classical ivory tinkling of the
highest calibre, as tracks like the classy Othello channel their
composer’s prodigious talents into gracefully simple melodies, modestly
but expertly reaffirming his 21st century Renaissance-man credentials.
1. stars - theory of relativity
2. paul westerberg - dyslexic heart
3. the the - this is the day
4. deerhunter - never stops
5. the verlaines - death and the maiden
6. still corners - into the trees
7. spandau ballet - chant no. 1
8. tennis - marathon
9. magazine - model worker
10. dinosaur jr - start choppin
11. devo - girl u want
12. liliput - die matrosen
13. purity ring - fine shrines
14. deerhoof - the trouble with candyhands
15. bran van 3000 - drinking in LA
16. edwyn collins - losing sleep
17. wussy - maglite
18. hefner - i took her love for granted
19. blondie - the hardest part
20. joan armatrading - drop the pilot
21. felt - primitive painters
22. lloyd cole - perfect skin
23. the fresh and onlys - 20 days and 20 nights
24. the go-betweens - bye bye pride
25. the modern lovers - roadrunner
26. the strokes - soma
27. tenpole tudor - throwing my baby out with the bathwater
28. dum dum girls - bedroom eyes
29. the b-52s - roam
30. phatogram - when i'm small
31. plasticines - another kiss
32. phil collins - easy lover
33. the undertones - true confessions
34. david bowie - john, i'm only dancing
35. shirley ellis - the clapping song
36. stevie wonder - uptight
37. rod stewart - shake
38. elvis presley - big hunk o love
39. the organ - brother
40. deacon blue - real gone kid
41. los campesinos - you me dancing
42. was (not was) - do the dinosaur
43. the cult - she sells sanctuary
44. fleetwood mac - you make loving fun
45. teenage fanclub - sparky's dream
46. stephen malkmus - jenny and the ess dog
47. the style council - shot to the top
48. dexys midnight runners - seven days is too long
49. the magnetic fields - chicken with its head cut off
50. martha and the muffins - echo beach
51. abba - lay all your love on me
52. hall and oates - maneater
53. john parr - st elmo's fire
54. roxette - joyride
55. franz ferdinand - this fire
56. pulp - do you remember the first time?
57. bon jovi - wild in the streets
58. bruce springsteen - hungry heart
59. bb king - when my heart beats like a hammer
When The Forgiveness of Blood
was selected to represent Albania at the 84th Academy Awards, a vocal
minority questioned the choice. In a letter to the Albanian National
Centre of Cinematography (ANCC), filmmaker Bujar Alimani (whose own film
Amnesty was one of three candidates to have been passed over)
summarised the root complaint: though shot in Albania, in the Albanian
language, with a predominantly Albanian cast and crew, The Forgiveness of Blood
should not qualify as an authentic Albanian film due to key personnel –
particularly Californian co-writer and director Joshua Marston –
hailing from outside the Balkan state.[1]
Such controversy is fairly common in the Academy’s foreign language
award nominee selection process: other high-profile films to have been
disqualified or otherwise withdrawn in recent years include Ang Lee’s Lust, Caution (due to insufficient Taiwanese production input), Rachid Bouchareb’s London River (for excessive English dialogue) and Michael Haneke’s Hidden (Caché) (submitted
by Austria, but with dialogue in French; films must be in a language
native to the submitting country to qualify). Indeed, Marston himself
had already experienced a comparative snub in 2004, when his debut
feature, drug-mule drama Maria Full of Grace (2004), was reportedly rejected as Columbia’s entry for similar reasons.[2] But in the case of The Forgiveness of Blood,
its disputed heritage is made doubly interesting by the way it relates
to the themes of the film itself. Of the initial decision to support its
submission, head of the ANCC Artan Minarolli argued: ‘[Albanian cinema]
is a cosmopolitan cinema that tries to survive through cultural
exchange. In the past, Albania was totally isolated; today we try to
find reality in cinema and to make up for the time we lost over the past
fifty years.’[3]
Insular tradition versus intercommunity harmony: the conflict that
beset the film’s Academy Award chances also afflicts (in a more
pronounced and dangerous fashion) its principal characters, locked in an
ancestral feud that disrupts their freedom and threatens their lives.
Who we are and where we come from, the film demonstrates in both its
plot and its production, can affect our lives at a fundamental level.
The film opens with a seemingly innocuous act: a horse-drawn cart
trundles through a quiet rural landscape, the riders stopping at the
fore of the frame to remove rocks blocking their path. But it is soon
apparent that this simple action has a provocative edge, as rival
families trade barbed insults from opposite sides of a bar room,
demonstrating deep-rooted mutual ignominy; the next time access to the
pathway is disputed, a man is killed. The murder, importantly, occurs
off-screen: we witness the preceding argument, in which the perpetrator
is humiliated in front of his daughter Rudina (Sindi Lacej) and leaves
with vengeance in mind, but not his subsequent return to the field armed
with a knife. We only learn of the attack when Rudina’s brother Nik
(Tristan Halilaj) is bundled into the back of a car by relatives
concerned that he will be targeted for reprisal. During Nik’s journey
back to the family home that will shortly become his prison, the camera
stays hunched down in the vehicle’s footwell, its angle mimicking Nik’s
fractional perspective. This alignment with the family’s teenage members
is maintained throughout the film, with events largely depicted from
Nik and Rudina’s fringe positions. They are involved in mediation
debates only marginally, their experiences instead limited to the
monotony of house arrest (Nik), and the difficulty in single-handedly
providing for a family that has lost its main breadwinner (Rudina,
forced to quit school to take up her father’s work).
By foregrounding Nik and Rudina, Marston and co-writer Andamion
Murataj frame the central feud within a larger, thematic conflict:
between tradition and modernity. The threat to Nik’s life is not
arbitrary, but written into the kanun – the traditional Albanian laws
still used in parts of the country. The kanun’s diktats include the
concept of gjakmarrja;the blood feuds that result in reciprocal killings from warring families. In a 2007 Washington Post
article, law professor and kanun expert Ismet Elezi outlines the modern
blood feud as follows: ‘A killing takes place, the victim’s family
demands blood retribution, then the members of the killer’s family take
refuge in their homes – which are considered inviolate under kanun – for
at least forty days and seek forgiveness. If forgiveness is granted or a
life is taken in retaliation, the feud ends. Otherwise, the isolation
period can continue indefinitely.’[4]
It is this sense of indefinite limbo that generates the film’s
claustrophobia, as the children – Nik especially – bristle under, then
rebel against, their enforced confinement. But this centuries-old code
exists uneasily in a present-day context. In one notable scene, Nik
receives a video message from his classmates via a smart phone,
imprisoned by an ancient honour system, but connected to the outside
world via 21st century communication technology; this contrast is later
reversed, when Rudina travels into the city by horse-drawn cart, a line
of cars and trucks queuing behind her and sounding their horns in
frustration. Both examples juxtapose old and new, portraying a family
trapped not only by, but in the past. The tension
between future-facing youth and the shibboleths of their forebears is
ever-present, as the teens endure an inherited conflict that precedes
them by generations.
To return to the aforementioned Academy Award controversy, Alimani’s
protest achieved its desired aims: the ANCC’s Oscar Committee
relinquished, transferring their submission to Amnesty. For The Forgiveness of Blood
– a film focused on the identities we are born into; on the
immutability of bloodlines and the archaic legacies that can accompany
them – the reversal seems unfortunate, but also rather apt.
Dr Christopher Buckle Researcher and journalist August 2012
Toots Hibbert has an infectious smile, and plenty of reasons to wear it tonight: his home nation celebrates 50years
of independence this month; a weighty haul of Olympian track medals
has further boosted national pride; and to cap it off, Hibbert was
awarded the Order of Jamaica earlier in the week, in recognition of a
remarkable, near-five-decade career.
Not that these milestones are overtly referenced tonight (a nod to
Bolt’s trademark victory pose from the backing singers aside). The
evening has a sharper focus, on the here and now: indeed, from the
opening Pressure Drop to a closing call-and-response-stacked 54-46
(That’s My Number), the ABC is animated and united in song and skanking.
Clad in leather and shades and skilfully backed by the whip-sharp
Maytals, Toots is a magnetic stage presence, with energy levels that put
performers half his age to shame. As he presides over highlights like
the tempo-raising Monkey Man, he personifies ‘crowd-pleasing’ and
transfers that aforementioned smile from his face to everyone else’s.
Pain, sadness, anxiety: it's a tough job being Perfume Genius. But things are looking up, Mike Hadreas explains.
Perfume Genius’s second album starts
with an intake of breath. It’s a preparation, a steeling gulp of air that readies
both listener and performer for the brutalising sadness to come. The track to
which it belongs, entitled AWOL Marine, is beautiful: solemn piano and
distorted vocals locked in a slow dance and gradually absorbed by white noise.
Yet beneath its gentle exterior lurks a grim inspiration: a piece of amateur
pornography in which a participant is heard explaining his need to sell himself
in order to fund his wife’s healthcare, degraded by circumstance to turning
tricks for the camera.
The song, and the album as a whole,
is devastating and addictive. Indeed, all across his burgeoning discography, Mike
Hadreas delivers such intensely-felt emotion that it’s a wonder he can channel all
that hurt without imploding. Yet while his voice carries the same slight,
perpetually teary waver in conversation as it does in song, he’s friendly,
chatty and a whole lot less socially awkward than his recording persona would suggest.
But, he stresses, it wasn’t always thus. “If I think back to five years ago,”
he shares, “I was terrified even to make a dentist appointment.” But five years
is a long time: enough time to halt a self-destructive lifestyle of drug and
alcohol abuse, record an album (2010’s Learning),
temporarily fall back into old habits, get clean again, record another album (the
aforementioned Put Your Back N 2 It),
and tour the world. According to Hadreas, it’s been a therapeutic process. “This
whole music thing has just given me a lot more purpose, and I feel a lot more…
proud of myself,” he suggests. “I’m not so worried about what people think of
me. Before, I was terrified of that.”
Why? “I guess just because I felt like I didn’t have much to offer anybody. But
now…” he pauses. “I’m still really shy and I’ll sometimes hide in dark little
rooms, but now when I talk to other people I feel like, I don’t know, like an
adult! I don’t know how else to explain it.”
While Learning was written without expectations and recorded at his mum’s
house, its successor represents a shift in Hadreas’s attitude. “I’ve been
writing and thinking more as a professional musician now I guess” he says. “Before
I didn’t know what I was writing music for – I didn’t know that I would make
albums and that I was going to be able to, you know, not have a day job – which
is probably the coolest part.” We ask how his younger self would have felt
about his career choice. “Me as a
kid? Oh, this is beyond what I thought I was ever capable of. I think I just
thought I’d be an artist of some kind. I don’t think I even knew what that
meant – I thought I could just do what the fuck I wanted.” He laughs. “You have
to work a lot more than I was hoping for…”
Writing such bruised lyrics certainly
sounds like hard work: consider, for instance, Learning’s Mr Petersen, an autobiographical tale with a
gut-wrenching pay-off (“when I was sixteen he jumped off a building… I hope
there’s room for you up above or down below”). Could he ever write music
without having a close emotional connection with it – work as a
songwriter-for-hire, for instance? “I’m not sure. I’m pretty sure that if someone
wanted me to write a song for a commercial, I could find a way to slip in some
crazy, semi-subversive thing into it” he ponders. “I like the idea of making
pop music that people will sing along to, but they’re actually singing about
surviving sexual abuse or something, without even knowing it.”
People are already singing along:
search his song titles online and you’ll soon stumble across a webcam-shot
cover version. How does it feel to hear your words song back in another’s voice?
There’s a long pause. “I’ve gotten a lot less shy about a lot of things,” he
eventually offers, “but that still makes me feel pretty shy for some reason. I
guess because my songs can be really earnest anyways, and then when there’s a
YouTube cover, that’s when people are, like, super-earnest… I just usually cry and shut my computer…” He reconsiders.
“But there’s something really sweet about it too, and not in a condescending
way at all. Something…” he hunts for the appropriate word. “Something heart-warming.”
As well as musical tributes, fans
will often write to Hadreas. He replies whenever possible, though admits correspondence
has fallen by the wayside of late. Does he consider it a responsibility? “I
think if I was in an actual band then it wouldn’t feel like a responsibility,
but I guess people are writing directly to me,” he explains. “They think they
know me a little bit, and usually the messages are kind of heavy – not always,
but sometimes they have secrets in them and stuff, so I try and respond to all
of those. It’s a strange situation sometimes. I have to decide whether I’m
supposed to give advice, or if I’m even equipped to give advice, or if I’m just
supposed to write that I read your message and I understand.” Growing up, did
he ever write to any musicians himself? “No, but I wrote to a lot of graphic
designers and web designers when I was little. I don’t know why! But never to a
musician – I was too shy.”
This oft-referred to shyness is presumably
why, when writing, Hadreas favours solitude. “I write by myself usually, as
alone as I can possibly be. Then I usually show my work to Alan [Wyffels,
Hadreas’s boyfriend and touring band member]. He’s very…” He stops to rephrase.
“Sometimes I just want people to say that it’s good, even if they don’t think
so, just so that I can carry on doing it. Even just when we’re leaving the
house – I want him to tell me my hair looks good, even if it doesn’t, just
because I’m sick of thinking about it, I just wanna go out! But he’s the kind
of person who will actually look at my hair and tell me whether it looks goods
or not…” He sighs. “Which pisses me off! I mean, it comes in handy too, because
I know he’s always being honest, but sometimes I’ll spend three or four hours
on something and I’ll play it to him and he’ll say ‘nah’. So I end up doing
whatever I want anyway…”
With success, this freedom to do
whatever takes your fancy is inevitably encroached upon. “Before I could just
make whatever I wanted and not really think about it” he says of life pre-Learning. “I guess I still make my weird
gay videos, but I would like to start doing whatever I want again – just
dressing up and making lip-syncing videos and all the weird shit I used to do. It’s
all become very serious, and it’s always nice when it’s not so serious since
you don’t put so much pressure on yourself.I think sometimes you end up making things that are more important when
you’re not trying so hard. I’m scared of the routine of things, and the
expectations – of either taking myself too seriously or making something too
heavy-handed because I’ve been trying so hard.” We wonder out loud whether
humour is a useful way of alleviating this fear, citing the recent promo for
Hood. It features the skinny, fragile-looking Hadreas in lipstick and wigs,
striking a variety of poses with hyper-buff porn star Arpad Miklos; at one
point, the latter dons a Freddy Kreuger glove and they recreate the Janet
Jackson boob-hold pose. Are such humorous touches a deliberate way of releasing
some of the tension that builds up in your music? “I guess” Hadreas considers,
“but growing up that’s a defence too, you know? If something terrible happens,
then I’ll find some way to find it funny just because it makes it easier. But I
like having different levels to things. Something that was tragic yesterday
could be really funny the day after – sometimes…”
Perfume Genius will return to Scotland
next month, playing Glasgow’s SWG3 as part of No Mean City. Elsewhere, Hadreas
has spoken openly about the discomfort that performing live has caused him in
the past; does it come more naturally now? “Yeah, I think so – it’s definitely
better than a few years ago” he answers. “Now I’m able to relax enough to get
into it instead of being so scared and detached the whole time. I used to try
to fix how nervous I was,” he concludes, “but now I just let myself be nervous
and do everything anyway.” The sentiment is hesitant but resilient, and as
such, fits in with his music like a razor-fingered glove.
[original article appears in this month's The Skinny]
Bottle
Rocket likes to think of itself as an upholder of the true Olympian
ideal - completely amateurish and for sale to the highest bidder. Come
on down and be a part of Team BR, for this month's tip-top poptathlon at
Sleazy's.
Big news - this will be the last BR on a Saturday,
so you'll want to tell your grandchildren you were there. As of
September we'll be on Fridays instead. Mental. So come along and pay
your respects on 18 August. Then be amazed as we resurrect next month
as a NewClub. Hmm, sounds familiar. We're keeping our history however...
From Colombian drug-mules in debut Maria Full of Grace to Balkan blood feuds in The Forgiveness of Blood, American
director Joshua Marston again uses an outsider eye to mine drama from
unfamiliar circumstances. Set in northern Albania, early scenes show
rival families contesting land boundaries and bickering in bars, but
when their deep-rooted dispute spills over into murder, the relatives of
the man responsible are forced into hiding lest the male members be
targeted in retaliatory violence.
Largely told from the perspective of two teens caught in the crossfire, Forgiveness…
is an intelligent, emotionally-nuanced work. While the diktats of the
Kanun (traditional Albanian laws predicated on honour and kinship) are
integral to the plot and only gradually explained, Marston and Andamion
Murataj’s script is always comprehensible, with emphasis placed on
universal feelings of adolescent frustration rather than judicial
minutiae. As the siblings weather a conflict that predates them by
generations, their claustrophobic limbo builds into a satisfyingly open
ending.
Veering from constructive criticism to outright disgust, Alejandra
Deheza and Benjamin Curtis of School of Seven Bells have a good cop/bad
cop gander at August's sixties-indebted promo pile.
Noisettes – That Girl (Mono-ra-rama, 13 Aug) Benjamin: This
is one of those songs that’s really hard to critique – if you like
sixties music you’ll like this, and if you don’t, you won’t. I don’t
think it’s necessarily creative; it’s more like wallpaper, or putting up
a picture of Diana Ross in your bedroom. It just seems like decoration. Alejandra: But then I think that’s probably what they were going for – if you wanted to create a new sound, then you would. B:
This is why it’s so hard to be a music critic, I mean, what are we
critiquing on – whether they did a good job or not, or whether or not
it’s worth a shit? In the job of recreating – 10 out of 10. But
otherwise, 6.
General Fiasco – Bad Habits (Dirty Hit, 6 Aug) [An initial look of bemusement gives way to laughter. Alejandra looks a little lost for words] B: People still make music like this? I really, really hope that in 50 years there isn’t a fucking band recreating this. A:
I… er… this is really not my thing. But I can understand why people
might like it – it’s got melody, and the dude has a lot of emotion. B: This kind of music should feel like it’s going to fall apart, whereas this sounds very comfortable… 4.
The Cult – The Wolf (Cooking Vinyl, 6 Aug) B: Oh shit, I’m so excited to hear this! [The track starts and their grins get wider] A: Well, it’s doing what they do best… [Suddenly, the smiles disappear] A: Wow, this took a turn. B: Yeah,
that went very wrong at about 45 seconds… very, very wrong. I give the
first 45 seconds 9 out of 10, but the rest is disqualified. I like that
they’re bringing the cowbell back though, there’s some extra credit for
that.
Garbage – Big Bright World (STUNVOLUME, 6 Aug) B:
Not that they were ever particularly intellectual, but I feel like this
song is extra lobotomised. I’m not saying they were ever like Yes or
something, but Jesus… What I don’t like about it comes from the extreme respect I have for them. Does that cushion it at all? The Skinny: Depends on the score you give… A: Oh brother… ouch. It’s hard because I really like her. 5? B: I’ll say 6, just because it’s Shirley Manson and she’s cool.
Toddla T & Shola Ama – Alive (Ninja Tune, 13 Aug) A: I love her vocals. B: I’ve already forgotten what the chorus goes like though – that’s not a good sign for a pop song. Great singer though, Toddla. The Skinny: Shola’s the singer… B: Shit, Shola, Shola… So who’s Toddla? [laughing] What the fuck kind of name is Toddla?! Who would call themselves that? A: I’d give this 4. B: That’s generous, but Shola seems cool. She’s singing her ass off…
The Heavy – What Makes A Good Man? (Ninja Tune, 13 Aug) B: Is this sixties soul thing big right now or something? The Skinny: This is soundtracking a Miller ad campaign in the States, apparently... B: Oh, this song is made for a beer commercial. It’s junk food. A: It seems like they know they’re making junk food too, you know? It’s very marketable. B:
I give them props for that, because that’s smart – they’re going to
make a lot of money if they’re halfway intelligent, but… er… the other
98% of me just thinks this is fucking vile [laughs]. Sorry. 10 out of 10
for marketability. The rest is disqualified for being completely
horrible.
Tamara Schlesinger – Again (Tantrum Records, 6 Aug) B: There’s that sixties sound again – what’s going on around here? A:
This is good – the fact that she can keep a song this interesting with
just what she’s using is pretty awesome. I’d be really curious to pick
her brain – I think it would be fun in there. B: It needed a bridge, though. A: I didn’t feel it was lacking anything, I think it was really good. B: But that’s the single – if you put out a single, I think you’ve got to respect the form… A: I don’t agree, this is good the way it is – 8. B: Yeah, I’d have probably fucked her song up. Don’t listen to me, Tamara, you’re good.
FaltyDL – Hardcourage (Ninjatune, 20 Aug) A:
This bassline reminds me a lot of, like, 96-ish jungle, but it kinda
just makes me want to listen to that instead. [Benjamin skips the track
forward a minute]. Oh, this is throwing out all the tricks. B: Yeah, but for a dance single it’s understated in a way that’s kind of unfortunate. A: I wouldn’t really hear that in a club – it sounds like something you'd hear at a restaurant or hotel. B: Yeah it’s kind of a hotel lobby jam. I’m sure FaltyDL is a great fellow, but I’m hoping Hardcourage is not his best – 5.
Caned and Able – I’ve Got You Now (PSB Music, 27 Aug) B: Oh man, have you seen what they’re called? I’m so mad at that name. [Alejandra reads and visibly cringes] B [in response to the chorus]: He does not have me yet… Skinny: Well he’s running out of time… B:
Oh shit, this song’s almost over! You gotta be fu… See, what colours my
judgement is, you’re not just playing us some random song: this is the
fucking single, this is their best song right now. So you can’t just
think, 'oh well, maybe I’ll like another' – this should be the best one.
Then again, that’s not really fair 'cause most of my favourite songs
weren’t singles, so maybe… I just think they should have worked a bit
harder on that. A: Yeah, it was premature to end it there. I’d give it an ‘incomplete’.
Eugene McGuinness – Harlequinade (Domino, 6 Aug) A: This is very mild. B: Medium spicy at most. It sounds like Robert Palmer. A: I don’t want to give this a low score, because there’s a lot of work and some good ideas in there. B:
But it’s hard to give anyone a good score when you can hear Portishead
playing on the PA next door… If Portishead is a 10, what’s this? A: Oh man… No, that’s too hard! That’s not fair to anybody! Ok, 5. I was going to go higher, but you put Portishead in the mix. B: He’s just a victim of circumstance…
Mina Tindle – Bells (Believe, 20 Aug) A: She has a really soulful voice, you can tell that she’s feeling it. B: It’s a bit too cute though. A:
I don’t know, there’s something in her voice that’s really sad. She
sounds like she sings with her whole body. Can we rate her, rather than
the song? B: Yeah, we give Mina a 9, and if you were gauging cuteness, it’s extremely cute. A: On the cute scale, definitely 10, but for the song, 5, because a good idea is worth a lot, and that was a good idea.
Single of the Month: Lower Dens – Candy (Ribbon, 13 Aug) A: I like her voice a lot – it’s a like an exact mix of Siouxie and T-Rex. B: Man, that guitar player is getting himself some… A: It’s really moody – it sort of reminds me of that opening scene in Mulholland Drive, where all you see is the pavement, and it’s really dark and the car’s driving along... This is spooky. B: Yeah, it has a really good vibe. A solid 8.
Like the shows at which it will be
sold, Paul Vickers’ latest album offers a lot of variety.
Previously-unreleased Dawn of the Replicants tracks sit alongside
newly-written spoken word pieces and experimental musical slithers
(‘songs’ seems an overly formal description for some of these
oddities), making Nest of Knickers boldly incohesive but fun to dip in and out of.
The storytelling passages are particularly captivating; full of
grotesquery and invention, they rub awkwardly against accessible
songwriting like Yabba Yabba (a Replicants cut that’s probably the most
conventional thing here). Indeed, awkwardness seems integral to Vickers’
mischievous comedic project, and though there’s an unshakeable sense
that an in-character monologue’s natural home remains the stage – where
the eccentricities have room to puff out their lungs – the results are
always intriguing. Vickers will host accompanying 'wonky cabaret' Twonkey’s Kingdom throughout this year’s Alternative Fringe: on the strength of this exemplar, we’d recommend a swatch.
Out Now
Six Organs of Admittance - Ascent (***)
Adopting the maxim ‘if you’ve got it, flaunt it,’ Six Organs of
Admittance’s Ben Chasny opens his latest album with a big, bold guitar
solo – a whole five and a half minutes of virtuoso fret fiddling, all
told. Track two mixes things up, kind of: it’s still a five-minute
guitar solo, but with a couple of extra minutes of moody psych preceding
it.
For those who prefer such noodling as a means to an end (rather than
the main attraction), both workouts are liable to outstay their welcome,
but Chasny knows better than to let tedium take root, with Solar Ascent
focusing his skills on a dirge-like slice of melancholia, and the
acoustic melodies of Your Ghost delivering another well-timed
pace-change. While Ascent is arguably less distinctive than recent discography highlights like the droning Luminous Night, its full-on rock elements serve to further subvert SOA’s alt-folk origins, to striking effect.
Out 20th August
Eugene McGuinness - The Invitation to the Voyage (**)
From quirky, well-regarded debut to playing guitar in musical shrug
Miles Kane’s backing band in just four short years: Eugene McGuinness
hasn’t exactly been firing on all cylinders lately. But now he’s back,
with slick quiff and slicker production, re-cast in a plastic soul mould
and vying for a piece of the 80s-pop revival action. “I’m going for
the jugular,” he explains on opener Harlequinade, and his methodology
is not to be trifled with: stuffed with synths and trumpets and gloss,
it’s a bold and brash vanguard for an album with definite promise.
But elsewhere it’s lazy: Japanese Cars is purposeless pastiche;
Shotgun samples Peter Gunn to irritating effect; while the lyrics of
Sugarplum are liable to set eyes-a-rolling, particularly when followed
by the comparatively imaginative imagery of lead single Lion. Bright
points like that make it difficult to write Invitation to the Voyage off completely, but celebrating it proves more difficult still.
Out 6th August
While still keen on Eskimo Snow’s more sedate direction, it’s a thrill to hear Why?’s Yoni Wolf in full flow for Sod in the Seed’s
title track. Their first new material in almost three years, it’s a
vibrant showcase for his sharp wordplay, so verbosely enmeshed that it’s
impossible to quote from without spoiling the effect.
Musically, the trio continue to eschew conventions, pioneering some
peculiar but rewarding genre syntheses across the EP’s tight duration:
For Someone is a woozy blend of xylophone, recorder and bongos; Probable
Cause a minute of calypso presets; Shag Carpet a sort of liturgical
hip-hop, and so on. A superb return that’s both familiar and exotic, the
only real complaint is that a full album remains months away.
Out 13th August
The Crooked Fiddle Band - Overgrown Tales (****)
With titles inspired by sixteenth century serial killers, Coppélia
and Tolkien, The Crooked Fiddle Band stay true to their third album’s
title, tapping into a rich storytelling seam despite the largely
instrumental nature of their music. Recorded last year with Steve
Albini, Overgrown Tales sounds global and timeless, its roll
call of instruments (including tapan, bouzouki and nyckelharpa)
indicating the scope of their influences.
Albini’s characteristically hands-off anti-production initially seems
an ill-fit for such nuanced music, but as exhaustingly-paced tracks
like All These Pitchforks Make Me Nervous tumble from the speakers, the
match makes sense: to apply a greater degree of studio sheen would
muffle one of their most pronounced qualities, namely their frenetic
dynamism. This is comfortably the Sydney quartet’s most ambitious
release to date, with the relentless fiddle riffs of The Mountain Hag’s
Advice sitting closer to heavy metal than folk, and What the Thunder
Said delivering an appropriately epic finale.
Out 6th August
Urusen - This is Where We Meet (***)
Urusen have been gigging and
recording for almost a decade now, never quite catching a wave of
support big enough to bring them widespread recognition, but
cultivating a reputation for likeable, robust folk-pop fayre
regardless. Consistency isn’t a particularly sexy quality in bands, but
the slow-road taken to …Where We Meet has its benefits, imbuing their songwriting with an appealing integrity.
There’s a refreshing lack of pretence to tracks like upbeat lead
single In Search of the Delta, or the gently lilting Fifty & 9,
which together represent the twin poles of Urusen’s sound – not
particularly diverse, but nicely complimentary. Peter Bleatty’s lyrics
are another tick in the right column, his storytelling offering just the
right amount of mystery. But the same qualities that make their music
easy to appreciate also ultimately hinders their route to something
greater – settling on pleasant, and so falling shy of a record with a
more lasting impact.
