Charli XCX at Heaven - 30 October 2014

Charli XCX

I’ve arrived in Heaven early. I’m not dead, it’s just that the venue of that name likes to get its acts on in good time so that punters can be turfed out ahead of a club night afterwards.

The place is already pretty full and the crowd is boisterous and enthusiastic. They are enjoying a set by CuckooLander, a four piece pop rock outfit that serves as the live vehicle for Holly Hardy. There’s lots to admire.

Hardy and her boys play a slinky type of guitar pop with catchy choruses and a surprising amount of grit for an act at the more obviously radio-friendly end of the spectrum.

Holly clutches her guitar and undulates in a black leather sheath skirt. I’ve not heard her music before but singles ‘Dumb Dee Diddy Dumb’ and ‘What’s Out There?’ make an instant impression. One to watch for the future.

It’s not entirely a surprise to find CuckooLander on tonight’s bill. Holly Hardy is the ex-drummer from headliner Charli XCX’s live band. They’ve both moved up the pop ladder.

Tonight is Charli XCX’s triumphant homecoming. Her songs have graced radios and stadiums across the world, but she’s often only been acknowledged as an associate, an ‘also featuring’ credit on the hits that she’s written for others. Tonight is her opportunity to take centre stage.

And how! Right from the start Charli walks on and just bosses it. She’s rocking a cheerleader outfit with ‘Sucker’ written across it. Her band are similarly attired. This is the title of the forthcoming album and the first song tonight.

It’s a banging hit right out of the gate. Within seconds everyone’s arms are aloft, giving the middle digit and chanting ‘Fuck You, Sucker!’ It’s great sweary fun and from here on we are putty in her hands.

Charli primps her vast mane of black hair, adjusts her tiny tiara and swaggers through her set with bratty brilliance and uber confidence. She doesn’t deal in wistful lovelorn ballads, these are all in-your-face declarations of strength and positivity.

The hits keep coming. Third song in is a riotous version of ‘I Don’t Care’, the global smash that she wrote for Icona Pop. The audience is so uplifted that they are practically levitating.

Despite the new album being a couple of months away, this already feels like a ‘Best Of…’ tour. There’s virtually no flab in this set at all – ‘Stay Away’, ‘London Queen’, ‘You (Ha Ha Ha)’ are all stripped-to-the-bone live monsters.

Charli has always had a good ear and this is shown tonight by her only true cover version, a ramped up tear through The Flying Lizards’ take of The Beatles’ version of the Barrett Strong track ‘Money (That’s What I Want).’ It’s all so meta that your head spins.

Just before the end of the evening a net is released and we are bombarded by the heaviest deluge of balloons I’ve ever experienced at a gig. It’s balloonageddon! The venue resembles an enormous pink and white gumball machine as Charli signs off with ‘Boom Clap’, yet another massive worldwide hit.

It’s been a fantastic evening. Charli XCX has arrived!

The Pop Group and Goodbye Leopold at Islington Assembly Hall - 26 October 2014

The Pop Group - pic Martyn Boston

I’m standing amongst a crowd of similarly mature and dark-clad individuals at Islington Assembly Hall. It takes a lot to get me into London on a Sunday night, but I wouldn’t have missed this for the world.

Starting proceedings, three extravagantly garbed women line up across the stage. They are sheathed in splendiferously vibrant and exquisite leotards, adorned with long tassels that hang from their arms. They look like three rare and exotic butterflies. Somewhere, David Attenborough stirs with excitement.

This is Goodbye Leopold. They sing majestically acapella, a plaintive chorus of interweaving harmonies. The room falls silent.

The sound swells. It is never entirely clear what they are singing about, and a quick bit of research afterwards reveals that the band have a penchant for singing backwards, which may explain it. Nevertheless, Goodbye Leopold lift us up to a higher frame of mind.

Tonight is a benefit for Campaign Against Arms Trade. A banner hangs across the stage, there are guest speakers and stalls in the lobby. It’s like the agit-prop days of the late Seventies.

I’m here to see The Pop Group, a band utterly unique in the annals of British music.

I’ve long been a devotee of frontman Mark Stewart, both in his solo career and his work with The Maffia, but this is the first time I have experienced him with the band with whom he first started out.

Mick Jagger swaggers, Michael Jackson used to moonwalk. Mark Stewart lumbers. A huge mountain of a man, he prowls around the stage continuously, a towel around his neck. He looks more like a bemused heavyweight boxer than a singer.

The Pop Group were/are the most uncompromising and didactic of bands that allied with the Hard Left. Their songs rail against injustice, greed and corporate evil, their concerts were rallies to the cause.

But above all, they were funky. You got a hefty dose of politics, but you danced your ass off.

The band start with ‘We Are Time’, Stewart’s voice a wild electronic scream of rage and distortion. Around him, the rest of the band - Gareth Sager, Bruce Smith, Dan Catsis – lay down an irresistible rhythm that veers between funk, soul and dub.

The power that comes off the stage would light most of Islington. ‘Thief of Fire’ follows, another howl of pain and anger. The crowd are dancing so hard that you can feel the wooden floor heave beneath you like the deck of a ship.

The band are promoting a compilation album called ‘Cabinet of Curiosities’, a collection of rarities that are obscure even by the standards of this band. A track called ‘Genius or Lunatic’ is introduced with the statement that it was first performed at Westbury-on Trym Youth Club. I'll bet they never knew what hit them.

‘Amnesty Report III’ is a song based on an report of police brutality against Irish prisoners. The Pop Group were angry then and remain so now.

‘Where There’s a Will’ is probably the single best live moment that I’ve had at a gig this year. This music bypasses your brain and simply jerks your body about.

There’s a certain amusement to be had from a roomful of people chanting along to songs with titles like ‘She Is Beyond Good and Evil’ and ‘We Are All Prostitutes’. The Pop Group are a throwback from the days when music culture and politics were expressly linked. We sang the songs, we went on the marches, we supported the causes. Compare that to the wishy-washy stance of the majority of acts today.

Tonight is a thumping, pumping, propulsive triumph. Mark Stewart and co finish and stand exhausted. We cheer them to the echo.

Then we filter away to man the barricades…

Lady Gaga - artRAVE at 02 Arena - 23 October 2014

Lady Gaga

This is my first time at a Lady Gaga ‘ball’ and I’m not really sure to expect. Two hours later I’m still rather flummoxed.

Things start off much as anticipated. A vast pink curtain is pulled down to reveal a set that looks like a Peruvian adobe village fashioned out of sugar lumps. There are runways and catwalks under which the die-hard standing portion of the audience congregate.

Gaga has a tight but unspectacular five piece band and a solid troupe of dancers who strut their stuff in a succession of pastel costumes that are often adorned with random geometric shapes. They are professional and competent, but they are individually anonymous and do not pull focus from the star.

Lady Gaga herself first appears in a costume that looks to have been at least partly fashioned from a giant furry crab. As might be expected, Gaga is never one to shy away from a costume on the grounds of unsuitability or discomfort. Her most outlandish effort tonight is a Dalmatian-spotted creation that looks like a melted octopus. She teeters around and sings ‘Paparazzi’ and it’s all suitably odd and enjoyable.

Gaga has a powerful and technically perfect voice. Throughout the show she constantly reiterates that she sings live and plays her own instruments. No-one would suggest otherwise, but it appears to be an accusation that rankles.

Tonight’s extravaganza is to promote her most recent ‘Artpop’ album and the theme is #Artrave. This laudable concept intends to foster the idea that anyone can be an artist, and that if others don’t like it, do it anyway.

The slight problem is that the current album has its moments, but is nowhere near as strong in depth as Gaga’s previous works. Songs like ‘Aurora’, ‘G.U.Y’ and ‘Venus’ are fine in themselves, but they don’t compare to the likes of ‘Poker Face’ or ‘Americano’.  When these older songs are effectively tossed away in medleys it seems a waste.

However, the performing of songs is possibly not the main reason why people are here nor the most important part of the show. Gaga has a connection with her audience, her ‘Little Monsters’ that is somewhere between den mother, agony aunt and best friend.

At all times this evening, if Gaga stops still for a moment she is pelted with notes, messages, items of clothing and general votive offerings. She takes a lot of time to read these out and give advice, put on the jackets etc and to offer counselling.

There is a lengthy, but very touching interlude when Gaga ministers to a fan who is struggling with issues surrounding a bi-polar disorder. Gaga gets her onstage, comforts her and allows her to sit alongside her as she performs a piano ballad version of ‘Born This Way’. While there is no doubt that time has been built into the show for something like this to happen, there is equally no doubt that this is a genuine gesture of affection and solicitude.

The crowd love Gaga and she loves them back. It doesn’t matter that the rhythm of the show is very haphazard or that things seem kind of subdued.

Things are so laid back that once she and the band perform the song ‘Swine’ and disappear, there is a hiatus where everyone just sits before the house lights come up and it becomes clear that if there is going to be an encore we might have to wait a while. Most of the crowd get up and leave at this point, myself included.

It’s been a very interesting evening. I come away feeling slightly short changed by the show, but with a much greater appreciation and respect for Lady Gaga the person.

Goat and Lay Llamas at Roundhouse - 03 October 2014

Goat!

Things start off pretty well.

We’re at the Roundhouse to see Goat, but first off we have to negotiate the support act.

The Lay Llamas are a band formed around the core of Nicola Giunta and Gioele Valenti. They are strung out across the stage in a line.

Initially, things aren’t too promising. The band are playing a polite type of vaguely psychedelic music that seems pleasant enough but which rather drifts by without leaving much of an impression.

It’s clearly well performed, but the singer has a rather nondescript voice and stage presence. The songs sound as though they are sketches for something that hasn’t been completed yet.

There is however one glorious exception. One song is an absolute corker, a krautrock-y beast based on abrasive guitar riffs. It goes on for about five minutes and is generally fantastic.

Unfortunately, the band go back to being ho-hum again and eventually shuffle offstage.

The venue seems unpleasantly packed this evening. We are crushed like sardines in the middle of the floor and it soon becomes very difficult to move or see. Or even to stand. Meanwhile, the queues to the toilets are long and slow moving and less accessible than in a football ground. The bars too seem unable to cope. I don’t know if the average Goat fan is unusually thirsty, but punters are queuing fifteen deep for weak lager.

It’s an extremely uncomfortable atmosphere, as though you are trapped in a place that could get out of hand.

When Goat take the stage, the room erupts.

Goat are an enigma wrapped in a mystery hidden behind some very natty robes and masks. Band members are deliberately anonymised behind elaborate costumes. Two singers chant and whirl in front of the wash of psychedelic afro beat and wah-wah guitars behind them.

The stage makes space for an artificial tree, its angular branches casting strange Goya-like outlines on the projected backdrop, which is itself a riot of kaleidoscopic colour.

It’s probably fair to say that while the totality of the Goat live experience is wonderful, the individual tracks tend to blur together a bit.

An exception is the fantastic ‘Run to Your Mama’ which tonight forms the centrepiece of the Goat set. A song as vibrant and dynamic as you will hear anywhere, tonight it is the perfect blend of crescendo and chorus.  

However, the overcrowding in the venue is just becoming ridiculous. My colleagues gradually make their excuses and retire to the perimeter. I stay for a while, but after an interminable trip to the loos, spend the rest of the evening trying to meet up with a friendly face. Bizarrely, at the edges of the crowd, people are making no pretence to watch the band, but just natter to each other and get in the way.

It’s awful in here. I can’t move, I can’t drink, I can’t pee. I cut my losses and leave.

Goat were good, though.

Mixtape - July to September 2014

Once a quarter I inflict a mixtape on my friends and acquaintances. These are some of the goodies that have been floating the Call of the Wyld boat in July to September 2014

Orange Caramel – My Copycat

Girl One and the Grease Guns – Jessica 6

Twin Peaks – I Found a New Way

BRONCHO – Class Historian

The Asteroids Galaxy Tour – My Club

18+ -Crow

Eno*Hyde – Lilac

Kate Bush - Before the Dawn - Hammersmith Apollo 23 September 2014

Kate Bush (Pic: Ken McKay/Rex/REX USA)

We’ve waited a long time. Oceans have risen and fallen, entire avian species have gone extinct since Kate Bush last performed live.

The atmosphere in the packed Hammersmith Odeon (I’m using old money) is breathless and excited. People are practically pinching themselves that this is happening and that they are here to witness it.

The stage has a formidable amount of equipment on it – multiple percussion stands, guitar racks and keyboards. A lighting rig in the form of a formation of diamonds hangs above the stage.

And here she comes, slowly marching her band on stage. Kate looks happy and comfortable.

Her voice is a revelation, a strong and expressive roar that effortlessly fills the venue. Her band groove alongside, the stage illuminated by projected flames that scorch across the lighting rig.

Second song in is ‘Hounds of Love’ and a fair proportion of the audience die happy then and there. It’s a loping beast of a song, replete with that oddly disturbing hunting horn sound.

‘King of the Mountain’ is an extraordinary song. There is a real feeling of frenzy and of things out of control, the flames behind the performers billowing as though in a hurricane. The song rises to a crescendo…

…and everything goes mad.

Anything can happen in the next half hour, and it basically does. What follows is a lavish and boggling rendering of ‘The Ninth Wave’, a suite of songs from the second side of ‘Hounds of Love’. It features skeletal fish people, a projected Kate bobbing around in a flotation tank, an interlude in which her son Bertie argues with his ‘father’ in a living room that bobs on the sea, a ‘helicopter’ that zooms down and hovers over the head of the audience, a stage set that looks like a Ken Adam imagining of the inside of a whale, and a giant automatic buoy.

It’s utterly bewildering, baffling and quite brilliant. The only thing that I’ve seen remotely like it for sheer unexpectedness was a revue at Bally’s Las Vegas where the high point was the sinking of the Titanic performed by showgirls.

The audience stands and hoots approval. A breathless Kate then invites us back for the second half.

The second portion of the show is devoted to ‘A Sky of Honey’ a long suite of connected songs from the second disc of the album ‘Aerial’. It’s a lengthy, challenging piece of music that thematically draws inspiration from the flight of birds, the different moods of day and night and the struggle of the artist to capture nature.

Visually, the section of the show is wonderful – the stage is swathed in autumnal haze, giant projected geese and tits flap slowly above the band. Less successfully, a wooden mannequin is manipulated through the ranks of musicians, a figure forever struck with ‘wonder’ at the scenes around it. It’s kind of unnecessary, and seems to reflect a worry that the music alone would not be enough to engage the whole crowd.

Bertie appears again, as a painter, struggling with capturing cloud formations on a giant canvas. He gains cheap applause by telling the mannequin to ‘piss off’.

There’s a bit of a conundrum surrounding this whole segment of the show. The music has a cumulative power but this only becomes apparent as the sequence progresses. Until things become clear in the final sections, there is a sense of drift and loss of momentum before the final destination is reached. I am not overly familiar with this piece of music, which may be why I struggle with it.

As the sequence reaches a climax, the birds are starting to take over. There are metamorphoses among the musicians, Bush herself sprouts a raven’s wing, before appearing to take flight as the stage lights go black.

The crowd stands and does its nut. Kate leads her band through a version of ‘Cloudbusting’ which everyone stomps along too.

And then, still happy, still regal, still flippin’ marvellous, she departs. It was worth the wait.

Carter Tutti Void and EIIII at Oslo, Hackney - 16 September 2014

Carter Tutti Void

There’s a lot of black in here. We’re here to listen to a certain type of music and this means a certain type of dress code.

We arrive as the first act gets started. A woman peers intently at a lap top and occasionally makes adjustments to some equipment beside it.

This is EIIII, a name I have much fun pronouncing.

At first it doesn’t appear that anything is happening and the crowd continues to chatter. However, things start to change…

…I’m aware that the back of my jacket is blowing back from my body and that my ribcage appears to be pulsing and vibrating. We are in the world of infrasound, frequencies that are so incredibly low that they are all but inaudible.

The crowd continues to talk, now conscious of the noise that throbs through the room. EIIII continues to stare at her lap top with a look of determination. She looks like a sonar operator who has just discovered a nasty ‘blip’ on her scanner.

It’s an interesting experience, but it still comes as a relief when the sound occasionally whistles up into a more traditional pitch, even though this in turn starts to make your ears bleed.

Carter TuttiVoid are what used to be called a supergroup. Chris Carter and Cosey fanni Tutti are famously members of Throbbing Gristle as well as frequent co-collaborators and Nik Colk Void is currently part of experimental techno-rockers Factory Floor.

Carter stands at the back of the stage and busies himself with piles of electronic equipment. He goes about his work unfussily, his face a mixture of gentle concentration and the contented half-smile of a man taking pleasure in a hobby.

He lays down a succession of skittering rhythms and beats that flicker and thrum, propelling the crowd into that twitchy type of dancing you do when you are really enjoying yourself but don’t have the room to really cut loose.

Stage right, Cosey is smartly attired in a black sparkly frock and clutches a bass guitar that looks like a long piece of melted plastic. She gets gradually more animated as the evening progresses and it is she who sporadically addresses the crowd or provides a wordless vocal that is distorted and delayed.

Nik Void stands to the left, bobbing about and, as was her habit when playing with Norwich ahead-of-their-time post punks KaitO, playing her guitar with a drumstick or occasional violin bow.

Each song is a propulsive groove which allows space for Tutti and Void to riff over. It’s bewitching stuff.

So compelling is this music that it comes as a disappointment when a track has to end, generally around the ten minute mark, with Carter either switching off his beat or abruptly changing the pace and heading off to sonic pastures new.

The hour flies by. Carter Tutti Void leave the stage to roars of approval, including mine.