FOE and Fever Fever at Hoxton Bar and Grill - 26 July 2012

FOE pic by Neil at Wildblanket

Fever Fever are delightfully grumpy.

The weather is too hot for them, and they are suspicious of the Olympics. These tribulations lead to much semi-comic muttering and swearing.

This is all par for the course with the Norwich three piece, who cultivate an air of exasperation and use the resulting energy to power their increasingly brutal and ferocious sound.

Rosie and Ellie rattle their way through songs that crunch and crackle with frustration. It’s recognisably rock but the vocal delivery is much closer to rap, a steady stream of words that form their own percussion.

There are no frills with Fever Fever. Everything is cut back to muscle and sinew and there is no room for light and shade. Their songs are shouty, straight forward and refreshingly honest.  They really don’t put a foot wrong.

There had been some confusion tonight as to whether there were going to be two bands or three on the bill. Various names are printed and advertised, but in the event the gap between the triumphant Fever Fever and the headliners is filled by an incredibly tedious DJ, who appears totally oblivious to the fact that there is no movement from the crowd whatsoever.

This is the third time this year that I’ve seen FOE aka Hannah Clark and her band, and for the third straight time I am confounded.

The first time I saw them they were game but a bit flat, the second time they were a thundering behemoth of rock noise and tonight…well they’re kind of all points in-between.

Clark is sporting a black cowboy jacket and shakes her tassels as she hangs off her microphone or swings her guitar. Her band take their queues from her and there is much whirling of instruments.

And yet, something doesn’t quite sit right. Clark is a fascinating performer in that she is constantly revisiting, rearranging and revising her songs. Just because a song sounded a certain way even a few months ago, does not mean that it will not be altered as her mood takes her. Sometimes this experimentation works, sometimes it does not.

Tonight the results are mixed.  It may just be that I was so impressed with the full on ‘rock’ FOE that I saw last time around that I don’t appreciate the more reigned versions of ‘A Handsome Stranger Called Death’ or ‘Genie In A Coke Can’.

It’s a perfectly enjoyable show, but my high expectations have left me rather disappointed, which is not Clark’s fault. The key point is that FOE are always changing, always interesting, always different. And that’s enough to keep me coming back.

Charlotte Gainsbourg and Drop Out Venus at Somerset House - 19 July 2012

Charlotte Gainsbourg pic by Keith Knight

Call it fate, kismet or just a big, glorious smacker of a coincidence.

I have had a ticket for tonight’s Charlotte Gainsbourg show here in the grand environs of Somerset House for the best part of a month. I’ve been really looking forward to it.

Then suddenly, a couple of days ago, it was announced that the support act is going to be Call Of the Wyld faves Drop Out Venus. Frankly, this level of synchronicity should not be possible in a rational universe – but here we all are.

And tonight, in front of a large crowd who have come to see someone else, Iva, Chris and Ursula absolutely storm it.

The band are evolving so quickly at the moment that it is difficult to keep up. Confidence just flows through them. Gone are the days when they seemed nervous and vulnerable, tonight they are completely assured in what they are doing and confident in their material.

So the set is split between harrowing, soul wrenching quiet songs about alienation and death and faster, almost full throttle rock numbers (which also tend to be about death).

Iva Moscovitch is as focussed, spiky and unpredictable as ever, but she seems to really appreciate the bigger audience. She’s emotionally fearless and when her voice cracks during ‘Love And Desire’ it not only silences the crowd but seems to overwhelm drummer Ursula, who slumps across her kit.

The show is a triumph and the great reception that the band receives comes from the whole audience and not just us smitten fanboys down the front.

If Drop Out Venus trade in powerful emotion, Charlotte Gainsbourg and her band are the epitome of easy, elegant cool. They are all dressed in natty white clothes, Gainsbourg long and slim and sporting a pair of killer black boots that look like they could slice you to death.

Gainsbourg is abetted tonight by Connan Mockasin, who acts as band leader, confidante and Keith Lemon look-alike. He brings a fuzzy psychedelic edge to Charlotte’s Gallic pop and it makes for a smooth, groovy sound.

Gainsbourg is showcasing songs from her recent ‘Stage Whispers’ double album, so many of these tracks are unfamiliar. It doesn’t matter. I have a momentary frisson when she announces that a song has been written by Charlie Fink. However, this turns out to be the guy behind Noah And The Whale and not the erstwhile front man of Penthouse (aka Fifty Tons Of Black Terror).

 Although she does not have the strongest of voices, Charlotte compensates by being charming and relaxed. She has a gift for percussion and graduates through a succession of strange devices, including at one point something that looks like a coffee tin with a string hanging from the bottom.

This summer has been dogged by terrible weather, but tonight the evening is warm and dry and this balmy sophisticated music is just perfect for the occasion. The smooth tempo is broken when the band breaks into a surprisingly faithful version of David Bowie’s ‘Ashes to Ashes’. We all roar and get funk to funky for this one.

It must be said that the second half of the set…drifts a bit. There is one lengthy instrumental track that allows for my entire group to take turns slipping off to the distant toilets under Somerset House and to return without apparently missing anything.

This is a minor niggle. It’s a charming performance from a charming group of musicians. It’s been a fab night out and I am delighted that two acts that are so different from the run of the mill have been allowed to perform in such a magnificent setting.

 The summer starts here?

 

Novella, Drop Out Venus, Clockwork Era at Bloomsbury Bowling Lanes - 3rd July 2012

Novella by Karen Toftera

I’m here at the Bloomsbury Bowling Lanes for a Gibson/Supajam promoted bill of happening new bands. 

The bowling lanes are in full effect, with the young and trendy hurling gutter balls, flattening pins and having a rare old time. There’s a deliberately retro vibe and the excitement and clatter is fiercely evocative of American Graffiti, Grease or any other 50’s film set.

In a small corner of the lanes a small stage plays host to the bands.

First up are Clockwork Era, who are really basic and spiky and shouty and very good fun. Singer/guitarist Jason is sweaty and feisty in a distressed Chapman Family T shirt. He flails at his instrument, regards us with piercing eyes and screams himself breathless. There’s a lovely angry simplicity to the band, an honest emotion of the kind that never goes out of fashion.

They remind me of first album ATV or Mekons circa ‘Never Been in a Riot’. I like them a lot. The singer also spends time off the stage and amongst the small throng watching them, dragging a long microphone cable behind him. I’m always a sucker for this kind of thing.

Every time I see Drop Out Venus I think “This is the best band that I have seen since…” and each time the ‘since’ goes further back in my gig history.

What can I say? Every performance is unique, every performance would be the best thing I’ve seen this year.

Tonight the stand out star is drummer Ursula, here combining phenomenal power and complex rhythms with the not inconsiderable feat of holding a disintegrating drum kit together with whichever hand she can get free.

Guitarist Chris continues to do amazing things whilst also providing support and a focal point for his ever intriguing sister Iva, who is wound as tightly as a spring and who becomes ever more so as the gig progresses.

The band retains their unique ability to create their own hermetic atmosphere around themselves. As they play, the sound of bowling and drinking and a carefree existence just disappears. Drop Out Venus lure you in like Sirens enticing passing sailors on to the rocks.

I have seen tonight’s headliners before, in a big tent at last year’s 1234 Shoreditch festival. At that point I had certain reservations. Twelve months on, these have all disappeared.

Novella play guitar music. Great, chugging layers of guitar music. Their sound is part way between indie jangle and something much more substantial and meaty.

They build up a momentum as their set progresses, and I’d like to think that the bowlers who stop their games and turn to watch them are doing so because of the power of the music and not because the band features three women playing guitars. Their last two songs this evening are phenomenal.

I needed something to clear my head after Drop Out Venus, and Novella certainly do the job. I’m seeing Hollie, Sophy and Suki again in a fortnight and I’m now really looking forward to it.

It’s been a great, sticky summer evening. I’m bowled over.

Parakeets and Hungry Kids of Hungary at Bull & Gate - & June 2012

Hungry Kids of Hungary

I’m climbing the walls. It’s been nearly a month since my last gig and I’m champing at the bit. Admittedly there was a trip to Munich in the interim, but man cannot live on glory alone.

We’re at the Hoxton Bar and Grill to see O Children and Savages. Unfortunately, we’ve neglected to buy tickets in advance and we are politely told (to the huge amusement of the rather butch bouncer) that tonight is sold out and we should take our raddled carcasses elsewhere. There is a faint possibility of inveigling ourselves onto one of the many guest lists, but we think that we have an alternate show lined up.

 Spying the name ‘Parakeet’ we immediately think of the Yuck side project and head off to the Bull & Gate

Ok. So the band headlining tonight turns out to be Parakeets (plural not singular) but we head on in anyway. And you know what? We land on our feet.

First off we get Hungry Kids of Hungary, who hail from Brisbane and have been touring the country for the last few weeks. As they start to play, my antennae go up – I’ve heard of these guys.

And in the grand tradition of bands who have travelled an incredibly long way to ultimately play in a very small venue in the UK, they turn out to be really good.

It’s an easy, laid back funky sound. We shuffle and dance and relax to their smooth pop groove. There are certain elements of acts such as Vampire Weekend or Cold War Kids but these guys are definitely their own animal.

All band members appear comfortable with vocals and these are shared throughout, although it is the songs that are fronted by guitarist Dean McGrath which make the most impression.

There’s a small ex-pat coterie of fans here to see them, and for one song we are treated to a couple doing an elaborate but rather alcohol-affected dance routine in front of the stage.

We have a quick chat with the band later. They’ve enjoyed themselves as much as we have.

Parakeets turn out to be rather good fun too.

These guys dispense a nervous, angsty yet still crisp and dancey guitar pop and in their singer/guitarist they have a front man who is worth watching. He is as thin as a rail and the kind of face that is all planes and angles. He also affects a mildly twitchy, exaggerated persona that highlights these songs as elegant artifice and performance rather than from the heart confessional.

The singer either stabs away at his guitar or sinks to his knees to fiddle with a small electronic array. There’s a hint of Chapman Family anger here too.

Later, I try to get some more info on Parakeets (names would be nice!), but the emergence of the similarly named Yuck offshoot, along with the vast number of sites dedicated to fanciers of the actual small parrots make it impossible to glean much knowledge to share here. A pity.

So, not the gig that I thought I was going to, but a very worthy substitute. I’m glad to be back in the saddle again.



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Garbage at The Troxy - 9 May 2012

Garbage

The first thing to say is that the Troxy in East London is one of the most unfriendly and paranoid venues that I’ve ever been to. I don’t mind the security checks on the door, but I’m not impressed by the teams of spotters within the venue itself who busy themselves insisting that even the smallest bag which had already been checked on the way in is then removed and placed outside the room. 

I also fail to see much logic in their insistence that the plastic bottles of water that they sell you are to be decanted into er...plastic glasses. There are rubber rooms in insane asylums that have more opportunity for self harm.

We are here to see the return of Garbage, who have been in limbo for a number of years while the band members took a rest from each other and replenished their various mojos.

The band start in an explosion of sound. Everything is louder than everything else and singer Shirley Manson’s voice is all but extinguished.

I pop in the ear plugs that I acquired on the Camden Crawl and everything is transformed. On one level, it’s rather like being underwater, on the other I can hear the singer and instruments clearly without all that top end distortion. So, ear plugs are the way to go unless you need to communicate with the guy stood next to you.

Shirley is sporting a shoulder length Rita Hayworth hairdo and is rocking a black pair of hot pants. She may look incongruous, but as ever, she’s definitely the one in charge round here. Duke Erikson and Steve Marker are pretty much dressed as accountants and go about their business with a minimum of show, Butch Vig pounding away on drums.

Garbage are plugging their new album ‘Not Your Kind Of People’ and are also limbering up for the summer festival circuit. So, whilst we get some new material, (all of which seems great and indicates the band returning to a heavier, guitar driven sound) there are also the hits.

Garbage are one of those bands that surprise you with the number of their songs that you didn’t realise that you already knew. ‘Queer’, ‘Happy When It Rains’, ‘When I Grow Up’ ‘Stupid Girl’, these tunes keep coming. The audience is delighted and Manson often allows them to do her singing for her, stretching her microphone towards the bawling throng.

For me, the highlight is ‘The World Is Not Enough’ Let’s face it – how many bands that you see have their own James Bond theme?

Manson has her family here tonight and thanks them, the band’s manager and Uncle Tom Cobleigh and all. It’s all genuine and unforced and cements the vibe that this is a band playing amongst friends. Garbage are as happy to see us as we are to see them.

Other than a minor confusion over the running order of the set list, this is a slick consummately professional show. Garbage in full flow are a mighty proposition.

It’s good to have them back.

Camden Crawl Day Two - 6 May 2012

Rolo Tomassi

It’s Sunday afternoon in the Lock Tavern. People are sat at tables tucking into huge plates of food. And, on, a small dais perched amongst them all, the second day of the Camden Crawl gets under way.

Echoes are two brothers and a percussionist who taps unobtrusively on a pair of bongos.

It’s damp and chilly outside, but Echoes transport us to warm tropical nights in Eighties Miami. Their epic, synthy groove is so redolent of another time and place that you can almost see the shimmering neon.

The singer has a wonderful white-boy soul voice that soars majestically. He stands transported, his eyes closed. This is the sort of electric pulse that weaved and throbbed through recent hit film ‘Drive’.

In the Roundhouse Studios Mammoth Sound are hugely entertaining with their funky/rap/ska/jazz/soul fusion. These kids are young and still learning, but their confidence and charm are very cheering.  Kenny Mukendi and Santarna Scott are fine foils for each other, she smiling, dancing and belting out a storm, while he raps, bounces and teases the guitarist. Very good indeed. I’d have said that they are certs for the Jazz Café, but they’ve already played there.

A long walk down the road culminates with a stonking set from Rolo Tomassi at Koko. The previous band are just finishing as we come in, and are so loud that the only way to order Tiger beer at the bar is to do a mime like a tiger. Like this.

There is something about Rolo Tomassi that always cheers me up, possibly for reasons that the band would not be happy about.

Don’t get me wrong – I love their music dearly, but I also get a smile each time one of their gentle and intricate ‘musical’ interludes is interrupted by the harsh and guttural hardcore screams of Eva Spence. There’s a certain Spinal Tap ‘Lick My Love Pump’ incongruity.

Rolo Tomassi have had line up changes since I last saw them and I wonder if they have lost some of their old subtlety in the process. They are not helped this afternoon by sound problems that mean that they only seem to have one working microphone between them.

Eva writhes and twists and almost inverts herself as she cavorts around this big stage. It’s a great show, and the last really good thing that I’ll see on this year’s Crawl.

I head off to the outdoor arena to catch Japanese screamo outfit Crossfaith. They are very loud, jump up and down in unison and shriek “Camden Crawl” every thirty seconds or so. A girl from Action On Hearing Loss hands out ear plugs.

And then, for me at least, the Crawl just falls apart.

A stop off for food takes longer than intended and puts us behind. We can’t find anything good in the remainder of this time slot and end up in Dingwalls for the last fifteen minutes of Baxter Dury. Let’s just say that he does what he does and the people here seem to be enjoying it.

I then make the fatal mistake of heading to the Monarch for Willy Moon. I spend the best part of an hour watching a guy uncoiling bits of cable while an old man stares at a microphone as if trying to work out what kind of devilish device that it might be. It’s like a Beckett play. It’s an utter shambles and another time slot wasted.

Micachu and The Shapes are at least on time for their set at the Jazz Café. However, the sound mix is horrible, with Micachu all but inaudible and the only thing that you can hear being the discordant and deeply irritating plonk of a basic keyboard.

At this point, I throw my hands up and cut my losses. Despite things rather petering out, I’ve had a lot of fun on this year’s Crawl.

There’s always next year…

Camden Crawl 2012: Day One - 5 May 2012

Antlered Man

It’s Spring, it’s cold and there’s rain the air. It must be time for the Camden Crawl.

We start off in the Black Cap for a set from Wrexham’s Mowbird. They blast along in a Pavement-y, US indie kind of way. The guitarist and drummer share vocals whilst their keyboard player coughs weakly and twiddles with a doll’s head that has been stuffed with various electronic gizmos. Creepy but fun. A good start.

Trwbador also hail from Wales and are so quiet that they make the xx look like AC/DC. Angharad Van Rijswijk is fetching in a tight crocheted dress and plinks at a small red toy piano. Owain Gwilym plays an acoustic guitar, which sounds almost deafening in contrast to the hushed vocals. I like the band, although they are hard to hear over the hubbub of the bar.

St Michael’s Church is having a record fair. In a side chapel, Race Horses are playing a semi acoustic set. It’s an amazing, intimate setting and the band’s cornet and harp interlude fit perfectly.

I nip up the road to the Roundhouse Studios to catch Tanya Auclair battling technology to deliver an in-the-end triumphant set of tape loops and ukulele.

The Kabeedies are playing to a rammed room in the Lock Tavern. It’s the only thing all day that we can’t comfortably get into.

Hymns are serious, proficient and making a loud racket in the Underworld. Unfortunately, I find them rather like the medicine that may be good for you but just doesn’t taste very nice. They’re far too grim and earnest.

Antlered Man at the Black Heart are much more like it. By turns preposterously heavy and ludicrously complicated, they wow from the off. The splendidly named singer Damo Ezekiel Holmes is compact, ginger of beard and occasionally slashes at a guitar strapped to a table. The band are both hardcore and elaborately proggy and don’t really sound like anything else. Really good.

In the Purple Turtle, Throwing Up are hiding behind a curtain. Newly expanded to a four piece, they emerge to reveal that drummer Ben has now moved to second guitar duties. He has the tattoos of a Norse god, all eagles and flames. He also has the word’ Rumours’ on his arm. Perhaps he is a fan of Fleetwood Mac. The band play no nonsense femme fronted Ramonse-y power punk. It’s a deceptively simple but big, big sound.

Fever Fever play a blinding set at the Monarch. Intense and heavy rock rap that triggers ecstatic dancing inside the venue and a small crowd to form in the street outside. I love this band.

I end the evening in the Barfly to see old favourites Sauna Youth. I recognise some of the personnel but find they have done a ‘reverse Throwing Up’ and that singer/guitarist Boon has retreated behind a drum kit. The band are a 300mph motorik monster that destroys all in its path. This is absolute ball-out tear-ass rock and roll at its best. They polarise opinions – many leave, whilst the rest of us lurch and bang our heads until they all but fly off. Terrific!

Now that’s a good end to Day One.