Bodies of Water / Choir of Young Believers - Cargo 14 October 2008

After a long wait in an unusually under populated Cargo, we finally hear the crackle of microphones and a long, low note. Is that a cello?

It is, and it is operated by Cæcilie Trier, who is accompanied tonight by Jannis Noya Makrigiannis, a young man who looks as though he has stepped off the streets of Tombstone, Deadwood, or any other sepia tinged outpost of the Old West. He sports a moustache of a wondrous thickness and luxuriance, far removed from the scraps of bum fluff that often dirty the top lips of today’s serious young men.

Together, the pair comprise the touring version of Denmark’s Choir Of Young Believers and for the next half an hour or so, they are magical.

The obvious point of reference is the works of Fleet Foxes, because Jannis possesses an absolutely crystal pure voice that resonates around the venue and strikes the audience as dumb with awe as if they were in church. His harmonies with Cæcilie are similarly majestic. There may be people in here who are actually breathing, but it doesn’t sound like it.

The songs themselves are deceptively delicate, but louder than you imagine – although the cello underscores everything, Jannis is happy to rock out with shards of electric guitar.

After a wonderful set, I buy their excellent album “This is for the Whites in Your Eyes.” I recommend it wholeheartedly.

I have been looking forward to see Los Angeles’ Bodies Of Water ever since hearing their debut album ‘Ears Will Pop and Eyes Will Blink’. It is a record of such boundless vocal enthusiasm that you can actually HEAR the grins of the singers.

Tonight, the four singer/players are strung across the front of the stage in a line, with a very stoic drummer sat a long way behind them. While all obviously have equal standing, it becomes apparent that keyboard player Meredith and guitarist David are the ones who are calling the shots, in terms of the live performance at least. Bassist Kyle confines himself to the occasional joke, many of which lose themselves somewhere between LA and Shoreditch. Describing a show in Leeds as ‘Dickensian’ is funny though.

Meredith is clothed in a black leotard and eyes us from beneath her fringe. Throughout the show she has a running dialogue with the sound crew, wanting a little more of this, a little less of that, then reversing the instructions and so on. That she can make this seem like good natured banter rather than prima donna behaviour is testament to her communication skills.

The default Bodies Of Water sound is four voices at full bawl over a tricksy, almost prog rock backing. It is like a regular rock band with four coincidentally overlapping lead singers who create harmony by happenstance. The results are not at all precious or twee – the power that is generated does indeed make your ears pop.

Tonight, the set is almost entirely draw from the next album. It is a mark of how damn good these songs are that unfamiliarity does not hamper enjoyment in the slightest.

Meredith does not cry wolf. Although there appears to be nothing wrong from the audience point of view, there definitely are sound issues on stage and eventually David’s guitar packs up and a degree of improvisation is required while it is repaired.

They end with a stunning (almost literally) rendition of ‘These Are The Eyes’, a song that builds and builds, with ever wilder vocal contributions from the band. Every time you think they can’t go faster, higher, wilder or louder, they go up a gear.

Two bands tonight, two completely different vocal styles. And two total successes.

Rolo Tomassi / Pre / Throats & Madame Jo Jo's: 7th October 2008

Photo by 'Turquoise Boy'

It promises to be a rowdy evening, so where to stand? I eventually settle for perching on a balustrade overlooking the pit in front of the stage. Not that there are many people in here just yet.

The first band is so young and unprepossessing in appearance that you assume that it must be half-term. Surely they wouldn’t be playing on a school night? And then they crank into life and innocence hightails it out the door and off down the streets of Soho.

Throats specialise in slow, monstrously heavy riffage and sport a singer who is almost pathological in his reluctance to stand upright and face the audience. In the brief moments that he is on the stage he is crouched with his back to us, emitting a succession of guttural screams.

The rest of the time he is in the mosh pit, whirling his arms and jumping around. A few of the more energetic youngsters in the crowd stand around him looking fascinated.

Meanwhile onstage, the rest of the bands experiment with feedback – resting their guitars against their speakers, holding their instruments up to the roof of the venue.

Even though their puppy dog appearance makes them unlikely rock gods, Throats deliver the goods.

As it is still relatively quiet, I move down into the pit area. Next up are Pre, featuring the tiny whirling dervish that is Akiko Matsuura on vocals and a band that groove benignly as she freaks out amongst them.

There is either a huge problem with the sound, or the singer is emitting shrieks of a frequency beyond my threshold of hearing. I suspect it’s both. Either way, much of the vocals are inaudible.

This doesn’t actually distract much from the band, because Pre are all about physical performance and niceties such as lyrical content come fairly low down their list of priorities. The only song where the vocals can be heard seems to have the chorus “I want your penis, I want your love!” So that’s alright.

Akiko crawls around a bit and needs a little push to get her back on stage once she’s dropped down into the crowd. Good entertainment.

Rolo Tomassi have got a certain brand of indie kid in a bit of a tizz. They appeal to woolly cuddly Los Campesinos! twee-core enthusiasts, but also flirt with US hardcore in the same manner as acts such as The Ghost Frequency. They’re that happy blend of naughty but safe which means that girls are happy to fling themselves about in front of them as much as their boyfriends.

The very eye catching selling point of the band is vocalist Eva, tonight resplendent in a tight black dress that would be better suited to a posh drinks reception than a sweaty night in a rock band. A colleague describes her the next day as ‘very bendy’, which is a polite way of saying that she kicks ass, flails around and screams like a banshee. She is assisted by occasional vocalist and random keyboard basher James, who is awkward, very bendy, and her brother.

Tomassi songs are tough to get a handle on, because so much of the performance seems completely arbitrary. Any given track will approximate scream-twiddle-drum solo-gentle cooing noises-more screaming- guitar solo- both vocalists cooing-more guitar-twiddle-silence. And then start up again in some random repetition.

They are exhausting, fun, but ultimately baffling. The band seems to have no quality control at all, or ever had anyone say that something might be a bad idea. But this wild experimentation leads to moments of felicitous noise, and the crowd are going mental for them.

Rolo Tomassi have a devoted fan base, certainly in this small venue, but may be in danger of disappearing into their own artistic cul-de-sac. Making students run in circles is one thing, but it is hard to see them appealing to a wider audience without compromising on their ideals.

Me? – I hope they stick to their guns.

HeartsRevolution / Death Cigarettes at Proud Gallery

Photo: Lorne Thomson

There are at least three reasons to be here tonight.

First amongst these is the appearance of the ever wonderful Death Cigarettes, about whom I rave on this site whenever possible. The second is anticipation of the head liners Heartsrevolution, and thirdly is the venue itself, which has good and bad points, but which generally creates a special atmosphere.

I still think that £11 is a bit steep for this evening, though.

For those unfamiliar with the place – Proud Gallery is a converted stable block which has been upgraded to cater for lavish entertainment. It’s a lovely environment and great fun, can be a very unforgiving place for small bands to play.

This is because the stage where the bands perform is set in a largish covered courtyard and is separate from the bar and stable areas. Unless you are interested enough to keep an eye on the stage, or are just passing through to the main venue where dance music blares all night, you wouldn’t even know that a band has started playing. On nights such as these, the acts are presented as exotic but incidental attractions in the same way in which girls dance on plinths in clubs in 1980’s movies.

Death Cigarettes thus have their work cut out. But of course they rise to the challenge.

The deceptively innocent looking Maya is fretful because of a large and unnecessary crowd barrier that surrounds the stage. Referring to it throughout as “The Cage” she tries to uproot it, kicks it, bangs her fists against it and generally rails against the injustice of keeping her from her audience.

So, like a mini-Maginot Line, she solves the problem by going round the side. Once among the crowd she can get to business chivvying them around and coyly luring passers by into her web- before grabbing hold of them and screaming in their ear.

The rest of the band mostly stay put, and become the real focal point once Maya has disappeared into the open spaces. The set is strong as ever, and concludes with a dismantled drum kit, guitars flung and an ankle-threatening jump straight over the top of the barrier. Another exhilarating performance and a job well done.

The Bishops who follow, have a much harder time of it. I’m not a great fan of them at the best of times and tonight they seem to have regressed to an embarrassing degree. They are just shouting to make themselves heard and it quickly becomes painful. I temporarily withdraw.

Heartsrevolution come here tonight having already played earlier this evening at ULU in a support slot for Midnight Juggernauts. Singer Lo looks very forlorn as she sits on an amplifier waiting for the two other members of the band to set up.

Once they start playing, they are terrific, although the sound balance is horribly awry, with the drums all but drowning out everything else. However, it becomes clear that Lo is in a lot of distress and has somehow this evening –the earlier show?- sustained an almighty blow to the head. She is clearly disorientated and after a mere handful of songs is unable to continue. It is very unsettling and you hope that she is going to be alright.

By this stage of the evening, the Proud Gallery has come into its own as a lively nightspot. This is what it does best. But they could make more effort on behalf of the bands that play there.

Autodrone - Strike A Match

About eighteen months ago, I happened to be in New York and caught a very interesting band called Autodrone. At that time they had a feisty front woman and played a dark brand of pop. I have kept an eye on them ever since.

In the time that has elapsed, the band has undergone changes. Rachel Luria has gone and vocal duties have now been taken by Katherine Kennedy. The music too has changed direction – and for the better.

So I am delighted with Autodrone’s first album proper ‘ Strike A Match”. This fuzzy guitar-led rock is beautifully geared for late night /summer evening listening. Strike that; it’s damn good whenever you fancy listening to it.

After the opening title track, which sets the scene, the epic ‘Final Days’ comes crashing in. What a tune! Uplifting, noisy and yet equally tuneful. A guaranteed smash at the indie-disco of your choice.

‘100,000 Years of Revenge’ follows, a white-noise instrumental that mutates into the lengthy, strong ‘Kerosene Dreams’. Another stand out track.

‘A Rose Has No Teeth’ and ‘Through the Backwoods’ are further examples of feedback heavy, warped pop, songs that sound sweet to the ear while also making your speakers rattle.

‘Moth of July’ (yes, the insect rather than a typo) is where the band live up to their name. This is pure drone, five minutes of guitar wash and treated, muted voice. ‘Can’t Keep These’ is another dynamic song with a soaring, distorted vocal, as is ‘With Arms Raised’.

‘Of Home’ is the track that most closely resembles the work of My Bloody Valentine, if those worthies had ever managed to produce a record that did justice to their live shows.

The album ends majestically with ‘Pictures’, which is a power ballad of sorts, although it is also an epic guitar drone.

In the last year, the UK has embraced like-minded New Yorkers Asobi Seksu to its bosom. Well, if you liked them, you’ll bloody love Autodrone.

‘Strike A Match’ is already available digitally. A physical release is released 11 November 2008 on Clairecords.

S.C.U.M - Shoreditch Church September 11th

It is getting dark as I approach the church. Outside, gaggles of black-clad people mill about. As do various members of Shoreditch’s homeless community, who are confused by the crowds of strange looking folk who have usurped the steps of St Leonard.

It is a stunning choice of venue – a working church, complete with stained glass windows, pews and a grand altar, details of which can be seen in the flyer reprinted above. The acoustics in this place are marvellous – so marvellous that when I wake up the following morning I am as deaf as a post.

Piles of speakers and other musical equipment have been set up in front of the altar. Washes of dark noise crash through the building as a DJ hides from sight.

The audience wanders through the church, sitting randomly in pews, talking round the font, dancing in the nave. They are having fun, and alcohol is available, but there is a sense of respect here, and no one is going TOO mad.

The girls who comprise An Experiment on a Bird in the Air Pump begin their set. There are three of them, swathed in black. At any particular time, one will pound out a thunderous tattoo on a snare, one will lay down a subterranean rumble of bass and one will stand alone between them to sing. After most songs they move around to a different position to begin the cycle anew.

The lighting tonight is superbly atmospheric, just a few scattered lamps at floor level, leading to long black shadows and threatening silhouettes. This creeping darkness lends itself perfectly to the music.

When the first band has faded into the gloom, next act KASMs takes the floor. The crowd packs tightly in front of them. KASMs live are all about the gyrations and performance antics of singer Rachel Callaghan. Other band members hang back.

For a very few moments it looks as though the surroundings will cause her to rein in her temptations. But by the second song Callaghan has fought her way into the throng and is screaming her lungs out. “I always wanted to do that in a church!” she comments.

The rest of the show is performed in similar vein. Callaghan will crawl on the floor, do pirouettes (there seems evidence of schoolgirl ballet lessons in her past) and make forays into the audience. It’s a black erotic cabaret. During the final number she flings herself violently into me, hitting and kicking.

Afterwards, I hobble away up the aisle, my shin bleeding from her stiletto heel.

The next band requires no such close attention. Spectrometers are a guitarist and an electronics operator, who generate long instrumental passages of semi-discordant noise. People walk around them as they play, but it is more curiosity than involvement. The sound they make is appropriate for the surroundings, but they are not particularly interesting, nor easily distinguishable from the music that is played in between bands.

After they are gone, things get ever more sinister. The lights grow dimmer and clouds of dry ice erupt from the floor. Hooded figures emerge from the murk, initially joined by a strange figure in a veil that leaps from the altar, parodies the crucified Christ behind him and emits heavily distorted and echoing shrieks.

This is S.C.U.M. and they are keen to make the most of these hallowed surroundings. Veil soon discarded, singer Thomas spends the whole set in constant motion, climbing walls and speakers, playing with his microphone and all the time seething and screaming.

Although tonight is primarily about the new single, S.C.U.M. do not play individually distinguishable songs. Their set is a whole, a single entity of sound that lasts some thirty five minutes. The first five minutes sound slightly uncertain, the following thirty sublime.

S.C.U.M are not easily categorised, and I like them even more tonight having seen them before. My colleagues this evening are less impressed and gradually disperse. The band’s performances are powerful but delicate constructions and occasionally threaten to teeter into the realms of the silly. The onlooker needs to buy into what they are doing, to have FAITH in the vision of the band’s art.

The band disappears back into the dry ice fog and we disperse into the night.

There is something tribal going on here tonight, a scene has emerged that has grandiose visions and romantic but terrifying notions. This is the Dark Wave. Something is rising in the East.

X-Ray Spex at Roundhouse 06.09.2008

When Cormac McCarthy coined the phrase ‘No Country For Old Men’ he wasn’t aware of this part of Camden tonight. When Television Personalities sang of ‘Part Time Punks’ they missed the mark as well.

Tonight the area is packed with the real deal, survivors from 1976-78 who kept the faith but also got jobs, raised their own kids and now run the country. So although we have bank managers with an unfortunate neck tattoo and head mistresses in rather fetching silk bondage trousers, there is a genuine warmth and positive vibe – the tribe is together again.

Before we get to the main event, we have to put up with the plastic pantomime punk of John Robb and Goldblade, who on most levels are cringe-makingly awful, but who play their whole set as cabaret and generally instil a party atmosphere. What is bad about them is their repeated insistence about how genuine they are and how we are all punks together, when, if memory and Wikipedia serves, they formed in the mid Nineties and have more in common with the cartoon Oi! bands of that period.

What is good about them, however, is their energy, and their ability to give this audience what it wants. By the end they have a chorus of ladies from the crowd cavorting on stage and everyone is having a fine time. More than this you cannot ask.

With the immortal words “They think little girls should be seen and not heard…” there is a flash of light and X-Ray Spex are here doing “Oh Bondage Up Yours”.

Poly Styrene looks absolutely fabulous tonight. No longer awkward, she is a happy, glamorous woman who is having a terrific time in front of a devoted and loving crowd. And her voice can still peel paint.

The rest of the band ultimately proves to be a bit of a bone of contention. My impression is of a very slick bunch of professional musicians for hire, who blast out the old Spex numbers impressively but soullessly, and with far more polish and power than the original band could ever hope to muster. It is sad to see that Laura Logic has been replaced by (a very proficient) male saxophonist.

However, I am chided by a nearby member of the audience, who tells me that this is very much a spur of the moment event and that all the musicians involved are essentially doing this for love rather than money. Which is certainly a happier interpretation.

The original Spex only had a single album to their name, and all the tracks from it are aired tonight. What is really impressive is how well the singles such as ‘Bondage’, ‘The Day the World turned Day-Glo’ and ‘Identity’ have stood up over the years. They sound modern and urgent.

Poly beams throughout, and everyone is having a good time. This may be a somewhat limited exercise, but it has been worth it. Well done to all involved.

For an encore, Poly brings her daughters on stage for a family blast through ‘Bondage’ one last time and, some ten minutes later, after tumultuous applause and stamping from the crowd, returns again for another run through of 'Day-Glo’.

It’s been a fun night. But let’s make it a one off.

Incidentally, another excellent review of this gig here

Ash at the Roundhouse 05.09.2008

Ash pic by Faye Wigham

With the exception of Mindless Self Indulgence a few months ago, it seems that every time that I go to The Roundhouse, it is to see some band that have either reformed or who are essentially turning into their own tribute band. As a venue it is a musical graveyard.

These last Friday and Saturday nights have been prime examples of this phenomenon.

On Friday we have Ash playing their debut ‘1977’ album in its entirety. 2008 is not a particularly significant anniversary (it was originally released in 1996), and although popular, it is arguably not even their best album – I’d give that accolade to the less-loved follow up ‘Nu-Clear Sounds’ or to ‘Free All Angels’.

So tonight’s event may have more to do with the band needing a little love after the departure of guitarist Charlotte Hatherley and the relative flop of 2007’s ‘Twilight of the Innocents’.

I’ll gloss over the distinctly ordinary support act Fighting With Wire and reflect on the main event.

Ash have long been obsessed with Star Wars, and throughout tonight’s performance the stage is patrolled by Imperial Storm Troopers from that franchise. The law of diminishing returns sets in – the first time it happens it is a welcome novelty, but after a while it becomes a needless distraction.

There is no other preamble. The lights come on and with a bang and we are straight into ‘Lose Control’. Ash are a formidable live unit, who are happiest when rocking out at full blast. Tim Wheeler poses with his axe, bassist Mark Hamilton nods his head in approved metal manner and Rick McMurray pounds away on his enormous drum kit.

There is little subtlety about this part of the show, with everything taken at full pelt. And what seemed true when the album came out is equally apparent now – Ash are a singles band, and in this period, a very good one.

‘Girl From Mars’ and particularly ‘Oh Yeah’ sound as good now as they ever did. The crowd sings along happily. However, the non-single tracks are nondescript and the second half of this part of the show is starved of hits.

After a brief encore, things get much more interesting, as the band unearth rarities from this era. In addition to a rousing version of debut single ‘Jack Names the Planets’, there is a cover of ABBA’s ‘Does Your Mother Know?’ and the Star Wars ‘Cantina Band’ (Storm Troopers much to the fore).

Having seen Ash many times over the years, I know that if they have one failing, it is that they can outstay their welcome. And so it is as they come out for a third time, to play odds and ends from throughout their career.

What must be worrying for the band, and a reflection of the theme that I touched on above, is that the one track they announce as “This is new, we’ve been playing it at the festivals this summer” falls completely flat. The crowd is as still and quiet as a mill pond.

When their last album stiffed, Ash announced that they would not be releasing any more, but would release individual tracks via downloads. There is a real air about this evening as though they are winding down, or rather that they have passed from being a vibrant new band to a group that will hence forward always be defined by what they have achieved in the past. As long as they play their hits, folk will still come out to see them, but the spark has gone.

Best to remember them as they were.