London Fields # 86
First published Inpress (Issue # 1055), Melbourne on 29 December 2010, and in a shortened version in Drum Media (Issue # 1041), Sydney on 28 December 2010
NB: Each column has a name, but these do not appear in print; printed versions may differ slightly to those displayed here
2010 was a year was marked by enforced inactivity, from environmental factors stopping travel to musicians actively not playing to raise money for charity. There was an election without a winner, and the country seemed to be the loser. A year that began with slacktivism ended with riots on the streets and the threat of water cannons to control them. A temporary immigration cap was ruled as unlawful, and the spectre of swine flu appeared, was forgotten about and then returned with the Yuletide snows. The island nature of Britain was emphasised again and again, as it was isolated by weather conditions and volcanic eruptions. In the weeks of silent skies brought on by the Icelandic volcano, it seemed British sea power was the only way to get off this island, or get back to it. The flotilla of boats crossing the channel were portrayed as embodying the Dunkirk spirit, but the panic as crammed ferries departed leaving some stranded in France seemed more like the last days of Saigon.
Liberal Democrat leader Nick Clegg seemed to offer a third way, and won many student votes with promises not to introduce tuition fees for tertiary students. When these (and other) election promises evaporated at the first important vote, there was justifiable anger leading to a series of demonstrations and near riots in cities across the country. Austerity was the catchphrase, and the pre-election word hope was quickly replaced by despair. The recession continued, and Royal Mail was offered up for privatisation. The only bright spot seemed to be BBC 6Music being spared the axe.
The National reached a greater audience with High Violet, but are still waiting for that R.E.M. style breakthrough. Although their London shows were blighted with poor sound, Archie Bronson Outfit’s Coconut was a remarkable curveball, in many ways achieving what Grinderman’s latest failed to do. Exit Calm’s self-titled debut captured the power of their live shows, while Stephen Jones revived BabyBird and on Ex Maniac created some of the pithiest pop in years. Peter Gabriel’s covers album may have been uninspiring, but his live orchestral show in the cavernous O2 was a one of the live performances of the year for me, along with shows from Julian Cope at Brighton’s Komedia, and Get Well Soon at the Borderline. Although larger venues thrived, some great smaller venues (such as The Luminaire) were lost.
On television, Misfits won the BAFTA for best drama, and returned with a strong second series, but Vexed showed writer Howard Overman could also get things badly wrong. Crime drama was everywhere, with The Silence continuing the trend of strip programming across consecutive weeknights. Luther allowed Idris Elba a British starring vehicle after The Wire, while Thorne showed Sky could produce drama and Sherlock was over too soon. The BBC also continued their run of excellent biopics, but their strongest contributions seemed to be documentaries - from Matt Frei’s excellent Berlin, through BBC Four‘s Maps season, to Michael Cockerell’s fascinating The Great Offices of State. But best of all was Wonders of the Solar System, where former D:Ream keyboard player Professor Brian Cox won huge audiences, by bring physics and astronomy together in a fascinating, involving, understandable yet uncondescending way.
While some of the old favourites, like The IT Crowd and Peep Show, showed definite signs of wear, it was a great year for new comedy on TV. Getting On returned for its first full series, while Rev. and Whites both became definite weekly highlights. Stand-up played a big role, but The Steven K Amos Show felt like a ‘70s timewarp and was barely watchable, while with Lee Nelson’s Well Good Show Simon Brodkin showed how well a live studio audience can be used. Harry Hill’s TV Burp and Charlie Brooker’s Wipe shows also were essential viewing, and I had a soft-spot for Mongrels whose puppets allowed them to get away with jokes living performers never could.
2010 saw the final death throes of New Labour, a government no one voted for seizing power, and the phrase ‘The Troubles in Ireland’ take on new meaning. It was the year that the World Cup bid wasn’t won, but where English fans expressed their love of the game by booing their own players. A year when so called legal highs were outlawed, a London bike hire scheme begin, and George & Lynne stopped appearing in The Sun. It was the year that The Bill ended its run, a year that wanted to be over so quickly that 2011 coins were already in circulation by December. As I write, the Arctic freeze gripping the country looks set to continue until at least the middle of January. The future seems to hold huge redundancies, further unrest, an unstable economy and a royal wedding. This last may give those still in employment an extra day‘s holiday. Happy New Year!
© James McGalliard 2010
Inpress: Published on page 53
Drum: Published on page 51
Showing posts with label Exit Calm. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Exit Calm. Show all posts
Wednesday, 29 December 2010
Wednesday, 11 August 2010
Life In A Day
London Fields # 81
First published Inpress, Melbourne on 11 August 2010
NB: Each column has a name, but these do not appear in print; printed versions may differ slightly to those displayed here
The English midsummer marks the height of the festival season - each weekend events jostle for attention and audience. Yet over the past few years there’s been a new type of event gaining popularity - that of the day festival. Usually at this time of year you’d find me at the Truck Festival at Hill Farm, Steventon in Oxfordshire. 2010 marked its 13th year, and it’s hard to think of a better combination of music, atmosphere and good vibes as this event continues to offer. But circumstances made it impossible for me to get there this year, so as compensation I decided to check out some of these newer day events. While these give you a festival experience without stepping out too far from home or having to camp, the trouble with holding them in urban parks is the enforced sound restrictions If it’s loud enough for the punters inside the fences, it’s probably a nightmare of shuddering windows for nearby residents. Yet when you use more high-tech directional PAs, it does really restrict the area in which paying audience can experience good quality sound.
The first thing that greets me as I arrive at the dusty expanses of a very dry Shoreditch Park in Hackney is an enormous queue. This it turns out if for VIPs and those on the free list . As I’ve bought my ticket for the third Shoreditch 1234 Festival it turns out I can walk straight in - well almost. The security searches are vigorous, and apparently they’re under strict instructions not to allow any food or water entering the arena. In front of me a woman gets into an argument with them as they take exception to a small box of nuts in her handbag. Her friend diffuses a rapidly escalating situation by taking them herself and tipping them into the bin. Nearby someone says they have special food with them due to a gluten intolerance - they’re told they have to eat it now or toss it. God help a diabetic carrying an emergency Mars bar. Inside are three tent stages, and one main outdoor one. Some of the acts I catch during the day include S.C.U.M, Dum Dum Girls, Vivian Girls, Rolo Tomassi, and Bobby Gillespie’s new covers supergroup The Silver Machine. Later I wait fruitlessly for These New Puritans to fix a catastrophic equipment failure which sees everything seize after a single song; it is in vain. But the real reason I’m here is to catch the only London performance of Peter Hook’s take on Unknown Pleasures. On the whole it’s better than you’d think it might be, although Hooky’s air punching gets a bit tiresome, and it is weird that his son who plays the iconic bassline to She’s Lost Control.
You’d be hard pushed to find a more corporately branded event than Ben & Jerry’s Sundae On The Common, yet the way it is done doesn‘t make it feel too much of an imposition. Like the end of an episode of Sesame Street, it‘s continually drummed in that today was bought to you by Fair Trade and a multinational company which loves the planet. This is the sixth year of Sundae and my third visit and while ticket prices may have nearly doubled in the last two years, at around £17 they’re still very reasonably priced. You couldn’t get an atmosphere less like the 1234 Festival After yesterday’s experience I have nothing with me; of course today anything is allowed other than drugs, glass and alcohol. It’s is genuinely a family-friendly event, and early in the day the bands tend to be seen as a mild distraction - the real attraction is the free ice cream.
Although officially opening the day, Barnsley’s Exit Calm are my main draw card and they play a headline-worthy set. Rob Marshall’s anthemic guitar lines are loud and clear whilst singer Nicky Smith paces up and down like a caged tiger, seemingly ready to explode into violence at any moment. Simon Lindley’s fluid bass and Scott Pemberton’s tight stick work complete the sound and it’s really damn impressive. When an act can hold a stage with such well-informed self-belief, it won’t be long before they’re topping the bill at events larger than this. Later in the day Frightened Rabbit explain that even though this is a family event if they only chose numbers with G-rated lyrics they’d be down to a two song set. So it’s business as usual - thankfully. Billy Bragg doesn’t have his hands down the front of his trousers but his undies on the outside of his jeans - for Pants For Poverty. His set includes a sublime rendition of Must I Paint You A Picture? as its subject used to live on the other side of the Common. doves close the day, and this is their penultimate set before going on a long hiatus. It all feels a little tired, and only on Kingdom Of Rust do I see again the band I used to love so much.
© James McGalliard 2010
First published Inpress, Melbourne on 11 August 2010
NB: Each column has a name, but these do not appear in print; printed versions may differ slightly to those displayed here
The English midsummer marks the height of the festival season - each weekend events jostle for attention and audience. Yet over the past few years there’s been a new type of event gaining popularity - that of the day festival. Usually at this time of year you’d find me at the Truck Festival at Hill Farm, Steventon in Oxfordshire. 2010 marked its 13th year, and it’s hard to think of a better combination of music, atmosphere and good vibes as this event continues to offer. But circumstances made it impossible for me to get there this year, so as compensation I decided to check out some of these newer day events. While these give you a festival experience without stepping out too far from home or having to camp, the trouble with holding them in urban parks is the enforced sound restrictions If it’s loud enough for the punters inside the fences, it’s probably a nightmare of shuddering windows for nearby residents. Yet when you use more high-tech directional PAs, it does really restrict the area in which paying audience can experience good quality sound.
The first thing that greets me as I arrive at the dusty expanses of a very dry Shoreditch Park in Hackney is an enormous queue. This it turns out if for VIPs and those on the free list . As I’ve bought my ticket for the third Shoreditch 1234 Festival it turns out I can walk straight in - well almost. The security searches are vigorous, and apparently they’re under strict instructions not to allow any food or water entering the arena. In front of me a woman gets into an argument with them as they take exception to a small box of nuts in her handbag. Her friend diffuses a rapidly escalating situation by taking them herself and tipping them into the bin. Nearby someone says they have special food with them due to a gluten intolerance - they’re told they have to eat it now or toss it. God help a diabetic carrying an emergency Mars bar. Inside are three tent stages, and one main outdoor one. Some of the acts I catch during the day include S.C.U.M, Dum Dum Girls, Vivian Girls, Rolo Tomassi, and Bobby Gillespie’s new covers supergroup The Silver Machine. Later I wait fruitlessly for These New Puritans to fix a catastrophic equipment failure which sees everything seize after a single song; it is in vain. But the real reason I’m here is to catch the only London performance of Peter Hook’s take on Unknown Pleasures. On the whole it’s better than you’d think it might be, although Hooky’s air punching gets a bit tiresome, and it is weird that his son who plays the iconic bassline to She’s Lost Control.
You’d be hard pushed to find a more corporately branded event than Ben & Jerry’s Sundae On The Common, yet the way it is done doesn‘t make it feel too much of an imposition. Like the end of an episode of Sesame Street, it‘s continually drummed in that today was bought to you by Fair Trade and a multinational company which loves the planet. This is the sixth year of Sundae and my third visit and while ticket prices may have nearly doubled in the last two years, at around £17 they’re still very reasonably priced. You couldn’t get an atmosphere less like the 1234 Festival After yesterday’s experience I have nothing with me; of course today anything is allowed other than drugs, glass and alcohol. It’s is genuinely a family-friendly event, and early in the day the bands tend to be seen as a mild distraction - the real attraction is the free ice cream.
Although officially opening the day, Barnsley’s Exit Calm are my main draw card and they play a headline-worthy set. Rob Marshall’s anthemic guitar lines are loud and clear whilst singer Nicky Smith paces up and down like a caged tiger, seemingly ready to explode into violence at any moment. Simon Lindley’s fluid bass and Scott Pemberton’s tight stick work complete the sound and it’s really damn impressive. When an act can hold a stage with such well-informed self-belief, it won’t be long before they’re topping the bill at events larger than this. Later in the day Frightened Rabbit explain that even though this is a family event if they only chose numbers with G-rated lyrics they’d be down to a two song set. So it’s business as usual - thankfully. Billy Bragg doesn’t have his hands down the front of his trousers but his undies on the outside of his jeans - for Pants For Poverty. His set includes a sublime rendition of Must I Paint You A Picture? as its subject used to live on the other side of the Common. doves close the day, and this is their penultimate set before going on a long hiatus. It all feels a little tired, and only on Kingdom Of Rust do I see again the band I used to love so much.
© James McGalliard 2010
Wednesday, 9 December 2009
Label With Love
London Fields # 72
First published Inpress, Melbourne on 9 December 2009
NB: Each column has a name, but these do not appear in print; printed versions may differ slightly to those displayed here
There was a recent television history of British music that skipped straight from the second summer of love in 1988 to BritPop in the mid-nineties, as though nothing happened in the interim. In fact, BritPop and Dad Rock spelled the end of a much more interesting music scene. At the time, shoegazing was coined as a pejorative term, referring to guitarists staring at their array of effects pedals down from behind curtained hair while all-but-ignoring the audience. In the years since, the influence of that music has reverberated with another generation, and an ongoing renaissance has been steadily progressing, albeit without much mainstream recognition. While the whole concept of an impending shoegaze revival is a bit of a misnomer, what has changed is the general awareness and appreciation of the music, so that My Bloody Valentine can now pull audiences they couldn’t even dream of in their heyday.
Club AC30 celebrated their fifth birthday last April, and over the last weekend of November presented Reverence # 2, exhibiting just some aspects of the modern scene, over three nights at the ICA in London. Club AC30’s shows are different to the norm; Robin and Duncan (with Nick) have a genuine love of their music and every band has a reason to be on that particular bill. As such, an unknown opener could prove to be your new favourite band, which makes their nights special indeed. Reverence # 2 sees a mix of old and new, with two of the headliners reforming from way back when.
Air Formation‘s music promises that their forthcoming album could be a blinder; live however, they’re a little hindered by the vocals, although these improve immensely as their set progresses. I’ve always thought there was a link between shoegaze and the euphoric side of trance. Ulrich Schnauss doesn’t go near a guitar, but like trance, his music acts as a soundtrack to an internal journey, one where it’s possible to lose oneself in it and make freefall associations as though in a deep meditative state - but this is travelling without drugs or physical movement. As projections show a travelogue through the cities of Europe, I realise that this music isn’t about pedals or controlled feedback, but a state of mind. Headlining the night, Chapterhouse are probably a better live prospect now than they were back then. They stake a valid claim not to be forgotten, and Falling Down feels like a lost baggy anthem from Madchester. The following night Swervedriver play as though there’s some unfinished business and they’re trying to set it right. It’s a strange contrast – there’s warmth but a clinical edge, and the raw edge to the vocals makes me think of Chris Bailey. Earlier, The Depreciation Guild show that this music can be light, playful and joyous, but still carry gravitas. I confess Jesu were a bit heavy for me, or at least for my mood on this evening.
On the final night, The Tamborines are rather special - things fall into place like no other gig I’ve seen them play and they’re damn impressive. They’re followed by Ringo Deathstarr from Austin, Texas who mix fuzz pedal rock, dreampop and US garage punk - In Love being the standout of a strong set. The only disappointment of the whole three nights comes at the finale with The Pains Of Being Pure At Heart. Playing as a five piece, it’s more like The Heartbreak Of Playing Painfully Flat, and only Higher Than The Stars threatens to lift things, but even that crumbles when the singing starts. This C86 inspired mess is so bad a pastiche it’s almost offensive, yet the members of the audience who spent all of Ringo Deathstarr’s set taking photos of each other for Facebook seem mesmerised, so what do I know?
Although I’m excited by some releases by newer bands coming in 2010 (Exit Calm and When The Sun Hits for starters), there’s still some originals I’d love to return to show why they’re remembered so fondly. While Lush isn’t possible, and Slowdive more than unlikely, I can still hope to see Pale Saints or Bark Psychosis play again in some form. Meanwhile, the rumour mill whispers that a certain Oxford four-piece will choose not to Leave Them All Behind next year, so this is far from over.
© James McGalliard 2009
First published Inpress, Melbourne on 9 December 2009
NB: Each column has a name, but these do not appear in print; printed versions may differ slightly to those displayed here
There was a recent television history of British music that skipped straight from the second summer of love in 1988 to BritPop in the mid-nineties, as though nothing happened in the interim. In fact, BritPop and Dad Rock spelled the end of a much more interesting music scene. At the time, shoegazing was coined as a pejorative term, referring to guitarists staring at their array of effects pedals down from behind curtained hair while all-but-ignoring the audience. In the years since, the influence of that music has reverberated with another generation, and an ongoing renaissance has been steadily progressing, albeit without much mainstream recognition. While the whole concept of an impending shoegaze revival is a bit of a misnomer, what has changed is the general awareness and appreciation of the music, so that My Bloody Valentine can now pull audiences they couldn’t even dream of in their heyday.
Club AC30 celebrated their fifth birthday last April, and over the last weekend of November presented Reverence # 2, exhibiting just some aspects of the modern scene, over three nights at the ICA in London. Club AC30’s shows are different to the norm; Robin and Duncan (with Nick) have a genuine love of their music and every band has a reason to be on that particular bill. As such, an unknown opener could prove to be your new favourite band, which makes their nights special indeed. Reverence # 2 sees a mix of old and new, with two of the headliners reforming from way back when.
Air Formation‘s music promises that their forthcoming album could be a blinder; live however, they’re a little hindered by the vocals, although these improve immensely as their set progresses. I’ve always thought there was a link between shoegaze and the euphoric side of trance. Ulrich Schnauss doesn’t go near a guitar, but like trance, his music acts as a soundtrack to an internal journey, one where it’s possible to lose oneself in it and make freefall associations as though in a deep meditative state - but this is travelling without drugs or physical movement. As projections show a travelogue through the cities of Europe, I realise that this music isn’t about pedals or controlled feedback, but a state of mind. Headlining the night, Chapterhouse are probably a better live prospect now than they were back then. They stake a valid claim not to be forgotten, and Falling Down feels like a lost baggy anthem from Madchester. The following night Swervedriver play as though there’s some unfinished business and they’re trying to set it right. It’s a strange contrast – there’s warmth but a clinical edge, and the raw edge to the vocals makes me think of Chris Bailey. Earlier, The Depreciation Guild show that this music can be light, playful and joyous, but still carry gravitas. I confess Jesu were a bit heavy for me, or at least for my mood on this evening.
On the final night, The Tamborines are rather special - things fall into place like no other gig I’ve seen them play and they’re damn impressive. They’re followed by Ringo Deathstarr from Austin, Texas who mix fuzz pedal rock, dreampop and US garage punk - In Love being the standout of a strong set. The only disappointment of the whole three nights comes at the finale with The Pains Of Being Pure At Heart. Playing as a five piece, it’s more like The Heartbreak Of Playing Painfully Flat, and only Higher Than The Stars threatens to lift things, but even that crumbles when the singing starts. This C86 inspired mess is so bad a pastiche it’s almost offensive, yet the members of the audience who spent all of Ringo Deathstarr’s set taking photos of each other for Facebook seem mesmerised, so what do I know?
Although I’m excited by some releases by newer bands coming in 2010 (Exit Calm and When The Sun Hits for starters), there’s still some originals I’d love to return to show why they’re remembered so fondly. While Lush isn’t possible, and Slowdive more than unlikely, I can still hope to see Pale Saints or Bark Psychosis play again in some form. Meanwhile, the rumour mill whispers that a certain Oxford four-piece will choose not to Leave Them All Behind next year, so this is far from over.
© James McGalliard 2009
Wednesday, 23 April 2008
Gypsyfolkpunkrock
London Fields # 51
First published Inpress, Melbourne on 23 April 2008
NB: Each column has a name, but these do not appear in print; printed versions may differ slightly to those displayed here
There are some interesting developments in indie UK music away from the generic ‘Carling Indierock’ that seems to be widely exported. There’s a growing unquiet, which is finding its expression not through radio-friendly unit shifters like The Enemy, but via singer-songwriters. While you could say that some of these were following in Billy Bragg’s footsteps, and others from a folk rock tradition, each is saying something different in a vibrant way.
I suppose the most long-standing one of these artists is Chris T-T. His early records were very London-based – The 253 album was named after a bus route (which ran from Whitechapel to Euston via Hackney, Finsbury Park and Camden). In October 2005 came his furious protest LP 9 Red Songs, resulting in some media attention and a live session with Tom Robinson on BBC 6Music. I caught him play a mid-afternoon set on the main stage at Truck Festival last summer, and was suitably impressed with his personality, his wit and his songwriting. He’s just released Capital, which completes the London triptych he began with The 253. Sharing a label with Chris T-T, and having recently toured in America with him, is Frank Turner. Like Billy Bragg, he came from a punk background, in this case as frontman of defunct punk rock band Million Dead. Turner has just released Love Ire and Song, his second album as a solo artist. It’s a more political beast and perhaps not as endearing as its predecessor, Sleep is for the Week, which dealt more with personal relationships. Yet both albums share a refreshing honesty and candour of music and lyrics which distinguish him from the run of the mill. For both artists are making strong statements in a time when much of the music that is broadcast is mainly apolitical and homogeneous.
On The Ballad Of Me And My Friends, Frank Turner sings of playing ‘another Nambucca show’. Tom Hull, aka Kid Harpoon, started his London career living above, and playing regularly at that very north London venue. I first caught Kid Harpoon as a solo artist, opening the bill for shoegazey folk-rockers Fields. Accompanying himself on an acoustic guitar, he had a great presence, and a strong set of songs. But the crowning glory was his blistering take on Leonard Cohen’s First We Take Manhattan. Since then, he’s recruited a band, The Powers That Be, and I’ve seen them several time before, but nothing prepared me for the joyous explosion they created recently at a show at Dingwalls. For in an age when gigs can be over-regulated, they showed people it was possible to have fun without being ejected from the venue. From the people who ran onstage and planted kisses on Tom’s cheek, to the crowdsurfers, and those who stayed onstage to sing along the chorus of The Milkmaid – all were left alone to get on with it and no-one was hurt or evicted. With the full band, the music is sorta gypsy folk punk rock, showing the transparency of all those post-Libertines acts. For what Kid and The Powers have created is a musical timewarp, an age when you could let it all go at a gig and have a fantastic time without fear. And it’s still early days; he and his band are still finding their way and learning just what they can achieve. But the most startling thing is the way Manhattan is now his song, just as much as John Cale or Jeff Buckley can lay claim to Cohen’s Hallelujah.
Although not folky in any sense, but like Kid Harpoon another of my picks for 2008, there have been great leaps forwards by Exit Calm. When I first saw them I loved the music but was unsure of their singer. But now Nicky Smith has all the swagger of Ian Brown and the menace of a young Liam Gallagher, but his throaty rasp is all his own. The only thing that may stand in their way is the volume of Rob Marshall’s guitar, which at a recent show at The 100 Club threatened to destroy anything within a 400’ radius of the stage.
Speaking of loud, there’s been a huge shift in the world of The Twilight Sad - they’ve added a fifth member. Now the Sad were my favourite act of 2007; each show was special and unique. And it’s unfair to make a judgement based on a single show, but their London showcase at The 100 Club was the first time they didn’t blow my proverbial socks off. Dok (from Aereogramme) is the newcomer, and he fills out the sound with keyboards, loops and some additional guitar. Alas, it was a case of more is less. For there was a purity about the four-piece – the contrasts between the fury and the ebb. The impact of this has lessened with the expansion, as all the spaces are filled. Afterwards the band tells me this addition is permanent, as they felt they needed some new input. I’ll tend to trust them and wait to see how it all turns out as they’ve been right in so many ways before. Oh, and the new stuff sounds just grand…
© James McGalliard 2008
First published Inpress, Melbourne on 23 April 2008
NB: Each column has a name, but these do not appear in print; printed versions may differ slightly to those displayed here
There are some interesting developments in indie UK music away from the generic ‘Carling Indierock’ that seems to be widely exported. There’s a growing unquiet, which is finding its expression not through radio-friendly unit shifters like The Enemy, but via singer-songwriters. While you could say that some of these were following in Billy Bragg’s footsteps, and others from a folk rock tradition, each is saying something different in a vibrant way.
I suppose the most long-standing one of these artists is Chris T-T. His early records were very London-based – The 253 album was named after a bus route (which ran from Whitechapel to Euston via Hackney, Finsbury Park and Camden). In October 2005 came his furious protest LP 9 Red Songs, resulting in some media attention and a live session with Tom Robinson on BBC 6Music. I caught him play a mid-afternoon set on the main stage at Truck Festival last summer, and was suitably impressed with his personality, his wit and his songwriting. He’s just released Capital, which completes the London triptych he began with The 253. Sharing a label with Chris T-T, and having recently toured in America with him, is Frank Turner. Like Billy Bragg, he came from a punk background, in this case as frontman of defunct punk rock band Million Dead. Turner has just released Love Ire and Song, his second album as a solo artist. It’s a more political beast and perhaps not as endearing as its predecessor, Sleep is for the Week, which dealt more with personal relationships. Yet both albums share a refreshing honesty and candour of music and lyrics which distinguish him from the run of the mill. For both artists are making strong statements in a time when much of the music that is broadcast is mainly apolitical and homogeneous.
On The Ballad Of Me And My Friends, Frank Turner sings of playing ‘another Nambucca show’. Tom Hull, aka Kid Harpoon, started his London career living above, and playing regularly at that very north London venue. I first caught Kid Harpoon as a solo artist, opening the bill for shoegazey folk-rockers Fields. Accompanying himself on an acoustic guitar, he had a great presence, and a strong set of songs. But the crowning glory was his blistering take on Leonard Cohen’s First We Take Manhattan. Since then, he’s recruited a band, The Powers That Be, and I’ve seen them several time before, but nothing prepared me for the joyous explosion they created recently at a show at Dingwalls. For in an age when gigs can be over-regulated, they showed people it was possible to have fun without being ejected from the venue. From the people who ran onstage and planted kisses on Tom’s cheek, to the crowdsurfers, and those who stayed onstage to sing along the chorus of The Milkmaid – all were left alone to get on with it and no-one was hurt or evicted. With the full band, the music is sorta gypsy folk punk rock, showing the transparency of all those post-Libertines acts. For what Kid and The Powers have created is a musical timewarp, an age when you could let it all go at a gig and have a fantastic time without fear. And it’s still early days; he and his band are still finding their way and learning just what they can achieve. But the most startling thing is the way Manhattan is now his song, just as much as John Cale or Jeff Buckley can lay claim to Cohen’s Hallelujah.
Although not folky in any sense, but like Kid Harpoon another of my picks for 2008, there have been great leaps forwards by Exit Calm. When I first saw them I loved the music but was unsure of their singer. But now Nicky Smith has all the swagger of Ian Brown and the menace of a young Liam Gallagher, but his throaty rasp is all his own. The only thing that may stand in their way is the volume of Rob Marshall’s guitar, which at a recent show at The 100 Club threatened to destroy anything within a 400’ radius of the stage.
Speaking of loud, there’s been a huge shift in the world of The Twilight Sad - they’ve added a fifth member. Now the Sad were my favourite act of 2007; each show was special and unique. And it’s unfair to make a judgement based on a single show, but their London showcase at The 100 Club was the first time they didn’t blow my proverbial socks off. Dok (from Aereogramme) is the newcomer, and he fills out the sound with keyboards, loops and some additional guitar. Alas, it was a case of more is less. For there was a purity about the four-piece – the contrasts between the fury and the ebb. The impact of this has lessened with the expansion, as all the spaces are filled. Afterwards the band tells me this addition is permanent, as they felt they needed some new input. I’ll tend to trust them and wait to see how it all turns out as they’ve been right in so many ways before. Oh, and the new stuff sounds just grand…
© James McGalliard 2008
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