Preview: The Monochrome Set @ Mono, 26th March

Currently in their third stint together, after previously packing it in once in 1985, and then again in 1998, The Monochrome Set are a deciduous yet resilient fixture in indie-pop’s past, present – and perhaps its future, should another album materialise.

Marked by songwriter Bid’s laconic vocals and intelligent wit – whether rhyming ‘Pepsi Cola’ with ‘Zola’ (as in Emile, not Gianfranco), or giving Half Man Half Biscuit a run for their money in the pun department with tracks christened Karma Suture and The Great Barrier Riff – they’ve amassed considerable renown for good reason.

This month they’ve been coaxed to Glasgow by We Can Still Picnic, whose founders Wake the President will provide support on the night, alongside Spectorbullets (Russell Burn of the Fire Engines' new act) and POST. To paraphrase an eponymous early single, they’ll be waiting to spuriously entertain your tiny brains; it’d be daft to refuse.

film review: route irish

An ambush on Route Irish (the road connecting Baghdad airport with the US-protected Green Zone) puts a licensed mercenary in a body-bag and leaves many unanswered questions. “He was a protector, a force for good” eulogises the firm’s director, but ex-soldier Fergus (Mark Womack) has reason to doubt the rosy portrait painted of private military contractors, and starts investigating the circumstances surrounding his friend’s death. The casting of Liverpudlian stand-up John Bishop as the deceased Frankie is smart: he’s not onscreen much, so his limited thesping (previous credits amount to cameos and Skins) isn’t an issue. But the comic’s affable persona amplifies the emotional impact of the character’s death, lending credibility to Fergus’s grief and guilt-driven quest. Not every performance is as successful, Loach’s habit of filling out his cast with unknown faces resulting in some unconvincing scenes. But they don’t detract from the righteous anger of regular collaborator Laverty’s script, which culminates not in bullets and explosions, but quiet despair.

march skinny makes darn gid reading

this edition's me!me!me! quota is as follows:

- aidan moffat's valentine revue live review
- allo darlin' live review
- nme awards tour feat. crystal castles, magnetic man, everything everything, the vaccines live review
- trapped mice 'portrait of a great father' ep review
- parts & labor 'constant future' album review
- luxury car 'when i was good' album review
- kurt vile 'smoke ring for my halo' album review
- wye oak 'civilian' album review
- route irish film review
- confessions of a dog dvd review

and, tucked way at the back, a preview of the monochrome set gig at mono on the 26th march.

copies can be found in, like, loads of places across scotland, but if you can't get your paws on one, fear not: some of this has already been posted on this here blog, and over at theskinny.co.uk, and the rest will follow in due course. get reading or i'll bash ye.

Parts and Labor is not album of the month...

but it should be. king creosote stole the skinny AOTM accolade out from under it, but that don't stop Constant Future being all kinds of awesome - the best album i've listened to this year i reckon...

Parts & Labor - Constant Future (*****)

Labelling Brooklyn’s Parts & Labor an “experimental noise-rock band” is one more reason to take user-edited encyclopaedias with a pinch of salt. The band experiment, sure – for proof, recall their perverse decision to follow hook-filled breakthrough Mapmaker with the fifty-one song oddity Escapers Two: Grind-Pop.

And, yes, they’re unquestionably noisy on occasion, with Bright White (amongst others) culminating in a raucous din. But such a description ignores their unabashed pop side, with Constant Future echoing less challenging sources than the above wiki-description implies: there’s a Celtic-folk feel to Hurricane; Rest is a close cousin of REM’s IRS years; while Pure Annihilation nicks a sizable chunk of its melody from king-of-kings praising hymn Give Me Joy in My Heart.

Admittedly, it’s folk played through feedback, REM tailed with a buzzing coda, and a hymn with enough distortion to make a vicar’s collar curl, but their commitment to tunes over abrasion is unwavering. “I used to be a hurricane, but now I’m just a breeze,” Dan Friel sings on the penultimate track, before drums stomp in strong. Don’t believe his lies: on this form, they’re powerful enough to raze cities – yet leave the survivors whistling along.

Out 7th March

janelle monae @ ABC, 26th February

A top-hatted usher stalks on stage, pledging spectacle. “This is far more than a musical presentation” the cackling host promises, as Janelle Monae’s android alter-ego flickers on screen to set up Archandroid’s elaborate mythology. A hooded trio emerge and pronounce tonight’s commandment: “you will dance, or die,” and the band launch into the song of the same name. It’s an exhilarating opening to an exceptional show: Dance Or Die flows into Faster which flows into Locked Inside, echoing the album sequence. The dancers reappear as nuns and the unbroken run pauses for its first breather. Three songs in, and the show seems unstoppable.

Unfortunately, a momentum-killing warble through Smile (originally covered on the Metropolis EP), stalls the tempo and outstays its welcome. Thankfully, it’s tonight’s only misstep: zombies materialise for Sincerely Jane, only to be culled by Monae’s dancing, each strike accompanied by a Batman-style horn stab; a confetti cannon is fired during Wondaland, emphasising tonight’s carnival atmosphere; while Cold War and Tightrope are conjoined in an unbeatable duo.

Light-sabre battles play out in the background – fitting, since “A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away” perfectly summarises Monae’s retro-futuristic visual style and musical aesthetic. An encore of Come Alive ratchets up the theatricality further, the ABC coaxed to its knees in a semblance of sleep, before exploding on command, the stage a manic display of revelry. The whole affair is wrapped up in little more than an hour, but comfortably fulfils its opening promise.

reviews: wounded knee, wye oak, kurt vile

Wounded Knee - Etive Shepherds/Single Malt Symphony (***)

Withhold from Wounded Knee your full attention and you might as well listen to the hum of kitchen appliances, so focus. Both Etive Shepherds and Single Malt Symphony alternate between repetitive vocal loops and even more abstract drones, but although little seems to happen, all the small adjustments and refinements add up to something rather hypnotic. A microwave’s whir doesn’t softly surprise the way the arrival of a fresh texture does here; a fridge’s buzz will never become inexplicably moving the way this does after long periods in its company.

These slight rewards aren’t going to convince those who’ve already pegged Wounded Knee an impressive but patience-testing novelty, nor those desiring instant pleasures from their music (at least live there is immediate enjoyment to be had witnessing the layering process up close). But with a little effort and a lotta perseverance, you might just come around to Drew Wight’s experimental mindset.

Out Now

Wye Oak - Civilian (****)

Civilian opens with a blanket of warm, fuzzy noise enveloping background chat, ushering the listener into Wye Oak’s world gently but resolutely. A lovely world it is too: Two Small Deaths echoes the woozy tone of Asleep In The Back if performed by Beach House; The Alter opens with singer Jenn Wasner recalling Annie Lennox’s vampire serenade, before the instrumentation settles into a Grizzly Bear groove; Holy Holy twiddles the amp dials, raising the volume one moment only to drop it away to a whisper come the middle eight; while Dogs Eyes could be a drowsier Throwing Muses.

The opening run gives them an impressive four for four, and though the final score isn’t quite full-marks (thanks to some comparatively un-eventful stretches in the latter half), it remains an impressive tally. They’re not reconfiguring the musical landscape, but like the ancient tree they’re named after, they’re putting down lasting roots.

Out 7th March

Kurt Vile - Smoke Ring For My Halo (****)

“Shrink myself just like a Tom Thumb and hide in my baby’s hands” sings Kurt Vile on album opener Baby’s Arms, “because except for her there ain’t nothing to latch on to.” A couple of lines are all it takes for Vile to confirm his lyrical talents (it’s a step up from “I got a trumpet/I know where to dump it” at any rate), the clarity of their delivery locating this fourth effort a world away from the Philadelphian’s early lo-fi recordings.

As on Matador breakthrough Childish Prodigy, Vile is backed by the Violators, pushing him further still from the scrappy CD-Rs of his youth, yet existing Vile-ophiles will nonetheless feel right at home amidst Smoke Ring for My Halo’s modern slant on old familiar sounds. Last year, Ariel Pink delivered a similarly-styled collection of accessible melodies cocked askew, and though comparatively straightforward, Vile comfortably matches their glories.

Out 7th March

untitled, 2011

an untitled piece by bottlerocket, depicting a vase of plastic flowers against a neutral background.

GFF review: Son of Babylon

last day of the film festival today folks. here's a review of something i saw waaaaay back at the start, which, handily, is returning to the GFT next week for a couple of days...

Mohamed Al Daradji follows Ahlaam’s flashbacks and dreams with a straightforward road movie of sorts. In Son of Babylon, a young boy and his grandmother search for his missing father, aided by, amongst others, a cigarette-selling street urchin and a repentant former member of the Republican Guard.

In a newly post-Saddam Iraq, they naturally encounter American soldiers as well, but the occupation is far from the focus. Helicopters buzz overhead, while fires and debris scar the streets of Baghdad, but the war is a background inconvenience at most – Al Daradji’s evident anger is directed elsewhere.

This devastating indictment of the former dictator’s legacy – a million missing; 250,000 bodies dug from the earth thus far – is desperately sad, the soundtrack filled with the anguished ululating of grieving mothers and widows, the character’s journey a series of mass graves. But the sadness has purpose: visit the Iraq’s Missing campaign to find out how you can help.

GFF feature: The Good, The Bad and the Morricone

In 2007, Ennio Morricone was presented with an honorary Academy Award for his indelible contribution to cinema. It was an overdue reward for a five-time nominee yet to be recognised with an Oscar of his own, though Celine Dion did her best to scupper the moment’s poignancy by warbling a version of 'Deborah’s Theme' from Once Upon A Time in America beforehand. Morricone was presented the statuette by Clint Eastwood (who stuck around to translate the Italian composer’s speech), helping to cement an already-firm association between the twin icons of the Spaghetti Western: the latter’s squint and poncho the genre’s visual paradigm; the former’s guitar twangs, whistles and marching trumpets its aural counterpoint.

The wide popularity of the soundtracks to The Good the Bad and the Ugly, Once Upon a Time in the West and other opus oaters potentially obscures the breadth of the octogenarian’s work. With nearly five hundred film credits to his name, he’s proven as comfortable scoring pastoral dramas (Days of Heaven), gruesome science fiction (The Thing), political thrillers (The Battle of Algiers) and horror (in collaborations with Dario Argento for The Bird With the Crystal Plummage and The Cat o’ Nine Tails) as he is accompanying the exploits of six-shooting outlaws. Not to mention Mario Bava’s camp classic Danger: Diabolik, which screens at this year’s GFF as part of its Superhero strand (if you plan to make a day of it, Mondo Morricone ticket-holders are eligible for discounted entry to the Saturday showing). His popularity is as strong among consumers as it as among the filmmakers vying to employ him; his Platinum Collection is permanently nestled in Amazon’s bestselling soundtracks chart, holding its own against Glee compilations and Disney behemoths.

On Saturday, Mondo Morricone will celebrate the composer's career further. First performed in 2000 by Davie Scott of The Pearlfishers and Duglas T Stewart of BMX Bandits, the cast assembled to recreate Morricone’s beloved soundtracks this time is impressive: as well as Stewart and Scott, ex-BBC Scotland presenter Peter Easton returns for a second time alongside Mick Slaven and Jim Gash of Deacon Blue, folk singer Jo Mango, jazz musicians Brian Molley and Allon Beauvoisin, The Wellgreen’s Marco Rea, Sarah-Beth Brown of Born By Wires, Gareth Perrie of Randolph’s Leap, and Stevie Jackson of Belle and Sebastian, each contributing their respective skills to an exciting pool of talent. The contents of the set are under wraps, though Stewart has been sharing some of his favourite Morricone tracks online, so 'Ecstasy of Gold' is a likely bet from the Western contingent, while 'Rabbia E. Tarantella' (written for Allonsanfan but now better known for its appropriation by Quentin Tarantino for Inglourious Basterds) and the beautiful Metti, Una Cera a Cena score may also creep their way in (and, if non-soundtrack-work qualifies, a version of Mina Mazzini’s astonishing 'Se Telefonando' wouldn’t go amiss). Of course, if the song selection process is democratic, all bets are off; find out what does make the cut tonight.

GFF review: Griff the Invisible

another film festival review, originally written for yesterday's cineskinny...

From an unfinished synopsis, it feels natural to compare Griff the Invisible to Mark Millar's fellow self-styled superhero Kick-Ass (with a slither of Millar's Wanted in the juxtaposition of a monotonous office job with the secret thrill of life as an action hero). By day, Griff (True Blood’s Ryan Kwanten) lives a lonely, mundane life; by night, he’s a daring Batman-modelled vigilante, complete with red phone with a direct line to the commissioner and a Joker-like nemesis.

The latter scenes mimic the flat-panel colouring of comic art, echoing Dick Tracy’s production design on a budget, as Griff stomps out crime and catches the eye of fellow misfit Melody (Maeve Dermody). Yet, without spoiling anything, similarities to Millar’s creations are ultimately slight. Unfortunately, the film only finds a stable tone in the last half hour, closer to quirky sad-sack indies like Garden State than the Dark Knight’s night-watch. But in that final third, it finds a poignancy that no amount of street justice can effect.

GFF review: Cell 211

In a film full of lobe-searing scenes, Cell 211's opening – in which a tormented prisoner improvises a blade from a cigarette butt and opens his arteries – burns itself in the mind particularly strongly. It sets a visceral tone that never lets up, as rookie guard Juan Oliver (Alberto Ammann) finds himself caught up in a prison riot ahead of his first day on the job. Disguising himself as a prisoner, he quickly earns the trust of chief con Malamadre (Luis Tosar), while wardens and politicians try to protect the father-to-be and rescue the ETA terrorists being held hostage.

The results are morally complex, a quality obviously appreciated by The Goyas, who showered the film with eight awards (and if there was a ‘best casting director’ award, it would have been a shoe-in for that too – the prisoners are terrifyingly believable). Any dips into melodrama are levelled out by its unpredictability, sympathies shifting multiple times in a kaleidoscope of greys that refuses to settle into blacks and whites.

GFF feature: Creation of a Legend

here's another film piece, used in yesterday's cineskinny and also on the festival's blog.


Creation Records' legacy is in danger: not of being forgotten, but of being dominated on one front by their most-cited signing, and diminished on another by its founder’s propensity for letting his ego do the talking. Upside Down: The Creation Records Story aims to redress the balance, reminding people that a) the label had a formidable roster long before Oasis appeared on the scene to lash its reputation to Brit-pop lad-culture and b), Alan McGee is one canny operator.

Launching with a £1000 bank loan, McGee swiftly amassed a raft of impressive signings, whose collective work has stood the test of time and then some: Teenage Fanclub, The Jesus and Mary Chain, My Bloody Valentine, Saint Etienne and Super Furry Animals, to name a few. And, of course, the Gallaghers, whose signing has long passed into Glasgow lore (try finding an introduction to King Tut’s that doesn’t mention the association).

By 1995, McGee had been anointed Godlike Genius by a suitably-impressed NME (reflecting a level of popular renown rarely acquired by a label boss) and by its demise in 1999, Creation had had a significant hand in shaping the decade’s popular musical landscape – an influence its founder was more than aware of, even at the time. “I was absolutely delusional” he explains in Danny O’Connor’s documentary. “I thought I was up there with Beethoven or Shakespeare, that I was creating metaphysical history.”

While his more recent cause célèbre haven’t come close to defining the zeitgeist a second time (Semi Precious Weapons anyone?), his professed love for Errors and Avi Buffalo suggest he hasn’t lost his ear for excellence quite yet. Nor his opinionated disposition: whether appointing Will.i.am the “true successor to Sly Stone” or rating Charlotte Church “on the same level as Kevin Shields”, McGee’s remains quite the contrarian.