Synchronicity

London Fields # 85
First published Inpress, Melbourne on 1 December 2010
NB: Each column has a name, but these do not appear in print; printed versions may differ slightly to those displayed here

In these days of the so-called ‘firework career‘, it’s rewarding when good acts manage to survive, even when fame remains elusive and circumstances are difficult. During November I saw album launches from two of the three acts I marked for greatness in my end of year writers poll for 2006 (regrettably Model Morning never got that far). Back then I had a bet with Evi Vine that when her album came, it should be short listed for the Mercury Music Prize that year. But her band fragmented, years passed and when she joined supergroup The Eden House I feared that chances of this ever happening were remote. Meanwhile I Like Trains signed to Beggars Banquet and released a debut album, but then found themselves label-less in the merger of Beggars and 4AD. Four years later in some kind of synchronicity both Evi Vine and I Like Trains have self-funded the recording and release of albums without the use of traditional record companies.

It seems somewhat ironic that the London launch of He Who Saw The Deep, the second album from I Like Trains, is taking place during a strike by Tube drivers. The recording was financed via fan pledges, and this sort of dedication ensures that the gig is well attended in spite of the travel woes. When they take to the narrow stage of The 100 Club it’s immediately clear that something isn’t quite right - their drummer is missing! It transpires that Simon, who I’d seen earlier on the merch stand, has a broken leg, so Scott Hislop from Kyte is filling in. I Like Trains have always been much more than the sum of their parts - a clear example of the chemistry between the players creating something special. Even though Scott does a fine job, the show was noticeably affected by the change of those elements. So while the guitars chime clearly (augmented by Ian Jarrold of the late Redjetson), the bottom end never sounds quite right. If tonight isn’t quite their night, Hope Is Not Enough and lost b-side Victress and still shine, and it seems you may well be able to see this consistently great act for yourself soon as Japanese and Australian dates are pencilled in for 2011.

Rising rents mean that The 100 Club is yet another live venue threatened with closure. Only this week the owners of The Luminaire, without doubt the best live venue in London, announced it is closing in a month due to financial pressures. I last ran into Evi Vine at when I Like Trains played The Luminaire last year (and actually first met her in a queue to see them back in 2006). Eighteen months later her long-promised album is finished, but The Social seems a strange choice for her album launch as it’s more a club space than a live venue. Daunting would be the best description of having to begin a show just after This Mortal Coil’s cover of Song To The Siren has been played, yet Evi turns it into an opportunity by singing along with Liz Fraser’s landmark vocal as a microphone check. When the song ends and the band begin, the background chatter virtually disappears, and I’m quickly reminded of why this voice and these songs floored me four years ago.

Her debut album ...and so the morning comes is a very different beast to the one she might have recorded back in 2007, but some of the songs remain, albeit radically reworked. The original drummer Steven Hill is now on guitars and effects, and it’s wonderful to see all but one of that earlier line-up here in the audience to support her tonight. The live renditions are better than the album, the seeming simplicity and restraint of the stripped-back arrangements make the voice and song all, and sometimes I forget other musicians are on the stage until they chime in. She maps the human heart, sometimes living in the dark places while hoping for the light, at others seeming to finally find a happy place, if only for a fleeting moment. Evi herself is a mixture of fragility and strength; I’m reminded of a Prince Rupert's Drop - glass which can take a hammer blow, but can also shatter explosively. The hauntingly beautiful love song The Colours Of The Night becomes a persistent earworm for days afterwards, the harp here replaced by a picked guitar which actually feels purer. They finish with Time Flies, and the pent-up energy pours out in a dazzling climax - something very special indeed.

Perhaps it was in some way fitting that the release version of Evi’s album wasn’t actually ready on the night. Like the long-promised remasters of My Bloody Valentine, it seems to slip just a little further into the future, tantalisingly out of reach, untouchably desirable. When it does come, I just might keep a closer eye on the Mercury that year.


© James McGalliard 2010

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

Live And Let Live

London Fields # 61
First published Inpress, Melbourne on 4 February 2009
NB: Each column has a name, but these do not appear in print; printed versions may differ slightly to those displayed here

There are venues you love and cherish, others you go to only to see a band, and those you avoid no matter who is playing. The London Astoria, which closed for demolition last month, probably fell into that middle category for me, and I found it hard to be too upset about its demise. However it was loved by many, and playing there marked a significant stepping stone on a band’s career from playing club shows to the really large venues like Hammersmith or Brixton. Admittedly I did see some pretty special performances there, most notably Hope Of The States, and U2’s back-to-basics launch for All That You Leave Behind. Along with his sister venue, LA2 (formerly The Mean Fiddler), and The Metro in Oxford Street, it’s being pulled down as part of the long-awaited Cross Rail project, and its various late night clubs will struggle to find other suitable venues.

The economic downturn is causing other casualties. The Charlotte is Leicester has gone into administration, and even the efforts of local lads Kasabian may not be enough to save it. Both The Garage in Highbury, and Ocean in Hackney remain closed, despite mumblings that both may be going to reopen at some point soon. There are other threats lurking in the wings Various bands have posted MySpace bulletins urging their fans to sign a petition on the 10 Downing Street website against introduction of “…laws insisting anyone applying or re-applying for an entertainment license must have a noise control device fitted to the venue.” When this petition closed on 23 January, it had collected 86,281 signatures. Musician Warren James, who started the petition out of a concern that these devices would be made mandatory, has since issued a statement on his website that this never fear came to fruition. Interestingly, local authorities already have the power to introduce them if they so wish.

But there are major issues with noise levels at live shows. I’ve been to gigs where sound limiters cut all power the minute a snare drum was hit, and to city-based festivals where their volume levels were capped at such a ridiculously low decibel level that the person talking next to me was louder than the band. And that for me is a much greater noise problem - gigtalkers. I wish more venues followed the example of The Luminaire, where signs around the room make the situation unmistakably clear: “QUIET. IF YOU’RE TALKING WHEN A BAND IS PLAYING, WE’LL TELL YOU TO SHUT UP.” Sometimes volume can be an answer, but if the mix is too loud then the music can be lost; too few gigs recently have had brilliant live sound. But really all this is just a way of venues avoiding litigation. At their reunion shows last year, My Bloody Valentine issued complimentary ear plugs beforehand - but not every act can get away with playing aircraft landing loud.

The very first column I wrote for this paper, some five years ago, was about the introduction of the Licensing Act 2003. Hidden behind the much-needed relaxation of drinking hours were some clauses that could have horrendously affected any venue putting on live acts. It felt was a little like that episode of The Simpsons where Lisa has her airline fight path bill passed as it was paperclipped onto an innocuous and wanted legislation amendment. But there is a much more insidious piece of paper than the imagined threat of compulsory noise reduction devices. It also has a petition against it on the Downing Street website, started by Jon McClure of Reverend & The Makers; sadly this legislation is not imagined. The petition reads, "We the undersigned petition the Prime Minister to scrap the unnecessary and draconian usage of the 696 Form from London music events. So what is Form 696? A police form for event promoters which not only asks for the names, aliases, dates of birth, addresses and telephone numbers of everyone playing, but also about the audience likely to attend. In December they revised the form, halving its length and removing the most contentious questions about the ethnicity of performers and audience. Yet this question remains: Music style to be played / performed (e.g. Bashment, R’n’B, Garage). Somehow I don’t feel it’s white indie kids they’re interested in. Elsewhere it asks about the make-up of the patrons. This form needs to be submitted 14 days in advance or else fines and possible imprisonment could follow, and applies to 21 London boroughs but could go countrywide if successful. At the time of writing only 15,025 signatures had been collected opposing it – particularly interesting as its Facebook page has 26,385 members!

Now I can understand the police wanting to be able to prepare for possible problems. You could tell when there were ‘interest’ acts appearing at one East London venue because they’d be metal detectors on the doors, and the entrance was screened from the street, perhaps as a deterrent to drive-bys. It may all be down to thinking a watched pot never boils, but actions like this are more likely to create an ethnic pressure cooker.

© James McGalliard 2009