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 Get Well Soon. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Get Well Soon. Show all posts
Wednesday, 29 December 2010
Wednesday, 21 April 2010
Sounding Off
London Fields # 77
First published Inpress, Melbourne on 21 April 2010
NB: Each column has a name, but these do not appear in print; printed versions may differ slightly to those displayed here
There are many annoyances for the regular gig goer, but they come in two main forms. Hell can indeed be other people, especially when basic etiquette fails while you’re crammed tightly into hot sweaty places . You know the issues - inconsiderate talkers, pushy aggressive idiots, drink-spilling inebriates, tall people who stand in front of you just as the show’s about to begin, snoggers, pack-lugging Sherpas, and those who film the entire gig - on their phone - perfectly obscuring your one clear line of sight. There’s often not a lot you can do about any of these. But the second is to do with the venues (and bands) themselves - poorly run or ridiculously expensive bars, overzealous security, low stages, inadequate loos. But the one inexcusable bugbear that threatens to ruin so many gigs is simple - poor quality live sound.
To get the most out of a gig, there’s always a need for compromise between the best viewing position and being far enough back to hear the front of house PA rather than the onstage foldback. While music technology continues to improve, it seems similar shifts haven’t always been audible at shows, even avoiding venues where sound quality is always poor. Stephen Jones has one of the purest pop voices around, and I really enjoyed his low-key shows with BabyBird last November. The new album Ex-Maniac is the strongest collection of songs from him in 12 years, so I was really looking forward to a bigger show at The Scala. Although the band sounded great, his vocals sounded like they were all via foldback, akin to the quality of singing down a toilet paper tube.
Meanwhile, over at St Leonard’s Church, The Hidden Cameras were playing a special fundraiser for the Albert Kennedy Trust. For this acoustic performance, they were backed by a 15 piece classical ensemble. This also started well, the orchestra using the natural ambience of the venue. Alas then came Joel Gibb’s vocals. Actually, there was nothing wrong with them; it was just they were amplified - very amplified, and they all but overwhelmed nearly everything else. Has the penchant for in-ear monitors distanced artists so much that they don’t realise what is happening? Or simply don’t care? Actually - that’s not true. After a forum thread complaining about the sound at a recent gig by Archie Bronson Outfit at ULU, the band were evidently really bothered. They posted an apology on their MySpace (since removed) and promised to investigate the issue.
Live sound can be so much better than the home listening experience. At The Borderline, Get Well Soon took quiet/loud to an art form, from whisper quiet to a gestalt mass playing strings, guitars and brass, allowing every nuance and subtlety to shine. But the most remarkable live reproduction this year was from Peter Gabriel and the New Blood Orchestra at The O2 Arena. While the Scratch My Back album (played uninterrupted in its entirety) suffered the same issues as its source (too one-paced), it sounded far superior to the recorded version. Each member of the orchestra had been carefully amplified retaining a true acoustic feel while delivering a spine-tingling performance to every corner to a 20,000 seat arena.
Live music has become really big business. The British Isles have 5 of the world’s top 17 ticket-selling music venues. Despite the recession, larger UK venues took 40% more revenue last year than in 2008, and overall audiences were up by 30%, while ticket prices for big name arena acts rose £10 to an average of £52 a ticket. In smaller venues, the Oxford based ticket agency WeGotTickets (which has bypassed tickets by effectively creating paid guest lists in lieu) has doubled its business over the past 12 months. The big agencies have moved in the ;secondary ticket’ market (aka reselling), and next month Ticketmaster are running a trial of Paperless Ticket technology at Wembley for an instantly sold-out gig by Flight Of The Conchords .
Yet again, it seems as though the music industry is doing more to kill itself than illegal downloads. The upside of that debate has always been that hearing the music gets people to the shows, spending far more on tickets sales and merchandise that the cost of a CD. Despite many indications to the contrary, the reason most of us go is for the music, so the way a show sounds should be paramount. But if care is taken out of the equation, will we continue to come back?
First published Inpress, Melbourne on 21 April 2010
NB: Each column has a name, but these do not appear in print; printed versions may differ slightly to those displayed here
There are many annoyances for the regular gig goer, but they come in two main forms. Hell can indeed be other people, especially when basic etiquette fails while you’re crammed tightly into hot sweaty places . You know the issues - inconsiderate talkers, pushy aggressive idiots, drink-spilling inebriates, tall people who stand in front of you just as the show’s about to begin, snoggers, pack-lugging Sherpas, and those who film the entire gig - on their phone - perfectly obscuring your one clear line of sight. There’s often not a lot you can do about any of these. But the second is to do with the venues (and bands) themselves - poorly run or ridiculously expensive bars, overzealous security, low stages, inadequate loos. But the one inexcusable bugbear that threatens to ruin so many gigs is simple - poor quality live sound.
To get the most out of a gig, there’s always a need for compromise between the best viewing position and being far enough back to hear the front of house PA rather than the onstage foldback. While music technology continues to improve, it seems similar shifts haven’t always been audible at shows, even avoiding venues where sound quality is always poor. Stephen Jones has one of the purest pop voices around, and I really enjoyed his low-key shows with BabyBird last November. The new album Ex-Maniac is the strongest collection of songs from him in 12 years, so I was really looking forward to a bigger show at The Scala. Although the band sounded great, his vocals sounded like they were all via foldback, akin to the quality of singing down a toilet paper tube.
Meanwhile, over at St Leonard’s Church, The Hidden Cameras were playing a special fundraiser for the Albert Kennedy Trust. For this acoustic performance, they were backed by a 15 piece classical ensemble. This also started well, the orchestra using the natural ambience of the venue. Alas then came Joel Gibb’s vocals. Actually, there was nothing wrong with them; it was just they were amplified - very amplified, and they all but overwhelmed nearly everything else. Has the penchant for in-ear monitors distanced artists so much that they don’t realise what is happening? Or simply don’t care? Actually - that’s not true. After a forum thread complaining about the sound at a recent gig by Archie Bronson Outfit at ULU, the band were evidently really bothered. They posted an apology on their MySpace (since removed) and promised to investigate the issue.
Live sound can be so much better than the home listening experience. At The Borderline, Get Well Soon took quiet/loud to an art form, from whisper quiet to a gestalt mass playing strings, guitars and brass, allowing every nuance and subtlety to shine. But the most remarkable live reproduction this year was from Peter Gabriel and the New Blood Orchestra at The O2 Arena. While the Scratch My Back album (played uninterrupted in its entirety) suffered the same issues as its source (too one-paced), it sounded far superior to the recorded version. Each member of the orchestra had been carefully amplified retaining a true acoustic feel while delivering a spine-tingling performance to every corner to a 20,000 seat arena.
Live music has become really big business. The British Isles have 5 of the world’s top 17 ticket-selling music venues. Despite the recession, larger UK venues took 40% more revenue last year than in 2008, and overall audiences were up by 30%, while ticket prices for big name arena acts rose £10 to an average of £52 a ticket. In smaller venues, the Oxford based ticket agency WeGotTickets (which has bypassed tickets by effectively creating paid guest lists in lieu) has doubled its business over the past 12 months. The big agencies have moved in the ;secondary ticket’ market (aka reselling), and next month Ticketmaster are running a trial of Paperless Ticket technology at Wembley for an instantly sold-out gig by Flight Of The Conchords .
Yet again, it seems as though the music industry is doing more to kill itself than illegal downloads. The upside of that debate has always been that hearing the music gets people to the shows, spending far more on tickets sales and merchandise that the cost of a CD. Despite many indications to the contrary, the reason most of us go is for the music, so the way a show sounds should be paramount. But if care is taken out of the equation, will we continue to come back?
© James McGalliard 2010
Wednesday, 18 June 2008
Dispatches From The Moshpit
London Fields # 53
First published Inpress, Melbourne on 18 June 2008
NB: Each column has a name, but these do not appear in print; printed versions may differ slightly to those displayed here
One of the troubles with seeing so many live acts is finding time to write about them. Individual reviews need to have a reason to stand on their own, and sometimes you may only have scribbled a few rough thoughts about the evening before life intervenes. This month I thought I’d share an assemblage of rough thoughts on some of my recent live experiences, which never quite became full reviews.
Rest Now, Weary Head, You Will Get Well Soon is easily one of my favourite albums of the year, but I wasn’t sure how well a meticulously assembled one-man studio project would work live. But only a few seconds into a recent show at Bush Hall, any fears were allayed as a seven-piece Get Well Soon launched into Prelude, its a cappella opening bursting into a full band roar. This was quiet/loud as an art form, and rarely have I seen it performed with such grace and skill. This was swiftly followed by the mariachi horns of You/Aurora/You/Seaside, and the dark brood of If This Hat Is Missing I Have Gone Hunting. I was left in awe at the sheer skill and mastery of it all, and time and time again deep shivers of joy ran down my spine. In this band I hear what everyone else sees in Radiohead. The live act jumps from brash cymbal crashes, to soulful violin or piano accordion, through keyboards, to massed singing. It also has one of the best drummers I’ve seen in a long time, perfectly able to keep up with the extremely eclectic nature of Konstantin Gropper’s compositions. “Are you ready for some nu rave?” was the jokey introduction to his inspired redux of Underworld anthem Born Slippy, but most heartbreaking of all was Automatic Heart, where everything was stripped down to a whisper, until the full band retook the stage for the song’s finale. Seriously brilliant!
Elegies To Lessons Learnt was one of the great disappointments of last year for me; it felt too singularly paced, and it seemed as though iLiKETRAiNS had failed to meet the potential they’d shown with their earlier material. But live it all makes glorious sense – these songs are reflections and tributes to those who have passed before. Ashley Dean’s projections create a travelogue through the losers and losses of history - sort of a weird skew-whiff history presentation. While it could so easily be pretentious, it isn’t at all. It’s a good spirited affair with plenty of banter between band and audience. New song Progress Is A Snake (“A snake can shed it's skin but never change”) turns out to be one of the highlights of the set, and from there the second half is riveting. They can rock like a mother too – so hard that during set closer, Spencer Perceval, frontman David Martin accidentally smashes his guitar. He laments “It’s all very well being rock and roll, but we haven’t any money!” The encore sees a beautiful change of pace, by following the preceding deluge with the sublime instrumental Joshua and slightly upbeat Before The Curtains Close Part 2. Their heyday is yet to come.
The Veils also work on a deeper emotional level. After a major shake-up, they really found their stride on Nux Vomica. They’re in the middle of a residency (above a small pub in Camden) roadtesting material prior to recording the third album, which they hope will be out by January. The new songs sit nicely along old standards like Jesus For The Jugular, which gets an airing tonight. I want to be moved by music; I want to be excited - and nights like this do it. It’s great seeing an established band play with this drive, coming to grips with arrangements which are still fresh to them – seven of the ten songs played are new. The highlights are Someday All This Will Be Yours, and the gentler (and band favourite) Sit By The Fire. There’s a different dynamic without the keyboards, but the barer sound seems to bring out different aspects of the songs, and the band feel harder and more intense than ever.
Another album I’m looking forward to is Simple, which is due out next month from Andy Yorke. His London show saw him struggling with a throat infection, but there’s something I can’t quite put my finger on that makes his music deeply affect me. Is it the way that the melody of the songs glides, or the way the cello occasionally cuts through, or cedes to a Spanish guitar? I’m not sure, but my love of him also led me to discover Frank Turner who he was supporting that night. And Turner is another great find of 2008 for me. I mean how can you not love someone who preludes his set with an acoustic verse from AC/DC’s Rock 'n' Roll Singer, or who introduces himself “I am the Jason Donovan of punk”? Frank Turner’s album launch at the 100 Club was a euphoric singalong from the get-go, of punters finding something that spoke to them, lyrics that touched on a common cultural experience “Yeah, England’s still shit and it’s still raining”. It’s a rare knack to have the great and the cool dosey-dohing, chanting, hugging, and losing their voices by the end of the night, and Turner proves himself a master.
© James McGalliard 2008
First published Inpress, Melbourne on 18 June 2008
NB: Each column has a name, but these do not appear in print; printed versions may differ slightly to those displayed here
One of the troubles with seeing so many live acts is finding time to write about them. Individual reviews need to have a reason to stand on their own, and sometimes you may only have scribbled a few rough thoughts about the evening before life intervenes. This month I thought I’d share an assemblage of rough thoughts on some of my recent live experiences, which never quite became full reviews.
Rest Now, Weary Head, You Will Get Well Soon is easily one of my favourite albums of the year, but I wasn’t sure how well a meticulously assembled one-man studio project would work live. But only a few seconds into a recent show at Bush Hall, any fears were allayed as a seven-piece Get Well Soon launched into Prelude, its a cappella opening bursting into a full band roar. This was quiet/loud as an art form, and rarely have I seen it performed with such grace and skill. This was swiftly followed by the mariachi horns of You/Aurora/You/Seaside, and the dark brood of If This Hat Is Missing I Have Gone Hunting. I was left in awe at the sheer skill and mastery of it all, and time and time again deep shivers of joy ran down my spine. In this band I hear what everyone else sees in Radiohead. The live act jumps from brash cymbal crashes, to soulful violin or piano accordion, through keyboards, to massed singing. It also has one of the best drummers I’ve seen in a long time, perfectly able to keep up with the extremely eclectic nature of Konstantin Gropper’s compositions. “Are you ready for some nu rave?” was the jokey introduction to his inspired redux of Underworld anthem Born Slippy, but most heartbreaking of all was Automatic Heart, where everything was stripped down to a whisper, until the full band retook the stage for the song’s finale. Seriously brilliant!
Elegies To Lessons Learnt was one of the great disappointments of last year for me; it felt too singularly paced, and it seemed as though iLiKETRAiNS had failed to meet the potential they’d shown with their earlier material. But live it all makes glorious sense – these songs are reflections and tributes to those who have passed before. Ashley Dean’s projections create a travelogue through the losers and losses of history - sort of a weird skew-whiff history presentation. While it could so easily be pretentious, it isn’t at all. It’s a good spirited affair with plenty of banter between band and audience. New song Progress Is A Snake (“A snake can shed it's skin but never change”) turns out to be one of the highlights of the set, and from there the second half is riveting. They can rock like a mother too – so hard that during set closer, Spencer Perceval, frontman David Martin accidentally smashes his guitar. He laments “It’s all very well being rock and roll, but we haven’t any money!” The encore sees a beautiful change of pace, by following the preceding deluge with the sublime instrumental Joshua and slightly upbeat Before The Curtains Close Part 2. Their heyday is yet to come.
The Veils also work on a deeper emotional level. After a major shake-up, they really found their stride on Nux Vomica. They’re in the middle of a residency (above a small pub in Camden) roadtesting material prior to recording the third album, which they hope will be out by January. The new songs sit nicely along old standards like Jesus For The Jugular, which gets an airing tonight. I want to be moved by music; I want to be excited - and nights like this do it. It’s great seeing an established band play with this drive, coming to grips with arrangements which are still fresh to them – seven of the ten songs played are new. The highlights are Someday All This Will Be Yours, and the gentler (and band favourite) Sit By The Fire. There’s a different dynamic without the keyboards, but the barer sound seems to bring out different aspects of the songs, and the band feel harder and more intense than ever.
Another album I’m looking forward to is Simple, which is due out next month from Andy Yorke. His London show saw him struggling with a throat infection, but there’s something I can’t quite put my finger on that makes his music deeply affect me. Is it the way that the melody of the songs glides, or the way the cello occasionally cuts through, or cedes to a Spanish guitar? I’m not sure, but my love of him also led me to discover Frank Turner who he was supporting that night. And Turner is another great find of 2008 for me. I mean how can you not love someone who preludes his set with an acoustic verse from AC/DC’s Rock 'n' Roll Singer, or who introduces himself “I am the Jason Donovan of punk”? Frank Turner’s album launch at the 100 Club was a euphoric singalong from the get-go, of punters finding something that spoke to them, lyrics that touched on a common cultural experience “Yeah, England’s still shit and it’s still raining”. It’s a rare knack to have the great and the cool dosey-dohing, chanting, hugging, and losing their voices by the end of the night, and Turner proves himself a master.
© James McGalliard 2008
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
