Sparks at Union Chapel - 02 December 2013

Sparks

It's a near run thing. We squeak into a packed Union Chapel a handy three minutes before Sparks come onstage.

This is the third and final of a trilogy of dates at this venue wherein Ron and Russell Mael take a wander through their vast back catalogue of songs. As when I last saw them, this is a performance that is pared down to bare essentials.

Ron Mael, as imperturbable and inscrutable as ever, sits behind a keyboard as rigid as an automaton. He looks exactly the same as he did when Sparks emerged in the 70's.

Brother Russell is dressed for comfort in a black polo neck, cut off pants and training shoes. His hair is a black mass that sits precariously on his head, looking as though it may gradually slide down the side of his face. He's armed with a microphone. This is all that we need.

Russ starts off with "You Call is Very Important to Us", looping his voice back and forth to create a cacophony of interrupting accents. It's actually the only vocal trickery deployed this evening. All subsequent songs are delivered uniquely via his still-startling falsetto and occasional faux-French accent.

Tonight's show is primarily aimed at the hardcore Sparks fan. I'm familiar with the band's hits and have their last three or four albums too, but even so much of what is played tonight is relatively new to me, comprising in the main album cuts from their early career.

This is both a blessing and a pity. The lyrical inventiveness and humour of early Sparks is extraordinary, but the verses are so intricate that songs require multiple listening to fully unpack and appreciate. Listening to a track like 'Big Boy', ‘Popularity’ or ‘Nicotina’ is akin to the patter of a Gilbert and Sullivan comic operetta; you admire the sheer dexterity and cleverness as much as the music.

The brothers also perform works from their current (ish) venture, 'The Seduction of Ingmar Bergman'. This is a long-gestating film project which they are pleased to announce has now attracted sufficient funding to finally get made.

The highlight -among many- for me tonight is 'No 1 Song in Heaven', a joyous clap-along that seems entirely fitting in this spectacular setting. Russ' voice soars to all corners of the chapel and it is a wonderful and emotional sound.

At the end of the evening Ron and Russell are so overcome that they cannot bring themselves to leave the stage, standing dazed as parts of the audience start to file out. Russell gets Ron to take his picture against the backdrop of a sea of beaming faces in the pews.

It's a lovely, intimate moment for two of the nicest guys in show business.  

Manflu, Skinny Girl Diet at Lexington - 15 November 2013

 

 

  

Manflu

 

 

It's a traditional Friday at the Lexington. Our enthusiastic determination not to miss anything sees us upstairs and into the venue as soon as the doors open. 

There's the usual three men and a dog in here. We're the three men and the dog has got the night off. 

It's only slightly busier when the first act takes the stage. 72% Morrissey is as bad a name as has ever been adopted by a band and it rather sells them short. 

The modus operandi is very straightforward. This instrumental three-piece play nothing other than a succession of gargantuan bluesy riffs which all sound fantastic. Unfortunately, as none of these lasts longer than a couple of minutes they never develop into anything as substantial as a song. 

The band have worked out a special bit of stage business to accompany each riff. Josh Ryan will throw his guitar about, or Joe Brown will fall to his knees to ring the neck of his own instrument. Or one of them will do a duck walk, or yell "Yeah Muithafucka!' off mike.

It's entertaining for about ten minutes, but the law of diminishing returns sets in surprisingly quickly.

Most acts tend to spend the evening holed up in their dressing room before being summoned to the stage. Not so Skinny Girl Diet. They've been parked on a seat behind me and come through the audience to clamber up into view.

Since I last saw them they have supported Primal Scream at the Roundhouse. This experience seems to have rubbed off on them. It's also no coincidence that Amelia is wearing a 'Death to The Pixies' T-shirt. The sound that the band produces now is ferocious and the new songs are rooted in the heavy fuzz of 1990's grunge.

Delilah's vocals are an incomprehensible 40-fag-a-day rasp. She snarls and sneers through the set and simultaneously looks both happy and utterly murderous.

It's an impressive performance, but at this rate the band will be wowing them at Download rather than at Glastonbury.  And quite right too.

Manflu have been on the scene for a number of years. I've long wanted to see them, but tonight is the first time that the stars have been favourably aligned.

 

Tonight the band are launching an album, and all stops have been pulled out. The guys in the band are in full grip of Movember, with much luxurious face-furniture on display. Singer Aza is spectacularly attired in a golden body suit.

 

The band plays and the crowd goes ape - Aza striding from side to side, her Nico monotone chanting the words.

And I don't like it. It's just one of those things. They leave me completely flat. I had been looking forward to Manflu for ages, and they just don't connect with me at all.
 

If I had to put my finger on it I think it's because I feel that all the dressing up is an end in its self and that without it they'd be very ordinary. I get no spark from them, too much art and not enough rock.

Manflu remind me a lot of of the Do Me Bad Things, another band who looked great but felt pedestrian.

 

I'm more disappointed with myself than anything - most people here are having a great time. But you can't win 'em all.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Julia Holter at Village Underground - 11 November 2013

Julia Holter

It's a filthy night.

I pull my cap down over my eyes to protect my glasses from the pelting rain. I'm stood in a queue in Shoreditch waiting for the doors of Village Underground to open.

Once inside it is clear that one of the more bizarre laws of gig-going has come into play. This states that if there is a queue down the street outside a small venue, once you are inside the place appears to be largely empty. The late-lamented Metro in Oxford Street used to be the prime example of this phenomenon - that place could absorb punters like a black hole sucks in light.

I really like Village Underground. The vast brick vault that towers over the stage gives a cathedral-like majesty to events below. It makes every performance seem important and special.

The first act is a woman armed with a guitar and a series of loop devices. After Martina Topley-Bird last time out, this is clearly becoming a trend.

Lucrecia Dalt moves around in semi darkness, setting up a series of rhythms over which she chops with her guitar, stepping up to one of a number of microphones to coo indistinctly.

It's okay, but for me there is a slight problem in that all these pieces seem like introductions to something bigger that never arrives. They never go anywhere and even stop dead when it appears that they might. Interesting rather than essential.

This is my first live experience of Julia Holter. She grabs attention right from the start and doesn't relinquish it until she and her band leave an hour or so later.

Holter stands behind a keyboard. She is flanked by musicians playing saxophone, violin, cello and drums. It's not a common set up. But then, Holter is not a common performer.

The music played this evening is very hard to categorise in usual musical terms. I could give a great long list of references and comparisons, but these would only apply to brief moments within these very complicated but beautiful song structures. I would say that this is closest to modern jazz or contemporary classical music, but my ignorance of these genres is so complete that this is not a helpful description.

Julia Holter is an engaging presence. She's utterly relaxed and is happy to chat to the crowd. She declares herself fascinated by the 'trapezoid' shape of the room and is clearly bemused at having to play whilst being dive-bombed by a succession of flying insects attracted by the stage lights. "There's something very large on my keyboard…" she notes.

Holter's voice is a high and pure wonder of clarity, very well served by the excellent acoustics.

The set begins with the underwater wooziness of 'Maxims I' and proceeds from there, drawing heavily on her most recent album 'Lost City Songs'.

These tunes are varied and spellbinding. Sometimes the sax squalls in freeform anguish. Sometimes the violin churns like a guitar. Everything is intricately structured - there is very little improvisation here.

A cover of Barbara Lewis ' "Hello Stranger" is one of many highlights. The song is stretched and dissected until it bears only the ghost of a resemblance to the original.

For a encore, the band return to play a version of 'Goddess Eyes', a track that Holter has explored several times across her albums.

I'm totally smitten. I'm not often lost for words, but I'm deliberately holding back the gush of superlatives here. If I start, I'll be here all day.

So it's simple. Go and see Julia Holter live. She's quite unique. 

Warpaint and Pins at Brixton Academy - 30 October 2013

Warpaint

It's been a long time since I've been to Brixton Academy. It's not changed a bit. It’s true - there is advertising in the Gents for special offers that expired in 2008.

The stage is occupied by Martina Topley-Bird, resplendent in a fire engine red gown. She looks slightly like a novelty toilet roll cover.

Martina accompanies herself with a loop machine, which creates backing tracks from brief snatches of vocal. She then sings over the top of these rhythms, her voice smoky and distinctive.

It's an interesting exercise, but these all sound like extracts or demos for a larger, more complete work. Even so, it is a shame when a roadie appears on stage to give her the hook before the completion of her set.

I've seen Pins before and was impressed at that time. On tonight's showing, the band have progressed even further.

For starters the band are totally at home on the big stage. Their dual-guitar attack rings around the cavernous venue. The acoustics of the place are not kind and seem to swallow much of the sound from the middle to upper register, but all the acts tonight suffer from this phenomenon.

Singer/guitarist Faith has grown into a mighty stage presence, either throwing axe-heroine shapes with her instrument or crouching down to draw the audience in towards her. That she is dressed in natty black hot pants also helps.

The drummer is a powerful focal point within the band. Sophie concludes the set stood on her kit, hammering down as the others look on. Pins have taken the opportunity afforded them in this support slot and grasped it with both hands.

I had rather forgotten Warpaint. When I last saw them they were a phenomenal live band whose music did not translate readily to studio recording. I can't say that I've had their debut album on any kind of heavy rotation.

Others clearly disagree. The Academy is full tonight and when the band appear they are given a rapturous reception.

The four members of the band remain masters of their sound, which is a fluid, bass-heavy amalgam of funk and folk-tinged rock, over which vocals are traded. The fascinating thing is that there is no single point of focus, no obvious band leader. Warpaint are a collective unit and no one part is less important than any other.

As the set progresses, the great strength and occasional weakness of the band becomes more evident. These are rarely songs in any conventional sense, more a succession of grooves and jams - a sort of Fleetwood Mac in Dub. I think that whether you enjoy this depends upon the degree to which you surrender yourself and follow the music, the beat, the rhythm.

Tonight, I feel somewhat isolated. I can't get into the mood; I need something to cling to. I get some stability with back to back readings of 'Undertow' and 'Billie Holiday', perhaps the nearest that the band comes to the verse/chorus/verse format.

The band finishes with an even looser, bassier work out than before. Warpaint are never less than fascinating, and there really is nothing else out there that sounds like them. But sometimes you have to tune in before you can turn on to what they do. 

La Femme extra

The video that I included in my report from last week was a little old.

Here's their brand spanking new one - and this is EXACTLY what I was on about.

Remember kids. Guns and knives are neither big nor clever, but they are cool.

La Femme at Sebright Arms - 18 September 2013

La Femme

The first unwelcome surprise of the evening comes with the revelation that the headliners are not due onstage until nine thirty and that there are no support acts other than a DJ.

We troop off to a nearby hotel to watch the football and my second and final unwelcome surprise comes with the extremely disgruntling result of the Chelsea v Basel match.

After this discouraging start however, it's sheer delight all the way.

On returning to the tiny confines of the Sebright basement the atmosphere is one of expectant excitement. It's hot down here and the air hangs heavy with theatrical mist.

La Femme burst on stage looking like 1940's resistance fighters. They are clad in leather jackets, scarves and berets. Such is the energy that the band generate that most of this clobber is discarded by the end of the first song.

There's a wonderful cinematic quality to La Femme. Their songs inhabit a 60's noir alternate world where spies meet in darkened rooms, mysterious beauties hold cigarettes holders and trench coats are de rigour. The band take this as a starting point to produce a set of giddy high tempo electro pop that is as exciting and harem scarem as a James Bond car chase.

Singer Clemence is a delightful, elegant chanteuse who dances non-stop behind a small keyboard. To her left, band leader Marlon is down to his vest, his torso and neck writhing with tattoos. The rest of the band are slightly lost in the heat and the haze, but can be seen pummelling keyboards in frenzy.

There is a huge mosh pit in front of the stage, with everyone dancing wildly to tracks lack 'Anti Taxi' and 'Sur La Plage'. Arms are held aloft, heads bop furiously. When they are in full flow you could imagine that La Femme are the kind of band that Quentin Tarantino would have play at his wedding - even with their hair plastered across their faces and sweat pouring from every pore this band are COOL.

I have a big stupid grin on my face throughout and I'm not the only one. The whirling synths and pounding rhythms are irresistible.

The band slightly muff their encore by confusing the exhausted crowd into thinking that they are not coming back onstage. But when they re-emerge, the stragglers that remain in the room throw ourselves around like dervishes for one last time.

At the end of the evening, when I emerge into the night outside the pub I find that the band have beaten me outside and are hanging limp and steaming in the doorway.

La Femme really are the most fun that you can have with your clothes on - even when it’s so hot that you have to rip them off.

Skinny Girl Diet and The Greasy Slicks - The Macbeth 4 September 2013

Skinny Girl Diet - Watch out world.

The properties along Hoxton Street are being gentrified. The area is a collision of council estate and bo-ho gastro pub stylishness.

The Macbeth sits defiantly somewhere between the two extremes, a relic of the past facing an uncertain future.

The first band on tonight are The Greasy Slicks. In an era where populist blues rock is seemingly exclusively the province of power duos such as Drenge or the Black Keys, this group seem positively overstaffed as a three piece unit. However, the extra player adds a depth and authenticity to their sound that leaves the others in the dust. The Slicks are much less like a cartoon and a lot closer to the 70's rock gods that they take their inspiration from.

We're firmly in Led Zeppelin, George Thorogood blues rock heaven. Protracted guitar workouts, powerful and intricate drumming and crunching riffs. I'm really impressed with them and I'm not normally a fan of this type of music. If they lose me a little during the occasional guitar noodling passages then they are not doing anything that I wouldn't have expected.  Damn good fun.

My relationship with Skinny Girl Diet has changed. They have gone from being a band that I'm pleased to see on a supporting bill to being the reason that I'm here at all tonight.

I'm increasingly coming to believe that SGD are the complete package. They are effortlessly stylish and cool (a fact picked up by others) and their stripped down, fuzzed out simplicity hits my sweet spot too.

Amelia, Delilah and Ursula gel together in a way that many other acts would envy. The three together are somehow infinitely more than the sum of their parts. Any of them individually would be the highlight of any other combo. They occasionally use the Power Puff Girl graphic in their publicity material. It fits…

SCREAM! Bassist Amelia looks like butter wouldn't melt, but steps forward to wail like a demon.

SMILE! Drummer Ursula is pretty much the happiest person ever seen on a stage. Always laughing, she's not even fazed by a major drum kit malfunction which brings the set to an unexpected halt after only a couple of numbers.

TEXT! Guitarist and de facto band leader Delilah responds to the brief hiatus not by engaging with the crowd or playing on but by becoming engrossed in her mobile phone. It is a moment that really sums up for me why I love this band - they are simultaneously fearsomely driven and urgently serious but then the façade slips and they are three young kids just having fun.

The drum kit repaired, the girls power onwards. Songs like ‘Eyes That Paralyse’ and ‘Dimethyltryptamine’  are really taking shape now and the power and energy of this band is not going to be long confined to venues such as the Macbeth. They've got a prestigious date coming up supporting Primal Scream at the Roundhouse and it will be very interesting to see how they handle the step up. I suspect Gillespie and co won't know what hit them.

Skinny Girl Diet. So much fun it’s not healthy.