London Fields # 43
First published Inpress, Melbourne on 5 September 2007
NB: Each column has a name, but these do not appear in print; printed versions may differ slightly to those displayed here
There have been many changes to the live scene in London over the years, but one of the largest occurred in the past month. The Mean Fiddler Group sold virtually all its remaining venues, and even its name, to Mama, the company behind the Barfly group of venues. They had already sold The Forum (formerly The Town & Country Club) to them, and the latest package added The Borderline, Camden’s Jazz Café, the original Mean Fiddler in Harlesden and The Garage at Highbury. This seems good news, especially as both Harlesden and The Garage have been closed for some time, but staff I spoke to were uncertain of their futures. Reports say that Mama is also in talks to grab the Academy venues, which if successful would mean a virtual monopoly on larger venues in the capital.
Personally, I prefer the smaller places, especially the award winning The Luminaire in Kilburn. A full house is 275, and that includes bands, staff and guest list. All around the venue are signs telling you to shut up during performances, or leave. Wonderfully nearly everyone respects it. Seeing Mark Eitzel previewing the work-in-progress material for the next American Music Club LP with only an acoustic guitar was special indeed – even bar orders were whispered, and tills closed quietly.
Things were a little different as I ventured deep in the deepest heart of the East End to catch Evi Vine. The venue turned out to be a squatted community centre. It was like the days of illegal raves - folks were smoking inside; the bar was a bloke with a household fridge, and the toilets had been cleaned sometime last year. Yet it was alive and vibrant and filled with a desire to take music back to the people (except for the high door charge and beer prices). I left about 1am, but the bands played on for several hours afterwards.
I also spent a splendid afternoon at one of the summer Sunday barbecues held at The Windmill in Brixton. While not the best place to see bands, the afternoon was great value for money and tremendous fun. Witter were having fun (as were we), as they did a set entirely of BritPop covers - from Popscene to Common People, from Menswe@r to Suede. Later in the day came The Victorian English Gentlemens Club, the karaoke pop of Tim Ten Yen, and the day ended with Hot Puppies, whose vocalist is a modern Martha Davis, and whose joie de vivre was infectious.
Which was a marked contrast to the inaugural Field Day in Victoria Park in Hackney. Two understaffed bars could not cope with the needs of 10 000 punters, and after queuing over an hour for a beer, you then had a 30 minute wait for a loo. The large number of bands playing meant that each was restricted to a mere thirty minutes. Worst of all were the sound restrictions, which saw Archie Bronson Outfit shut down before even finishing their allotted time. The only acts to survive this environment were the Archies, an incendiary finish from Liars and Kid Harpoon, who has added a band to create Pogues-style mayhem. The day was a great idea, but a mess in reality.
The ramifications of the smoking ban are still being felt. At The Barfly in Camden, outside smokers became rowdy and aggressive as a fire escape door remained closed, meaning they had to walk 20 metres to get back in. Club nights at Koko (the former Camden Palace) have taken things to further extremes. In order to pop outside for a ciggie, smokers are first electronically fingerprinted. They then have 7 minutes to be back inside, supposedly to stop them grabbing a drink elsewhere while they’re out. With the drink prices at Koko, I’m not surprised that this time limit incentive is needed.
But if you think that’s an invasion of civil liberties, it’s lucky you weren’t at one of the V Festival in Staffordshire last month. Like something out of John Carpenter’s They Live, police employed a spy saucer which even at a height of 100 metres is invisible to the human eye. Originally designed for military use, this drone was equipped with high-resolution cameras and infrared capability, but for now not actually used over the main arena, for fears of injury should it crash into the crowd. And you thought zipline cameras were a nuisance…
Last month I wrote about the return of the ‘70’s with Palladium. Better by far are Pirate Casino – imagine Paul Weller covering Bob Seger‘s Nightmoves and you’ll get an idea. Here guitar solos are shameless – and the band is seamlessly professional. While not my scene, I can see them going far – look what pastiche did for Jet and The Darkness! But most interesting is that these ‘70’s-inflenced acts are bringing something truly wonderful to London’s Indie scene – some racial diversity. Usually the exclusive preserve of white middle class kids, both Palladium and Pirate Casino are attracting a black audience to the white enclave. And that can only be a good thing.
© James McGalliard 2007
Showing posts with label Tim Ten Yen. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Tim Ten Yen. Show all posts
Wednesday, 5 September 2007
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
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
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