The Asteroids Galaxy Tour, Giana Factory at Bush Hall 26 November 2009

The Asteroids Galaxy Tour

I love the Bush Hall. I love its faded glamour and dinky chandeliers. Its ridiculously cramped bar/merchandise/toilet area. That a grand piano is tucked absently in a far corner. That no matter how sold out it purportedly is, it always seems only around half full. That the room with the stage in it looks like a barn designed by Liberace.

I’m here for an evening of top Danish fun. I’m not to be disappointed.

We start off with the slightly sinister pop of Giana Factory, three girls who perch at the front of the stage, one with bass, one with guitar and singer Louise Foo triggering all manner of percussive samples from a podule that she beats with what might possibly be a pair of unicorn horns.

Their songs are interesting, often starting out in breezy fashion before being overtaken by an almost Kraftwerk-like machine rigour. Best of all is ‘Heart Thief’, which goes on for a good five minutes and has me twitching from foot to foot. It can be found on their ‘Bloody Game’ EP, which I heartily recommend.

So I’m in a good mood before the main band come on. I’m delirious after.

The Asteroids Galaxy Tour are awkwardly named but absolute masters at the art of getting a crowd to have a great time. They play an infectious, brass-driven pop that soon has everyone lurching back and forth and grinning so much it hurts.

All eyes are on the extraordinary figure of Mette Lindberg, who is tightly constricted by a spangly black mini-dress that may have been sprayed on. She has long blonde hair falling all over her face and panda eyed makeup. Lady Gaga may have a lot to answer for.

Lindberg’s voice is very distinctive, a sexy Eartha Kitt style quack that is simultaneously petulant and pleasing. She jiggles around, banging a tambourine and flirting outrageously with the saxophone player Sven Meinilidz, who looks as though he would love to show her his horn afterwards.

Although they are plugging their debut album ‘Fruit’, the band find time for a wealth of new material, all of which sounds just as good as existing crowd favourites ‘Around The Bend’, Push The Envelope’ and ‘Satellite’. In fact it’s pretty much hits all the way. They even throw in a version of Marvin Gaye’s ‘Inner City Blues’ for good measure.

For a breathless encore they unleash a brand new, Motown-inflected stomper that if anything tops the songs before it. It comes in at about ten on the pop Richter scale.

All good things have to come to an end, and sated, I boogie off into the night. The Asteroids Galaxy Tour have already snagged themselves an Ipod commercial, and their future looks stellar.

Plastiscines, Eight Legs at Camden Barfly, 17 November 2009

Plastiscines

Tonight we’re off to cherchez les femmes. Dans Le Barfly in Camden.

However before we get to see the hotly-tipped Gallic gals who are headlining, we are invited to shake ourselves to Eight Legs.

This four piece have a great deal going for them. They have a succession of decent, catchy songs and a lively stage presence. They have a preening guitarist who tosses his hair and makes the girls squeal. They have a singer who cannot sing.

If front man Sam Jolly has the best set of pipes in the band, I’d surely hate to hear the others. Almost every song is robbed of about half its greatness by being barked out in a stone flat Billy Bragg honk. That this doesn’t stop Eight Legs being a damn fine band is testament to the talent that they possess, but sheesh, talk about fog horns.

And now here come the girls. Not as a drunken hen party accessorised with cheap cosmetics but as the proficient garage rock of the deliciously French Plastiscines.

The crowd go ape. In fact a small section of the audience are so rowdy and pain in the arse that it is hard to concentrate on the band, because of the possibility of having to wade in and settle their hash. However, eventually they calm down to within tolerable levels and equilibrium is reached.

The band rattles their way through a set that leans heavily on their new album ‘About Love’. Like many all-girl bands of a mock-combative nature they have a song about a ‘Bitch’. All their material is of a good standard, but none of it completely stands out. To be honest, if they weren’t drop dead gorgeous (singer Katty Besnard is going to be on the front cover of every magazine that writes about them), I doubt that they would garner more than minimal interest.

But they are fun and they make the right kind of noise and I’m not going to be churlish about them. Particularly after an encore in which they drag every girl in the place onstage for one final tumultuous pile-up of ‘Bitch’.

Vive le France. Vive le Difference!

Sunday Driver, J-Marie Cooper, Gabriella Ellis - Cafe De Paris 13 November 2009

Sunday Driver

Back to the Café De Paris for a Friday of random pop acts. As usual, things are weighted more towards the X-Factor/ night club range of the spectrum, and there are some excellent performances tonight.

First off we get the leather jacket and spandex leggings of J-Marie Cooper, pouting and vamping through a series of fast tempo rock songs of the type that Pink would give her hefty tattooed forearm for. Long of leg and with a snarl on her lips, J-Marie is a formidable front woman, possessed of a piercingly powerful voice. Much better on the faster material, she also indulges in a couple of weepy ballads that are technically very good, but a bit icky for my tastes. Her only misstep is to finish with a slowed down and sanitised version of Radiohead’s ‘Creep’ – when the audience recognise the song there is a momentarily visible cringe and recoil. This is just a minor misjudgement – she is a terrific performer.

Next up comes Gabriella Ellis. She is accompanied by the Dark Diamonds - a bad-girl troupe of four dancers and together they raunch their way through a short set of steamy electro pop that reminds me of Britney Spears better stuff (i.e. the barmy Britney of 'Blackout').

Gabriella and the Diamonds writhe and preen and ripple with power, moving off the stage and among the audience. I wouldn’t want to get on the wrong side of them.

Next up come Total Movement, who are the first band of the night. They are technically proficient in a non-threatening easy listening kind of way, but the vocals are autotuned to such a ridiculous extent that it is hard to get any feel for them. They are young and good looking, but they are either aiming at tweenagers or grandmothers. Which of course is the most lucrative market there is. It just doesn’t include me.

And then an act who are largely uncategorisable. Sunday Driver are dressed in Victorian garb (including some excellent stove pipe hats) and play a part Western, part Hindi type of rock on guitars, sitars and tablas. They are led by the very engaging Chandrika, who chats cheerfully and sings in a traditional Indian style. The combination of instruments is mesmerising and they go down hugely well. At times they almost sound like an Eastern Spiritualised. I purchase their album and although I experience a small degree of buyers’ remorse the following day, it is certainly a fine souvenir of a unique act.

The next act also flirts with the days of Empire. Lucid Jake and his band are dressed in cavalry jackets and blouson shirts. They start and finish their set with their front man centre stage, blindfolded and, to a military drum roll, feigning being executed by firing squad. As an attention grabber it’s…different.

Once the theatricals are out the way the band settle down to a series of keyboard heavy pop tunes, all of which are very easy on the ear, none of which entirely stick in the memory. LJ smiles and tosses his hair and looks as though he would eat himself if he were made out of chocolate. Still, you’ve got to admire his confidence.

Train difficulties mean that I have to cut short my appraisal of the final act, V Double E. From what I see, this is possibly for the best, as she appears to be an extremely basic rapper whom the likes of Goldielocks would eviscerate.

I always enjoy Friday nights down the Café De Paris. A great time is guaranteed and the whole evening is often as mad as a box of frogs. Recommended for anyone who wants to see the intersection of the music business and show business. For me, the stars tonight were J-Marie Cooper, who could give any TV variety contestant a good shellacking and Sunday Driver, who could entertain almost any type of crowd.

Yearner Babies, Narration, Kaputt, Sketches - Upstairs at Garage, 5 November 2009

This is a guest review from Clive, one of the Call Of the Wyld regulars. The views expressed are his own, but ones that I am happy to endorse.

"I’m off to see Kaputt, as apart from them being one of my favourite bands over the last few years I bumped into lead singer Silke at the weekend and promised to see her at their next gig. This is the third time at other gigs this has happened so I imagine that in her mind she is thinking, in German of course, “Yeah right, sure you will”. ("Yeah nach rechts, selbstverständlich werden Sie"- helpful Wyldman)

But this time there are no other clashes and I’m as good as my word. I’m expecting to clear off early tonight as Kaputt are on early and from what I know about the other bands that are on, Kaputt are the only likely candidates for producing sparks this bonfire night.

I pitch up at what is now known as the Relentless Upstairs Garage, I think Relentless relates to some sort of energy drink. Everybody is selling naming rights these days. Sketches are in full flow, they have a good little crowd of fans and for me they are ok as the opening band to warm things up and the guys are affable enough but this is not really my thing.

The Sketches fan club departs rapidly as they finish their set and we are left with about 25 people sparsely scattered across the room. This is as crowded as it gets for the rest of the night. I think everybody is out at pyrotechnic displays. Kaputt arrive on stage and after a slow start we are into some stomping old faves and I love Kaputt all over again. At the end, there is what I think is a new song, which is a special treat as I close my eyes and hear a sound so similar to the very much missed mighty KaitO. I chat with Silke after and share my latest gig list, she agrees to come along to some and I once again promise to see more of Kaputt, and I will.

Narration are up next and for me another ok proficient band, but not too my taste.

So it has just gone 10pm and I give the final band a chance, which means they have to hook me within the first three songs. Members of Yearner Babies have been in the crowd all night, some resplendent in military style jackets. I’m not expecting any fireworks from this lot and first song meets my low expectations and it looks like it will be an early finish, but bang whoosh scream in an instant that all changes, the tempo goes through the ceiling I’m listening to the Bookhouse Boys spliced with the Melys, fronted by a gorgeous Hilary Swank look-a-like, who goes by the name of Gee, who is throwing shapes and engaging gloriously with both crowd and band.

I want a bigger crowd and then we would all be dancing and singing along with complete uninhibited abandon. Works of art are scattered across the front of the stage and each piece relates to songs such as Pablo, Neville, Icarus and Mary. Also, there is a guy on stage dressed as a seagull. Obviously.

We are encouraged to sign up to their mailing list mid performance and I panic because the pen doesn’t work. They finish, its late, I run round them like a puppy begging for a CD and wanting to tell them in my slightly inebriated condition how great they are. They are saved from my further attentions by the insistence of staff that it is time to leave. My new favourite band next play in London on 16 December at Bar Music Hall."

The Phantom Band / Sir Yes Sir at The Borderline - 4th November 2009

Phantom Band

New York socialite Dorothy Parker once said of Katharine Hepburn that “She runs the gamut of emotions from A to B”. Miaow! I feel the same watching jovial guitar janglers Sir Yes Sir.

Somewhere I have a recording of the Wedding Present playing ‘Box Elder’ by Pavement. So, I would wager, have SYS. Not that there is anything wrong with that, to quote Jerry Seinfeld.

	The Wedding Present - Box Elder Mo
	Found at bee mp3 search engine

Sir Yes Sir ape their heroes right down to the check plaid shirts and yelped vocals. The guitars rattle along in a hundred mile an hour chime. There’s nothing deep, nothing difficult, just good clean fun.

The Phantom Band are a strange beast. Taking the stage, two of the band are shrouded in Chromehoof-style golden monk’s cowls. The rest look like they’ve just stepped off a fishing smack.

The single most impressive thing about them is how musically developed and confident they are. As far as I am aware they only have one (very good) album ‘Checkmate Savage’ behind them, yet their set is varied and strong, as though they have culled the finest bits from years of material. It already sounds like an oft-played Greatest Hits.

There is a strong Krautrock thread running through the best of their songs, powered by the cowled keyboard player and a battery of guitars. This driving groove is kept under tight rein, and never allowed to degenerate into any kind of freeform wig-out. Discipline is the key.

The variety of their sound is reflected in the use of unorthodox percussive instruments, many of which seem to have been hand fashioned from odd bits of metal or wood. At one stage, two of the band are playing melodicas, which when the tube disappears beneath a cowl makes the musician in question look like one of Doctor Who’s Ood.

Presiding over everything as master of ceremonies is singer Rick Anthony, flushed of face and squinty of eye, a jocular dead spit of Captain Haddock. Some of his gurning and mugging is a little ripe for my tastes, but he can certainly sing, often in a beautiful falsetto.

Everything is going swimmingly until we reach ‘Island’. This is a slow, long lachrymose dirge of a ballad that sucks all the momentum out of the gig. It is immaculately performed and the crowd go absolutely nuts for it, - it is clearly the Phantom Band’s signature tune, their ‘Stairway To Heaven’. And I just hate it. Which is a problem, because it is infuriatingly memorable.

It kills the rest of the set for me. I just can’t get back into them, even though it is followed by ‘The Howling’, which for me is the highpoint of their album.

So I finish the evening somewhat torn. That The Phantom Band are a formidable outfit is not in question. I like/love a good eighty percent of what they do. But that other twenty percent causes me big problems. I think that in future I’ll stick with their records.

The Molotovs, Koko Von Napoo, Pop Martyr, ARCs at The Fly, 23 October 2009

Koko Von Napoo by Marco

I’m here at The Fly, which is always a confusing venue. The downstairs area where the bands play is bigger than the upstairs bit which is on open view to passers by at street level. This means that on evenings when the place is operating at less than full capacity that a casual observer would be forgiven for thinking that the whole place is completely empty and socially lifeless, when in fact there is vibrant activity down below. They can’t get much casual custom on such occasions.

Down below ARCS are in full cry. They play a loud, dynamic, fairly tuneful brand of rock and their fans are lapping it up. They look to be experienced musicians and are pretty enjoyable. I find them rather hit and miss, but several of my friends really like them and make noises about wanting to see them again.

Next up come Pop Martyr, who are rather akin to a jolly mariachi band. Trumpets are much to the fore. I respect their musicianship, but they do nothing at all for me and I temporarily retreat upstairs.

Following on come the band we are here to see, the exotically named Koko Von Napoo from France (via Brighton). The focus is the delightfully deadpan singer Toupie, who sings and scowls, having fun but careful not to appear too uncool.

The band plays a catchy brand of electro pop which goes down well with the crowd without ever quite reaching “hands in the air like you just don’t care” levels of excitement. There is some banter amongst the band when Toupie accidentally introduces the third song of the evening as being their last, with the drummer jokingly wondering if they are about to split up.

Koko Von Napoo are very endearing but don’t quite have that je ne sais quois, as they almost certainly don’t say in France.

The venue is pretty full now for The Molotovs, who have spent the year gathering fans like a snowball rolling down hill. They are starting to have the air of real contenders for mainstream recognition.

It helps that they sound like a jumble of any number of successful acts while incorporating their own unique elements. So while singer Will’s voice evokes bands such as Starsailor or Keane, the furious violin and trumpet work of Ed Jenkins propel things along at a much faster pace than those balladeers. Indeed, it is this surging confidence and attack which is the main difference between The Molotovs of a year ago and the new improved model.

I’ve had a long day, and I’m feeling a bit ropey, so I have to cut the band short to head off home.

If The Molotovs continue on their current trajectory, they’ll be on the radio when I get there.

Phantogram / Quad Throw Salchow / Grasscut at The Fly -25 October 2009

I have been looking forward to tonight for around three years.

It was back in late 2006, early 2007 (I think) that I first came across a band called Charlie Everywhere. I think that it may have been the result of a random add request on Myspace. It was an awful band name. But I fell in love with Joshua Carter and Sarah Barthel and I fell hard.

Since then I have kept tabs on the duo from Saratoga Springs, New York, downloading their tracks as they became available, buying their T shirt and keeping the flame alive in my heart. When they changed their name to the only marginally less awful ‘Phantogram’, I was relieved, bought the merchandise again and wondered if they would ever tour over here…

So I am here on a Sunday night in an under-populated venue called The Fly located in New Oxford Street. I have cajoled a number of my more forbearing friends to come along too. I have fingers crossed and hope for the best.

There are three acts tonight and we start with the fascinating if rather unfocussed retro-futurism of Grasscut. These are two guys (Andrew and Marcus) who wear matching suits and glasses and who entertain us with electronic glitches and skronks, samples of church bells and a rocking electric double bass. There are occasional Hot Chip –y moments, and perhaps an affinity with similar English electronic eccentrics Flotation Toy Warning or Hallmark. It’s the sound of the future engineered to mimic post war austerity. It’s an ambitious aim, and the duo can’t quite carry it off – they don’t have the songs as yet and there are moments when the technology seems to be playing the band rather than the other way around. Interesting stuff nonetheless.

Next up we have the trancey motorik beats of Quad Throw Salchow. A mysterious three piece, they create room for themselves to perform, with JG hunched behind a workbench laden with electronic gear to one side, bassist K pounding out rhythms in prime Peter Hook mode on the other. Centre stage is singer O, who croons in parallel with the music rather than following the tunes. Her eyes are closed and she twists from side to side, her arms outstretched in a pose of crucifixion.

These songs are persistent, nagging washes of sound, propelled by the bass and the electric tics of the machinery. They work through repetition and epic span. This band know a good groove when they hit one and extend themselves to heroic length – the final track must last at least fifteen to twenty minutes. As with all such music, whether they succeed or fail depends upon whether they can entice the audience to come along for the ride. I enjoy them a lot, but a quick poll amongst my mates afterwards indicates no more than a fifty percent hit rate.

And finally I am in a room watching Phantogram. And they are more wonderful than I had dared to hope.

Sarah is standing behind a selection of electronic equipment that appears to be half state of the art and half something cobbled together out of an old VCR. Joshua is feeding his guitar through a vast array of effects pedals. They start with “As Far As I Can See” with its sampled brass section and they don’t look back.

They are much more hard edged and dynamic than their recorded works would indicate, Sarah jolting as though shot through with an electric current, her eyes closed and her head thrown back in a delightful smile that highlights the wonders of American dentistry. Josh appears frozen by a frantic white strobe light, occasionally whirling his instrument in stabs of sonic violence.

The buzzing hum of ‘Running From The Cops’, with its peculiar effect that makes Josh’s voice sound as though he is drowning makes way for long time favourite ‘Mouthful Of Diamonds’ which is as sweet as a summer evening . This music is just fantastic. I could say that this is the sound that School Of Seven Bells promised, and ultimately failed to deliver, but such comparisons sell Phantogram short.

The set draws heavily from debut album/compilation Eyelid Movies, which I commend to you all.

This is the first night of a whistle-stop European tour and they are going to make friends wherever they go. Hurry back guys.