Wednesday 21 March 2007

I wander thro' each charter'd street

London Fields # 37
First published Inpress, Melbourne on 21 March 2007
NB: Each column has a name, but these do not appear in print; printed versions may differ slightly to those displayed here

Most of my free time recently has been taken up with flat hunting, as unexpectedly my (rented) home for the past four years has been placed on the market. While the vagaries of the London property market or an examination of the worlds revealed by snooping into other people’s homes, could both make worthy column topics, I really just don’t want to think. So rather bemoan my lot, maybe it’s better to write about some acts I’ve recently seen while not flat hunting?

American bureaucracy forced My Latest Novel down to London to apply in person for their visas for SxSW. Luckily for us, they thought to offset their expenses by playing a one-off show at The Spitz. They are serious but not sombre, and occasionally whimsical. What they play is neither fey, nor twee; Ryan’s drumming and the power of the vocals pack too much of a punch for that. They are masters of the dog-leg song; ones that start off in one direction, then, just when you think you have them sussed, veer off at right angles. Like when Wrongfully I Rested goes to a xylophone, then the violin swoops down and carries the song away. It’s a short-ish set tonight, but the highlights for me are two new songs, I Declare A Ceasefire and If The Accident Will. They clearly show that Wolves was no firework fluke, and that the second album promises to be wonderful rather than difficult.

I caught The Long Blondes twice this month. I thought their debut album was one of the biggest disappointments of 2006; such was the opportunity squandered. Then at their headline NME show, I realised the sad truth – that it was an accurate representation of the homogeneous band they’ve become. Yet as a support to Kaiser Chiefs a mere fortnight later they shine again, it’s roughly the same show without the lowlights. I still think their move towards being Kate Jackson and The Long Blondes is a grave mistake, but hey, it worked for Blondie. Speaking of new wave maestros, am I the only one who thinks that Kaiser Chiefs are today’s equivalent of The Police? Think about it - simplistic songs with singalong choruses that can be learnt on one listen. They put on a mighty fine show too, but sadly over familiarity via saturation airplay may well breed contempt a second time.

Each time I see Apartment, they give me new reasons to continue to rate them as highly as I do. At The Borderline, it was the daring to cover Willie Nelson’s Crazy (as immortalised by Patsy Cline), and to not only get away with it, but to make it entirely their own. There are now many strong tracks that it feels like a greatest hits set, and David’s complete demolition of a guitar during set closer Beyond My Control is the first time I’ve seen it done and not felt it was childish or unnecessary posturing. And they’ve signed Tim Ten Yen to their label Fleet Street Records, and will be releasing his debut single, Run Around (Get Around).

Tim Ten Yen is possibly the most arch creator of pure pop tunes since the heyday of The Reels! Tall, and wearing a suit, there’s a tiny bit of Nick Cave, a huge dollop of Neil Hammond, and even a sprinkling of Pee Wee Herman. It’s camp and vaguely silly, but as it’s done with such panache and humour he gets away with it. The songs are written to be remembered on first listen; his dance moves may take longer to pick up. For what you effectively have is someone who looks like a city worker running round like Bob Downe doing Ian Curtis, singing songs about bears and foxes up in the mountains. But TTY isn’t just limited to pop; his set touches reggae and country & western, even leaving room for a paean to MOR. So, what on one level is a giant karaoke show, with a besuited man running on the spot, adding occasional live Casio accompaniment, becomes one of the most endearingly funny and original things I’ve seen in ages.

Black Rebel Motorcycle Club are a strange beast. They play to a formula but are in no way formulaic. They have pretensions, yet still seem to be honest and genuine. Theirs is a simple colour palette: white, red and black, with a misting of dry ice. Tonight they get all the big numbers out of the way early, which allows them to get on and just play. And when they get going they’re like some relentless juggernaut. Playing a one-off gig in a beautiful Art Deco ballroom to preview songs from the forthcoming Baby 81, BRMC demonstrate that they have moved on from Howl, but the acoustic guitars that were the backbone of that album are still in place, but now playing rock. It’s hard to really let go at their shows as they don’t – they may be an extremely good live act, but while enthusiastic they never seem impassioned. So when the audience go nuts for Punk Song, they don’t. Nevertheless, I’m still looking forward to seeing them again in a month.

By which time I hope normal service have been resumed, from a new home (if I can find it)…

© James McGalliard 2007