The Sound Of The Crowd

London Fields # 96
First published Inpress (Issue # 1192), Melbourne on 21 September 2011, and in Drum Media (Issue # 1078), Sydney on 20 September 2011
NB: Each column has a name, but these do not appear in print; printed versions may differ slightly to those displayed here

The tagline of the original Alien film was 'In space no one can hear you scream'. In London it often feels that there’s no place you can get far enough away from people to scream. While you may have difficulty finding a private space to vent your bottled-up frustrations without being overheard, the flip to this is the worry that if you did cry out for assistance, seemingly no-one would heed your call. The capital is so densely populated that it’s hard to find respite, and recent studies show that it will only get worse in the future. The Royal Institute of British Architects found that many newly built or converted properties are too small for comfortable living, with one bedroom properties being 4 square metres smaller than the recommended minimum, barely leaving room to navigate around a single bed.

The shared walls of terraced housing mean you hear the neighbour’s washing machine rumbling late into the night, and even the sounds of their toilet roll spinning in its holder. Yet the great advantage of terraces is the quiet solitude created by the square itself to be enjoyed in back rooms (except when your neighbour decides that 8am on a Saturday morning is the ideal time to mow that lawn). Outside the home it’s harder to find peace, especially now that public transport has decided to talk to us. Being informed that “This is a number 38 bus to Victorian” (sic) at every stop makes bus journeys seem longer than ever, something that can only be made worse by the near unavoidable low-fi sodcasting from mobile phones. The only solution is to plug in your own headphones to drown out the background, so your brain only has one distraction to ignore.

One of the pleasant side effects of the volcanic eruptions in Iceland was the silence that that fell over the country as a result of the closure of UK airspace. In south east London, residents who lived under the Heathrow flight path could hear themselves think for first time in many years, the absence of modern sounds proving to be a rare treat. Something that is more common on the medieval byways of car-free Italian cities such as Venice or more especially Siena, where it’s still possible to be lost in time, the quiet streets allowing the sounds of history to seep through. In the City of London you can sometimes experience similar feelings on weekends, walking the narrow lanes off Cheapside within the sound of Bow Bells, but these prove fleeting.

This past weekend has seen the 19^th annual Open House event, wherein various usually inaccessible buildings open to the general public for a few hours providing a rare opportunity to see both new architecture and glimpse into a hidden past. It’s often said that smell is the sense that is most deeply tied into memory, but there are many times that a song or a piece of music takes you back to a particular time or place, or maybe just the memory of a person, perhaps now lost. But a group of scientists are currently delving into the world of archaeoacoustics, so it may soon be possible to hear how things used to be, as well as see and smell them. This was the subject of a fascinating documentary broadcast on BBC Radio 4 last week. In Hearing the Past Professor Jim Al-Khalili looked at the pioneering work by a diverse group of scientists, engineers and artists, led by staff of the Department of Electronics at the University of York. Dr Damian Murphy sought to recreate what the sound of choral music would have been in Coventry Cathedral before it was destroyed in a bombing raid in 1940. Using an anechoic chamber and some advanced computing, the results were astounding.

Now others have taken this technology and used it to replicate how ceremonies may have sounded at Stonehenge 4000 years ago, without the rumble of traffic from a nearby A road. The documentary reported that the site develops a resonant bass rumble that it compared to a Depeche Mode synth sound. Using studios to create certain acoustic environments is nothing new, nor is electronically altering sounds once they are recorded. When Peter Gabriel released Plays Live in 1983, the liner notes made clear that the original live recordings had been tinkered with before release, honestly admitting that “the generic term of this process is ‘cheating’." I wonder how long before this new technology is used by artists to create ‘live’ recordings in locations they’ve never even visited?

© James McGalliard 2011

Inpress: Published on page 52
Drum: Published on page 54

Movin' On Up

London Fields # 38
First published Inpress, Melbourne on 18 April 2007
NB: Each column has a name, but these do not appear in print; printed versions may differ slightly to those displayed here

The papers here are full of stories about London’s housing crisis. Having just been through the wringer of finding a new abode, I have first-hand experience of some of the difficulties, and how much you pay for so little. Another survey showed that Londoners had the smallest number of close friends of anyone in the UK , with an average of 5.3 each. Luckily, I managed to get through the past month with the support of some of mine. So why live here at all? Well, on nights when I really should have been packing, I snuck out and caught a few more nights of live music.

A few years back, I lent one of those friends my copy of The Lost Riots, the debut album from Hope Of The States. He loved the opening instrumental, The Black Amnesias, but lost interest when frontman Sam Herlihy began singing. He may well like Troubles then, as it’s the core of HotS, but without drums or vocals. The live performance is a forty-minute tone poem, as songs melt and merge into one another, tumbling more like movements of a greater vision, rather than individual pieces in their own right. There are eight on stage; Sam alternates between piano and guitar, whilst other members play guitars, strings and brass. The trouble with Troubles is that it’s all too much – they’re yet to find the openness or space in the sounds they’re creating. There’s too much kitchen sinking; it would be more effective if all of them didn’t play all the time. Still, this is definitely an evolving work in progress, and one to come back to.

They were supporting the very wonderful iLiKETRAiNS, who are also in the process of change. Gone are the trademark British Rail uniforms, replaced by white shirts, black ties at half mast, and mourning bands. They are halfway through recording their debut LP for Beggars Banquet, but there is no looking back – the album will be all new material. They play a few of these new compositions tonight, including current single Spencer Percival, a nine-minute epic about the only British Prime Minister to have been assassinated in office. The band are a little sedate tonight, but the distance allows me to appreciate new aspects of them; the power of the drumming and how the band manage to keep reined back live, when the temptation must be to race and up the tempo.

On the other hand Arcade Fire managed to be distinctly underwhelming - how did my favourite live act of 2005 fall from their pedestal? Put simply, they now seem more like an incorporated company than a collective of like-minded individuals. The excitement of the random motion, like tea leaves swirling in hot water, has been replaced by something that feels far more choreographed. There’s less fun on stage, and the joy they used to communicate to their audience was lost in the cavernous spaces of the Brixton Academy . Still you couldn’t complain about the setlist, and how Power Out segues beautifully into Rebellion (Lies) to finish on Intervention. Yet tonight it all feels as false and hollow as the organ pipes on stage not actually connected to an organ, but merely for show.

But the live highlight of past month has probably been seeing the reformed James, playing their second ‘secret rehearsal’ gig in the tiny confines of Holloway’s Nambucca, mere weeks before their sold-out arena tour. Along with The Blue Aeroplanes, James were the best British band of the ‘90’s who never toured Australia . But now they’re back after a six-year hiatus, and it’s the classic six-piece who recorded the career-best Laid album. Tim Booth was carrying a shoulder injury, but he still swayed along, even if the electrocuted Ian Curtis dancing was put on hold for the evening. It was great to see them avoiding the ‘big’ numbers for this gig, playing songs so new that the ink on the handheld lyrics was barely dry, then delving deep into then back catalogue for songs like Chain Mail. I’d forgotten what a difference Larry Gott’s searing guitar made to their sound, but it’s the reaction between musicians who know and trust each other that makes this night so special, giving space and life to something like Heavens, which I’d only remembered from a somewhat homogenous form on Seven. I can’t wait to see them at Brixton now! Like the Gang of Four, James are another post-punk original returning to show pretenders how it’s really done!

On television, we sadly bid farewell to John Simm as Sam Tyler in the BBC’s Wizard Of Oz, time-travelling ‘70’s cop show Life On Mars. Yet it won’t be long before he’s back as the enigmatic Season Three meme Mr Saxon in Doctor Who. It may well get interesting if it’s more than coincidence that his Life On Mars character was an anagram of Masterly.

© James McGalliard 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