Saturday 25 September 2010

Band reviews from Live Unsigned


This is the writing I've been focussed on lately, short reviews that are meant to describe and promote bands, rather than to assess them from scratch. So no, don't expect any amusing demolition jobs. The links take you to the artist pages at Live Unsigned, a site I can't recommend highly enough as a place to promote your band, or find something to do in the evening.

Ellen and the Escapades

Rich, warm harmony, and melodies that have comfy sofas rather than hooks make Ellen and the Escapades’ accomplished alt-country rock often easier on the ear than their influences, like Neil Young or Bob Dylan. Their chord sequences have moments of epic bigness, but mostly take us down familiar roads, showing us stuff we know from new angles. Vocals that sit midway between ethereal and earthy are full of character but never distract from the songs.
Flaming June
Tremulous yet powerful vocals sometimes reminiscent of Dolores O’Riordan are married to an urgent folk rock strumming with the angry intensity of The Levellers, garnished with fiddle obbligatos from a player that sounds as though they could stand more of the limelight. This is drinking music, dancing music and listening music.
Healthy Minds Collapse
Rock solid melodicism supported by textural but hard grooving guitarscapes showcase some serious performance chops, from a band whose range extends from the considered and lyrical to the intensely energetic. Effectively combining the virtues of grunge and pop-punk, Healthy Minds Collapse have the attitude, and the skills to back it up.
Erland and The Carnival
There’s a distinctly 60s vibe to this mostly electric, mostly guitar folk rock band, although Simon Tong’s history of involvement with well known acts such as The Verve, The Good, the Bad & the Queen, and Gorillaz is sometimes audible. At times there are flashes of vintage Steeleye Span or Pentangle, but for the most part Erland and The Carnival sound very much like themselves, which is nearly but not quite like anything you’ve heard before…
The Voodoo Trombone Quartet
Wide and fat big-beat grooves anchor this outfit’s excursions into reggae, bossa and the grooviest 60s grooves, sometimes ornamented with light hearted vocals that make the whole thing reminiscent of Jeb Loy Nichols’ Fellow Travellers. Imagine Norman Cook was commissioned to write the theme music for The Saint, and the Stan Kenton Band was hired to perform it, and you are getting close to forming an idea that can be utterly blown away when you actually hear The Voodoo Trombone Quartet.
The Amorettes
The title of the top tune in their MySpace player gives you a clue: Hot and Heavy. These three girls are both: guitarist Gill gives Angus Young a run for his money, and she don’t need no schoolboy outfit! There is nothing fancy, there are no frills, there is just pedal-to-the-metal flat out rock in a style that hasn’t needed to evolve since the 70s, performed loud, tight and in your face.
The Good News
Wistfully quirky vocals extoll the joys of the ordinary, while the expertly played rhythm section parts groove hard in an irrepressibly happy manner, that puts me in mind of Talking Heads’ 77 and Little Creatures eras. The Good News strike just enough irony in their attitude to make their sincerely happy music highly digestible. I challenge you to leave their gig without a smile on your face!
Sniffin Flowers
With a nod in their name to the iconic zine of the punk era, and to the nature loving dippyness of the 60s, Sniffin Flowers do exactly what it says on the tin. High energy, attitude filled guitar pop-rock with lo-fi vocals, and plaintively overdriven upper register Jazzmaster twang that all sits somewhere between 1967 and 1977. Think The Kingsmen, The Small Faces, The Troggs, but harsher and edgier.
Pinknruby
Impeccably performed floaty vocal folk, with a traditional feel but modern guitar harmonies. Their website includes ‘a guide to picking and preparing wild herbs, including making teas, tinctures and flower essences’: I think you can hear the ‘flower essences’ in Pinknruby’s ethereal songs, which mine a rich vein exposed by acts like Capercaillie, Pentangle and Clannad. Don’t expect fiery reels: do expect to be taken somewhere otherworldly.
The Black & Reds
This is soulful classic rock with a deep, right on the money rhythm section feel, which puts me in mind of Ocean Colour Scene, but digs deeper into the past to find the swagger and dirt of the golden age of British Heavy Metal, with all the bluesy electrified devil worship of early Sabbath or Deep Purple. This is a band that come across like they could f*** up a hotel room pretty good, given half a chance, and still deliver a faultless show every night of the week.
Fuzzy Lights
Folky strings, warbling analogue sounding synths, haunting melodies in atmospheric soundscapes, occasional moments of metal-esque drama, all blended into a seamless psychedelic fusion that wears its influences on its sleeve without being a slave to them. Neither folk nor rock, and not what I’d call folk-rock, but something very distinctive and very accomplished.
Action Beat
Instrumental music needs a feature as human as a voice to engage our sympathies, and something as content rich as lyrics to keep our attention: it’s a brave group of musicians that would attempt it in a style as anti-noodly as punk, but Action Beat succeed while eschewing the virtuoso guitar melodics you might expect. They name check Black Flag as an influence, and their very musical use of texture comes across like BF without Henry Rollins, always keeping the energy level high, and taking enough side turnings to keep the journey interesting.
Mar Shy Sun
Avante-garde industrial rock with grinding electronic and bass/ guitar/ drums grooves that sound something like early Revolting Cocks, or Skinny Puppy, and anti vocals staggering drunkenly across the whole shebang like Elvis channeling John Lydon’s work on Flowers Of Romance. There is a very old school 80s industrial feel to this stuff so don’t expect industrial floor fillers à la Faderhead or Suicide Commando: expect restless experimentation and an uncompromising artistic vision.
Savon Tranchand
Quirkily rhythmic electronica with spoken word or chanted vocals (in French so I can’t say much about the lyrical content), and sparingly used guitar textures. Their beats are designed more for the art gallery than for clubland, and imaginatively sprinkled with punctuating noises: I find the whole process of not quite understanding Savon Tranchand very enjoyable!
Proud Proud People
Gentle music with an uplifting shuffle and contemplative moments supports a vulnerable and self-effacing vocal delivery: this unpretentious folk-pop is not going to make your ears bleed, but it will hopefully charm you as it did this reviewer.
Lina Paul
Desolate, lonely scenarios, like aural Edward Hopper paintings, are described in songs and poems that float above minimal washes of pale, haunted guitar chords. This reflective, introspective music occasionally brings to mind Portishead, and Björk’s vocal delivery, but it would be doing Lina Paul a disservice to say it was like anything much else.
JukeSome
Shapely melodies sung in appealing close harmony characterise this German accoustic duo’s well crafted songs. To my ear these are pop rock songs, but performed simply (and very well) on acoustic guitar and fiddle. I have no clue what they’re singing about, but I would happily sit and listen to them for an hour or two.
The Telescopes
Sometimes playing recognisable song structures that at their best are reminiscent of The Jesus And Mary Chain or The Velvet Underground’s psychedelic droning, and sometimes performing noise sculptures with the fire-and-forget self-generative qualities of minimalist music, this post-shoegaze outfit is in full command of the sonic potential of the electric guitar. If you let them, they will take you to interesting places.
The Fauns
Sounding not unlike their stated influence Slowdive, but with the vocals even more awash with reverb, and even further back in the mix, these latter day shoegazers show us once again how a brutally distorted guitar can be a thing of warm comforting mellowness. If this is self-celebration, it’s a very welcoming, inviting kind.
Totally Stressed
Self-identifying as Art Rock, these six women from Berlin perform music with a core of moderately heavy post-punk inflected rock, which they layer with folk and classical instruments and themes to create a powerful, complex and well integrated fusion. I find it very hard to imagine walking away from a Totally Stressed gig without a spring in my step... 
The Skellies
Angry, attitude filled lyrics declaimed in the manner of Mark E. Smith and energetic, insistent punk riffing, sometimes sounding like The Clash or The Buzzcocks, sometimes more like The Dead Kennedys, always fraying at the edges just like punk should. The Skellies have their moments of experimental weirdness too, but mostly this is straightahead sweaty mosh fodder, which is always pleasing.
De Shamonix
This is red blooded rock ’n’ roll, with un-finessed graunch that makes you take a step back and brace yourself. The bass and drums could be straight out of Steppenwolf, while the guitars have a drug infused Detroit garage feel, and the rapid fire vocals are a masterclass in classic rock singing. De Shamonix pull no punches, and believe me, you don’t want them to!
Mary And The Baby Cheeses
Touching bases as diverse as Laurie Anderson’s Big Science, Freezepop, and The Velvet Underground, this is an experimental band that is unlikely to ever leave you feeling you know what’s coming next. With an idiosyncratic but varied approach to vocal delivery, there’s clearly some serious artistic intention here, but also a good deal of humour, and an end result that is highly entertaining.

Ange Da Costa
Reggae bubbling with funky clavinet recalls The Wailers, and guitar led afrobeat has more than a hint of Fela Kuti to it, but much of Ange Da Costa’s output is jazzy, funky soul, reminiscent of Curtis Mayfield or Brazilian artists such as Max De Castro and Jair Oliveira. Impeccable rhythm section work and great polyglot singing, make this slick, groove filled music eminently listenable.

Tuesday 14 September 2010

Sun's Poodle (second draft)

I need to work this shit out:
I want the winter to be my friend.
But in the winter entreaty's lexicon evades me
and I carry summer's kiss blandly tattooed across my fabric.
The sun's poodle wavers, sidles gingerly
into an imagined crack between hibernation and denial,
only to find that fantasy is reified in times and places of its own choosing.
And it's so fucked up, it does my head in.

I am mis-classified.
Sun's poodle puts his testosterone back in his handbag,
and returns to his basking,
a lizard in a crack in a sun baked stone wall.
I am the wall.
I am the fly the lizard hunts; I am drunk;
I am mulling things over;
I am soaking up light
as though it could be stored
to sustain me on narrow days
when I must be a creature of visible breath,
and sleet, and filigreed rime on morning windows;
and piercing sheets of anaemic yellow
animating haze above white gilt fields of once was and will be.

My words betray me: I love those things,
love winter, as it kills me, love how it kills me;
loving it kills me.
I am hoping to convince myself, but…
…fuck it, I am the sun's poodle.



Limousin and Suffolk, August to September 2010

Algebra

And the solution to the equation
is a negative.
Our x and y are mash up
in a mill of functions and operators,
and the solution to the equation is
the sum total of all the beauty in the universe;
and the solution to the equation is
fire;
and the solution to the equation is
outgrowing and burgeoning,
and exceeding all my hopes
and stilling my heart with her complexity.

This equation must be quartic, or quintic,
because there is more than space and time
in the geometry of these decaying orbits.
There is more than shape to these forms;
there is more than fractal chaos
to these disordered patterns;
and there is more than heat loss to this
entropic blue shifting expansion
of the spaces between.
The solution to the equation is
the sum total of all the beauty in the universe;
and the solution to the equation
is a negative.

Colchester, September 2010

Solar System Story

This is a random vignette, the apparent beginning of a science-fiction story that I will probably never write: I'm very good at the beginnings of stories, so maybe I should write a book made of them, like If On A Winter's Night a Traveller. This conversation just popped into my head, along with its setting, while i was walking the dog. If I write any further instalments, I'll publish them here.


I stood near the edge of Yasu Dome, looking out across Triton towards a new, as yet unnamed volcano, spewing water and methane into the thermosphere, where it variously froze and dispersed, making its minor contribution to the thin veil of gases, that could occasionally be glimpsed as a haze against the sun. I was waiting for my friend, the Anglican Archbishop of Neptune to return to his office, where we had arranged to discuss a business venture over coffee and drugs.

Of the Neptune system's roughly ten million inhabitants, around ten percent subscribed to some kind of religion, leaving aside whatever notions individuals may profess regarding the nature of spiritual existence or human consciousness. Of that million souls perhaps two hundred thousand were Christian, and of those, precisely twenty-seven were confirmed Anglicans. Justin Woo was in fact the only Anglican priest in the Neptune system, although his status as an Archbishop was equal in the Anglican Communion to the Archbishops of Canterbury, or Mars. As I understand it the majority of Justin's church merged with an older, larger sect to become the Afro-Orthodox Church, to which most Neptunian Christians belonged, in some kind of wrangling over sexual preference.

For this reason his stipend did not provide a whole living, and his 'palace' was a one bedroom apartment: it was still officially a palace however, and had been purchased for the Church of Neptune by the very wealthy Bishop of Io (from his personal fortune) on a drunken binge, along with the locked office I stood outside, and the identical one next to it, which was the Cathedral of St. Desmond.

I am not a Christian, or any other kind of religious, although I am very much in tune with the idea that there are more important things than us in the universe. My close association with the First Returners when their huge asteroid vessel made its tour of the solar system, inculcated in me a strong sense of the vastness of everything: even with the anti-aging treatments they all used, and even accounting for the relativistic benefits of the significant fraction of the speed of light at which they travelled, everyone aboard would have spent most of their lives in transit by the time they got back to Alpha Centauri. And once they did get home, they would be living a domed existence with ready access to less than a million other people, in an entire binary system. The bigness of all the stuff among which we find ourselves, is according to Justin, a very good place to start: his account of his faith is very much more attractive than most other religious creeds I have encountered (not that I've ever been particularly proactive in seeking them out).

‘It’s completely pointless,’ he once told me, ‘to talk about knowing religious truths. Or at least, if you’re going to say you know about God, you should make it clear it’s not the same kind of knowing that it is every other time you use the word.’

This is a good kind of talk to hear from a religious leader, even a politically irrelevant one like Justin. (I only wish the Hindu fundamentalists that exposed a hundred thousand to vacuum at Pavonis Mons had felt a similar lack of certainty.) But of course, when you hear such a view from a minister of religion, you challenge it.

‘So wait… what? Are you saying you’re not sure about God? And Jesus, and all the other things?’


‘Oh please, come on! I’m a fucking Archbishop! Of course I’m sure, it’s just that…’

‘Go on.’

He took a deep breath. ‘I know, with great certainty that God is real, that God loves me, in the same very personal way we love the people we have close relationships with. And more than that, I know that Jesus Christ is real, and that it is through Jesus that I can approach God; and I know that it is through the sacraments of the Church that I can approach Jesus.’

‘But how do you know?’

‘Aha! Precisely! That’s a rhetorical gift: we should form a double act. How do I know?’

Justin leaned forward, speaking as intensely as I’ve ever seen him speak (which was something more than slightly, but still less than moderately).

‘I know these things to be truths because I’ve experienced them for myself. I’ve gone through the motions of being a Christian, and I’ve felt God’s love. You can’t argue with God’s love.’

‘People do.’

‘Yes, but that’s my point. It’s irrelevant: to argue for or against a religious truth is to be utterly mistaken about what sort of truth it is. It’s personal experience. Personal experience that anyone can share, but only if they are willing to take, well… a leap of faith.’

He sat back and toyed with a bottle of his latest venture, a somewhat less than successful effort to invent an indigenous Neptunian liquor, which he was optimistically calling gin, and I was calling the holy spirit.

‘Okay. So obviously, we’re actually talking about faith or belief, not knowledge.’

‘I know I said it was pointless to think about it in those terms, but yes, it is knowledge. You have to understand that knowledge is something that happens inside you. The thing you know, the fact, is out there, but the knowledge is an experience you have. And in the case of religious knowledge, the ‘thing’ is also an experience you have.’

I made a dismissive gesture. ‘Yeah right. You know you’re not convincing me: I mean, that’s not, ever, what I mean when I say I know something. How do you know you’re not deluding yourself?’

Justin grinned. ‘If I am, it’s a delusion that works for me. And yes, other people have spiritual or religious experiences, and place other interpretations on them, Buddhist, or Islamic, or Hindu, or Judaic, or Zoroastrian, or psychological or atheist ones. I’m not saying that they are wrong. We religious types do not have a monopoly on the spiritual; even someone whose slant on it says that only their creed is right, and that all others are false, is just as right as I am. I’m not very evangelical, as you may have noticed…’

‘Oh come on, this is no kind of knowledge, or even belief! Everybody’s right? Fundamentalists, murderous fanatics? Are they right too?’

‘They’re entitled to their beliefs. A belief is a route towards the spiritual knowledge we’ve been discussing. I would suspect that someone who wants to wage holy war is not actually in a very healthy state, mentally or spiritually, but the part of their creed that says they should kill the infidel, or not use contraception, or always have salt on the table at mealtimes, or wear special hats on certain days, is extraneous to the task of coming to know God. I mean, Jesus is fundamental to me; the Anglican liturgy is extraneous. It just happens, like all these things, to provide a good context, to help create a sense of identification with the faith. It gives you something to do while you’re waiting for religious knowledge to come along.’

‘I have plenty to do,’ I laughed. ‘What’s wrong with drugs, or sex, or music, or… yadda yadda, whatever?’

‘Nothing,’ he said, taking another slug of his almost undrinkable gin.

Sadly, Justin’s contingent, nuanced sense of belief is not widely shared by religious people in general, whose favoured ideologies have tended more towards the fanatical as their numbers have dwindled. The religious ten percent of Neptune’s population are a somewhat larger proportion than can now be found anywhere else in the solar system, although Justin’s own faith is much better represented further down the well, particularly in the Jupiter system, where it is the largest Christian sect.

Neptune is the last place, the utter edge, the extreme limit of human habitation (other than the small weird groups of scientists and isolationists that have made their homes on trans-Neptunian objects such as Pluto and Makemake). As such it has been a popular destination for those who want to make an escape from the main stream of human society: religious fanatics, political extremists, anarchist libertarians, fugitives from justice, hedonists and perverts. Every habitat is independent, coming together only to share resources, and latterly to co-ordinate their naval forces, the Piracy Crisis having forced the issue. It has a reputation as the wide open, lawless system where anything goes, where anything can be had. To a large extent this is true, but daily life is tamer there than the rest of the solar system generally believes, especially in Yasu, which operates a legal code directly borrowed from Free Mars.

Yasu Dome is the de-facto system capital, as it is the city where most of the co-operative ventures are headquartered, and the site of Triton’s largest spaceport and transport hub. Which is why Justin is based there. He arrived, apologising that his rare pastoral visit had overrun, and we went inside.