With no glitter upon my face or hair, I felt somewhat underdressed for seeing Patrick Wolf. Never have I been to a gig where the crowd has been so female-dominated: this wouldn’t bother me if it wasn’t for the fact that most of them were clearly in the sub-18 bracket, so I was feeling decidedly old. The support-act Micachu and The Shapes didn’t help matters: the threesome looked like they had only just reached puberty. In fact, I remarked to my friend that the singer looked like a 15 year-old Bob Dylan: at which point my friend told me that the singer was a she. I spent the next half hour debating this, whilst listening to some pretty bizarre noise rock, which consisted of a battered acoustic guitar with a piece of string for a strap, percussion comprising paint pots, wine bottles and lots (LOTS) of cowbells, some bass-heavy synths and an overdriven electric guitar. Every song seemed to have its own nuance which kept the set interesting, but Mica’s flat, expressionless voice did mar things somewhat. Hey Dylan was never a tip-top singer, but you could never call his vocals dull: learn a lesson Mica!
And then came the main man himself. Initially sporting a wide-shouldered black cloak, this was quickly shed to reveal Wolf dressed up as some kind of human porcupine. He even shed his hair: a ponytail which had on first glance appeared o be quite real was torn off and thrown into the crowd, taken by a guy who seemed a little too grateful.
As he pomped his way through the opening four songs (which included Tristan and three new songs) I found myself thinking of Wolf as the new Adam Ant. But of course, he can’t be pigeonholed nearly so easily. The mid-set wisely lowered the tempo (just as well as I’d been pushed back about six rows by overexcited teenagers) whilst turning up the intensity. Of the numerous new songs put out on trial, Blackdown was the most impressive: an emotional piano ballad which transformed halfway through into a rousing instrumental stomp.
The latter end of the set threw in some old faves: Accident & Emergency was stopped halfway through so that the song could be made “more CBGBs”: out went the drum machines and synths, and in came the electric guitars. It worked much better than you might imagine, however staged it may have been. The main set closed with another newbie and forthcoming single Hard Times: with an almost Iron Maiden-like gallop, it’s possibly the ballsiest-sounding thing Wolf has come up with yet, and another feather to his cap (or whatever else he wants to add to his hair).
Friday night saw Churchill College, Cambridge invite back one of its more famous graduates in Geoff Travis, founder of the still-going-strong Rough Trade record label. An amiable and approachable fellow, Travis needed little encouragement to divulge over a riveting hour in what made him set up the label and shops in the first place, the fine balance between staying afloat without selling out, and the importance of always looking forward, never back.
Having freshly graduated from Churchill, Travis went into teaching, a career he became quickly disillusioned with. One day he made a "roll of the dice" decision whilst he was waiting for the bus: if it didn't arrive on time, he would fly out to Canada to try and track down an old flame. Sure enough, next day he was on the other side of the Atlantic, and over his travels across North America he collected a pile of hard-to-find records. This, along with the records his brother had brought back to the UK from his overseas travels, meant that when Travis returned to London around the break of punk, he was in the right place at the right time and with the right resources to set up a record shop. The rest, as they say, is history.
Travis went on to speak about the importance of which artists he brought onto Rough Trade. "Trophy" artists - those with big hits in the past but had become bereft of creativity- were and remain a no-no. Only artists that Travis and his business partner Jeanette Lee believe have their best days ahead of them get a consideration. Travis stated that nostalgia is generally a bad thing: bands which reform to sell-out gigs are often a shadow of their former selves (he cited a Velvet Underground performance as an example) and ultimately take attention and ticket sales away from up and coming talent.
Even the most sincere independent record label has to have a degree of commercial sensibility, in order to survive and Rough Trade is no exception: let's face it, they've had their ups and downs over the years with losing and subsequently regaining their independent status. Travis recalled how he quickly lost the Go-Betweens from the label when he told them, in the nicest terms possible, that whilst he liked their forthcoming single at the time, he didn't see it being a hit. But he believes that writing hits should be an organic process: the best and most sellable form of art should not be that which you make purely with commercial success in mind, but that which you like so much you find it very hard to part with. He also vented his frustrations over Radio 1, and its failure to serve the nation with the likes of Arcade Fire, Sufjan Stevens and British Sea Power, artists that he quite rightly sees as having serious hit potential.
With regards to the influence of the internet and the days of digital downloading and P2P, Travis feels that ultimately the artist should be allowed to profit from their own work. But far from an industry-killing beast, he said that the internet can only be a good thing for music, giving fresh acts the kind of exposure they would surely have never received a decade ago, even if it now means that labels such as Rough Trade have to be that much quicker off the mark in signing them.
Looking at the Rough Trade roster now, which includes the aforementioned Arcade Fire, BSP and Sufjan Stevens, as well as the Strokes, the Fiery Furnaces, Belle & Sebastian and many more, its pleasing to see an old school independent label still packing a commercial and creative clout, and having seen that Travis has lost none of his vision or his ideals, it provides some hope that the music industry isn't as ailing as it makes itself out to be.
Okay, so here are my first trio of recommendations for 2009:
Something Old: Minutemen – Double Nickels On The Dime
This section of my recommendations seems to have become synonymous with albums stuffed to the seams with songs (see previous entries Alien Lanes and Pink Flag), but this 1984 milestone from the San Pedro, CA punksters eclipses them all. Wanting to answer the magnum opus of SST labelmates Hüsker Du’s Zen Arcade, the Minutemen crammed DNOTD with an incredible 43 songs so that it spanned 70+ minutes. There’s a remarkable array of styles, including the boom-chicka-boom of Corona (later used on some TV show called Jackass), strange, Pop Group-style tribal noise (You Need The Glory), leanings towards their jazzier tendencies (Don’t Look Now), surf-rock (Political Song For Michael Jackson For Sing), even intricate acoustic pickings (Cohesion). Despite the economical nature of their succinct songs, the trio were all accomplished musicians, not least the late singer/guitarist D Boon, a true guitar hero with the ability to switch between abrasive Gang Of Four-style clang to inventive speed-of-sound solos at the drop of a hat.
If you like this, try: Gang Of Four – Entertainment (1977), Red Hot Chili Peppers - Blood Sugar Sex Magik (1991)
Something New: Animal Collective – Merriweather Post Pavilion
Is there anything left to say about this album that hasn’t already been said? Amidst delirious levels of hype and acclaim, Animal Collective have delivered an astounding album which culminates the best bits of their entire career: the shimmery, ethereal feeling of first album Spirit They’re Gone Spirit, They’re Vanished combined with the energy of recent releases, all dressed up in lavish electronics, extraordinary levels of bass and layers of sound effects which ooze detail. What makes it feel like the work of humans rather than machines is the enthusiastic vocal interplay between Panda Bear and Avey Tare, coupled with their best and warmest lyrics to date. Along the way, they re-invent glam rock, minus the guitars (Summertime Clothes), rave music (Brother Sport), and much more besides. For sure it’s their most accessible and cohesive album thus far, but to call it their “pop” album does an enormous injustice to the levels of creativity, and AC’s typical neglect for conventional songwriting. Merriweather Post Pavilion sets a ludicrously high benchmark for the rest of the class of ’09 to follow and with the decade drawing to a close, this is right up there with the best the last 10 years have had to offer.
If you like this, try: Panda Bear – Person Pitch (2007), The Ruby Suns – Sea Lion (2008)
Something To Look Forward To: Beirut – March Of The Zapotec/Holland
February sees Beirut – aka 22-year old Zach Condon – release a duo of EPs. The first, March Of The Zapotec, sees Zach move his cultural leanpost from East Europe to Mexico, as he recruits a 19-strong funereal marching band to capture the sounds of Mexican small-town folklore. On the second offering, Holland, Zach resumes his old guise Realpeople, which he used before Beirut for his bedroom projects. Holland promises to eschew the world-music aesthetics of his other work in favour of synth-pop reminiscent of his heroes The Magnetic Fields before they got too concept-heavy with their albums: Zach claims that when he runs into writers block under the Beirut moniker, this is his default setting. Both should add to what is becoming an astonishingly prolific and diverse body of work for one so young.
If you like his earlier work, try: A Hawk And A Hacksaw: The Way The Wind Blows (2006), The Magnetic Fields – Get Lost (1995)
Well, another year has passed, and although it was slow to get going music-wise, 2008 turned out to be a pretty good year, providing you dug deep enough to find the hidden gems. This is by no means definitive (even as I type this I'm listening to The Walkmen's You & Me for the first time, and will be moving onto Whys Alopecia later), but, for the time being at least, here are my top 20 albums of '08.
20. Volcano!: Paperwork
19. F*cked Up: The Chemistry Of Common Life
18. Cut Copy: In Ghost Colours
17. Deerhoof: Offend Maggie
16. Vampire Weekend: Vampire Weekend
15. Ponytail: Ice Cream Spiritual
14. Dodos: Visiter
13. The Whiskers: The Distorted Historian
12. Plants & Animals: Parc Avenue
11. Department Of Eagles: In EarPark
10. NickCave & The Bad Seeds: Dig Lazarus Dig!!!
Continuing a creative hot streak which began with 2004’s Abattoir Blues/Lyre Of Orpheus, the 50-plus NickCave continued to defy all expectations (nay, rules) with a rip-roaring collection of songs, which successfully directed the new-found energy from the Grinderman project into Cave’s usual musings on religion, life and death. The Bad Seeds themselves were on superb form, with Warren Ellis especially coming to the fore, and never has it sounded like the band have had so much fun. Nowhere was that more evident than on the title-track, relocating the biblical character’s revival to modern-day New York, whilst We Call Upon The Author (“Prolix, prolix, nothing a pair of scissors can’t fix) sits right amongst the very best of the Bad Seeds illustrious canon.
9. Thee Silver Mt.Zion Orchestra & Tra La La Band: 13 Blues For 13 Moons
Over the years, A Silver Mt Zion have developed (both in name and in sound) from a modest but serene three-piece, to a muscular and aggressive septet, increasingly disparate of the post-rock tag which they are so often dubbed with. 13 Blues For 13 MoonsBlack Waters Blowed/Broken Engine Blues and the genuinely uplifting refrain of “some hearts are true” for the closing BlindBlindBlind. The questionable singing abilities of Efrim Menuck, here more prominent than ever, remained key to this band’s enjoyment, but in many ways they embodied this album: ragged, earnest, impassioned.
8. Of Montreal: Skeletal Lamping
Kevin Barnes and his alter-ego Georgie Fruit jumped aboard his/their Blueberry Boat for this wildly schizophrenic offering. Sounding simultaneously like everything and nothing Of Montreal have ever done, with song titles that were merely suggestive segmentation, and featuring a narrative that, aside from hilarious snippets about Crystal Meth-loving rivals and being “queered out forever”, was largely indecipherable, Skeletal Lamping was predictably divisive for old and new fans alike. Take one step back though and, providing this doesn’t become the template for all subsequent Of Montreal releases, it really was quite a marvellous individual achievement.
7. {{{SUNSET}}}: Bright Blue Dream
Forming from the ashes of The Sound Team, this Austin, Texas-based outfit received little to no fanfare, but in Bright Blue Dream provided an impressive breadth of styles, and subsequently one of the year’s most complex and intriguing albums. Opener Dear Broken Friend sounded like We Will Rock You whilst played on downers, whilst highlights/lowpoints entitled Diamond Studded Caskets and Man’s Heart Complaint suggested a band with a less than happy mindset. However, on I Love My Job, the band suggested that their outlook is more sardonic than glum, and the subsequent release of The Glowing City, a decidedly less difficult and more upbeat record, reaffirmed this.
6. No Age: Nouns
Matching youthful, but bratty energy with a suitably lo-fi sound, Nouns could merely have been an enjoyable but otherwise disposable collection of songs. Why it is, in fact, one of the year’s most enduring records owes to the band’s surprising versatility: the bolts of electricity such as Miner, Sleeper Hold and Brain Burner are awash in MBV-style guitar soundscapes, and unexpected moments of finesse such as Things I Did When I Was Dead. With the single Eraser, No Age offered the complete package, its patient and graceful build-up and its subsequent pay-off all somehow occurring within little more than two-and-a-half minutes.
5. The Ruby Suns: Sealion
New Zealand-based the Ruby Suns made one of the year’s most summery-sounding albums, all the more accomplished for being released back in February. The tribal drum patterns, hard acoustic strumming and all-round jubilance (Exhibit A: Tane Mahuta) was all very reminiscent of Animal Collective circa-Sung Tongs, as well as fellow Australasians Architecture In Helsinki, but other influences shone through too, from the Flaming Lips-esque digitised feel to Kenya Dig It (unofficial winner of the Best Song With An Awful Title award), to the transformation of the closing Morning Sun into a synthpop belter the Magnetic Fields would have been proud to have wrote.
4. Portishead: Third
A staggering return from a band that nobody expected to hear from again, Third was also a major deviation from the band’s perceived dinner-table music of old (though I would love to see somebody trying to serve drinks with Machine Gun as accompaniment). Embracing Kraftwerk-like electronics, industrial music and krautrock made for countless memorable moments; the tense opening sequence to Silence; the introduction of the synth arpeggio to The Rip; the Joy Division-aping riff of We Carry On to name but a few. Thanks to the fragile vocals of Beth Gibbons, however, there was never really any doubt as to who it was playing on Third. Let’s just hope the next album won’t take nearly so long (Guns ’N’ Roses, on the other hand, can take all the time they want).
3. Fleet Foxes: Fleet Foxes
Unquestionably the year’s most discussed new act, Fleet Foxes made good on their hype with a hauntingly beautiful debut that sounded loosely like early My Morning Jacket relocating from their barn to an enchanted forest. The beautifully layered vocal harmonies (which helped make White Winter Hymnal one of the songs of 2008 with the minimal use of wordage), combined with the perfect balance of Robin Pecknold’s acoustic work and Skye Skjelset’s sinewy electric guitar helped make it the one album this year that could transcend all tastes. But even when Robin Pecknold goes it alone (as on Oliver James and Tiger Mountain Peasant Song), he is able to conjure up something every bit as special.
2. Deerhunter: Microcastle/Weird Era Cont.
The second half of last year’s Cryptograms, along with the Flourescent Grey EP hinted at Deerhunter’s love for shoegazer-indie, but nobody could’ve anticipated at Microcastle’s blissed out dream-pop. In a busy year for Bradford Cox, the two halves of the title-track served as the perfect separating line between Deerhunter and Cox’s other project Atlas Sound. It would become even busier when Microcastle leaked almost half a year early: the band subsequently added Weird Era Cont. to the official release, a second disc of material which, with its darker edge, greater range of sounds, and looser feel, was arguably even better than Microcastle.
1. TV On The Radio: Dear Science
TV On The Radio have perhaps been a band that’s easier to admire than love in the past, but Dear Science set the record straight by being by far their most accessible effort to date, without trading in too much on the experimentation. Lyrically, the band were certainly more transparent than ever more in depicting a dysfunctionalAmerica, whilst getting down with tha funk made for some genuinely danceable songs (Red Dress, Golden Age and the Prince-like Crying). David Sitek ensures that the multitude of sounds (including horns, hand claps, flutes and much more) never becomes bogged down under its own weight, and helped ensure an album that cements TVOTR as one of the decade’s essential acts.
Fleet Foxes played to a sell-out crowd at the Junction on Tuesday night. Their self-titled LP needs little introduction, but any fear that it might translate into anything less than an entrancing live experience was utterly quashed on a night where the band gave about as generous and memorable live set as a band with such a slim discography could possibly give.
It’s unfortunate that I can’t really say the same for the support act J Tillman, who is in fact the Fleet Foxes drummer. The guy’s not short of charisma or humour, but it’s a shame that he couldn’t purvey that in his music: just one man playing fairly sparse acoustic guitar to the same plodding tempo over and over. At least he may have a future career in comedy. Oh yeah, and possibly in Fleet Foxes too.
Fleet Foxes were a marvel. Opening seamlessly with the intro of Sun Giant bleeding into Sun It Rises and a rollicking Ragged Wood, the band instantly portrayed a great understanding of how to provide their songs with enough instrumental, vocal and percussive flourishes to distinguish them from their album counterparts. The sound balance between Robin Pecknold’s acoustic pickings and Skye Skjelset’s sinewy guitar lines was perfect throughout. And then of course there was those vocal harmonies, those wonderful vocal harmonies.
Not that Robin Pecknold is incapable of holding things up by himself. Halfway through the set, the rest of the band left the stage, allowing Pecknold to shine with the stunning Oliver James. Its intricate pickings followed by the way those final vocals seem to hang there forever were a reminder after J Tillman’s deathly dull ramblings of what one man and an acoustic guitar can achieve. A similar sense of awe was achieved during the encore with Tiger Mountain Peasant Song.
When the band rejoined the stage for the main set, Skye Skjelset awkwardly announced a marriage proposal for one lucky(?) member of the audience. It was a night of considerable interaction with the crowd, not all of it good, owing to certain members of the crowd insisting on making idiots of themselves. The band handled it all admirably, however, and not without a fair share of humour. As they closed out the night with a personal fave Blue Ridge Mountains, I took heart from knowing this was just one of many sold-out nights they had played on this tour. That a band that plays music this blissful and distinctive can attract the commercial attention to match the critical acclaim gives me some faith in the human race in general. It’s just a shame that lewd, heckling comments such as “did you f*ck him?” go some way towards erasing that good vibe.
Before anything else, apologies go to Ladyhawke. Due to other commitments, I ended up stumbling into the gig as Black Kids opened their set, and missed the entire support set. I gathered though from the general murmur of the crowd, that Ladyhawke were pretty good. Possibly better than Black Kids.
Not that Black Kids were especially bad, but just that in spite of all their polish and sheen on record, Black Kids are decidedly rough around the edges live, and not in a good way. The energy was there, right from early highlight Hit The Heartbreaks, but the execution was a little lacking. The biggest culprit was Reggie Youngblood, his tone-deaf yelping at times painful, and even threatening to derail I've Underestimated My Charmbefore its inspired coda came to the rescue.
The real issue though, is that a band which initially showed so much potential seem to already have hit a wall. Towards the end of last year, the band released the quite fabulous (not to mention free) 4-song EP The Wizard Of Ahhhs, which sounded like the Cure at their happy-clappiest mixed with boy-girl vocals and doo-wop melodies. One successful album later and there's no sense that the band have moved on: tellingly, all four songs were included on Partie Traumatic, as though the band were admitting they were playing their strongest hand right from the off. Over four songs, the formula works a treat, but over the course of an album, or indeed a live set, their glitzy, technicolour indie-pop runs pretty thin pretty quickly. They introduce one song as a ballad, but after about 8 bars, the song reverts to type, pinching the plinky-plonk keyboard from the Cure's Close To Me whilst it's at it. A new song and (supposedly) a Magnetic Fields cover whizz by without making any lasting impression.
The set wasn't without its highpoints: even a lowly one-song encore was sweetened considerably by the bitter-sweet drama of Hurricane Jane, and was probably the best performance of the night, and what the band deliver remains a cut above the exasperatingly dull and generic pap which seems to spawn from our shores. The crowd certainly got into parts of the set, with crowd-surfing aplenty from very early on, but when the band left the stage after Hurricane Jane, there was a general feeling of disillusionment. The band need to find more dimensions, and quickly, if they want to avoid being (an admittedly very colourful) flash in the pan.
Cambridge will perhaps never be thought as being one of the great musical hubs like, say, Liverpool, London or Manchester, but it did spark one of the most striking and enduring unions between music and art to be found anywhere in the world. The artwork of Storm Thorgerson has become synonymous with the albums of Pink Floyd. Starting with 1968’s A Saucerful Of Secrets, Thorgerson has subsequently provided the artwork to pretty much every Pink Floyd release, creating some of the most iconic album covers of all time.
As part of The City Wakes, a week of events in homage to the life of Syd Barrett, Cambridge is holding an exhibition of Thorgerson’s Floyd-related artwork, entitled Mind Over Matter. Go see it on the second floor of the Grand Arcade shopping centre. Be inspired.
More on The City Wakes project, which is running from October 22nd until November 1st, can be found here, whilst Thorgerson’s work can be viewed here.
CUR1350 Music Blog: Ever wondered about what the music teams at radio stations really think about what they listen to and play? Join the music team at CUR1350, the radio station for Cambridge University and Anglia Ruskin University, to find out.
With no glitter upon my face or hair, I felt somewhat underdressed for seeing Patrick Wolf. Never have I been to a gig where the crowd has been so female-dominated: this wouldn’t bother me if it wasn’t for the fact that most of them were clearly in the sub-18 bracket, so I was feeling decidedly old. The support-act Micachu and The Shapes didn’t help matters: the threesome looked like they had only just reached puberty. In fact, I remarked to my friend that the singer looked like a 15 year-old Bob Dylan: at which point my friend told me that the singer was a she. I spent the next half hour debating this, whilst listening to some pretty bizarre noise rock, which consisted of a battered acoustic guitar with a piece of string for a strap, percussion comprising paint pots, wine bottles and lots (LOTS) of cowbells, some bass-heavy synths and an overdriven electric guitar. Every song seemed to have its own nuance which kept the set interesting, but Mica’s flat, expressionless voice did mar things somewhat. Hey Dylan was never a tip-top singer, but you could never call his vocals dull: learn a lesson Mica! 
