Comebacks and Cantaloupes - The Spinto Band

Comebacks and Cantaloupes - The Spinto Band

After a successful debut, many bands spend the time between albums picking up addictions, model girlfriends and each others faults in the studio. The Spinto Band went back to their Delaware hometown and found employment on a market.

"When I'm not in the band I work on a vegetable stand," says Joey, one of the band's guitarists. "It's (the band's other guitarist) Jon's girlfriend's uncle's. It's real nice, it's good to work outside. I know how to check a tomato and I pick a good cantaloupe." It's pretty clear that the trappings of rock and roll excess haven't exactly consumed the Spinto Band.

Over two years ago, the infectious youthfulness of Nice and Nicely Done announced them as the carefree surprise stars of the summer, attracting admirers with their loose mix of inverted lyrics and bouncy pop. However, label problems led to a lengthy delay before new album Moonwink was able to be released. Recorded a year ago, it is now finally coming out. While singer Nick struggles with his mobile phone's reception in the well-known coffee chain we find ourselves in, Joey and Thomas, the group's co-frontman/bassist, seem a little nervous about the reception the record might receive. "I was kind of worried, because lots of people told us we waited too long to release our second record," Thomas admits. "Which we did," interjects Joey. Thomas explains: "Music trends tend to be fickle, there's always a new hot sound. Bands get hyped up and knocked down; of course we're worried about that. I do feel a little uneasy about the reception to this album."

Nevertheless, their UK tour has been well-received. Joey puts a philosophical slant on their situation. "Some people, some critics are not going to like us now, but there's not much we can do about it. Without hype, people who might enjoy our music will never get to hear it, so we accept it's part of it." Still, venues have been filled with folk recalling the old numbers and appearing receptive to the new ones. Their colourful personalities and songs about tractors seem to have endeared them to the British. "People have been coming out and remembering who we are," nods Thomas. "English venues have that certain smell, kind of damp, which is nice. I feel less awkward playing to English audiences. We're in tune with the British landscape now. We keep seeing people we knew a few years ago, it's like 'hey, I forget you existed, but now that you're here, that's great'."

For the welcome back to be prolonged though, they need some dazzling new songs, of the calibre of old favourites Oh Mandy and Late. In lead single Summer Grof they have a ditzy whirlwind of a comeback track, a front to guide people into the new album. "The songs are much better now than when we recorded them," insists Joey. "We've become more aware that we're a six person band. On the first record there wasn't as much going on, arrangement-wise. Now there's always something that catches the ear. It wasn't a conscious decision, but we're glad it's happened that way." In the past, it has often seemed some of the band are redundant amongst the simple melodies they create, especially the three guitarists. But on the likes of Later On there is the sense of full involvement from all, without sacrificing the band's simplistic core in search of complexity. Fun is the band's main attraction for fans as well as their central inspiration for making music.

This was clear last time they plied the UK festival circuit, showering the crowd with Party Rings biscuits at Leeds Festival. "Party Rings? The little pink things?" Thomas questions. "Ah yes. They were gifts and as we were at a festival, I worried that people were hungry. Usually we have Hob Nobs – but if you throw them, they kinda hurt. Remember that." Advice on hurling biscuits noted, Gigwise decides to venture into the often-sour world of bands and record labels. Having been dropped, the Spinto Band are prime candidates to vent their anger about the world of corporate corruptness. According to Thomas, this is way off the mark. "Look, our label was in trouble financially. The music business is in a strange state right now, people are freaking out." Joey adds: "We don't take it personal. Our team was really great, we don't hate them. We're not bitter. Now Fierce Panda want to put out this record, so, hey, that's all fine with us."

The sheer friendliness of the band is the overwhelming impression they give, which comes across onstage too. It's easy to buy into the frivolous music they produce, from the kazoos that feature on Brown Boxes to the twisted humour the group shares. On illegal downloading, Thomas states he would "rather not piss people off, it can be a good thing". On other bands, Joey has nothing but praise. It is possible their new record could get swallowed by a crowded market, especially with its sunshine sound coming in winter, or it may become another creeper hit. Regardless, the group won't be overawed either way. After all, there are tomatoes to be checked, and cantaloupes don't pick themselves.

Albert Hammond Jr - Live

Albert Hammond Jr
Scala, London
Sunday, 5th October

"Who the fuck is Julian?" shouts one particularly idiotic member of the audience as Albert Hammond Jr stands nonchalantly centre-stage. As one of two guitarists in this generation's finest musical renovators, Albert is a stylish cog in The Strokes' seamless machine of indie cool, happily decorating the band's crowded tapestry with chugging rhythms for Casablancas' drawl to clamber over. Solo, he's the star, but takes to the job with the same inconspicuous charisma. Different songs, altered hair and a dissimilar attitude make it absolutely clear from the offset that this is Albert's show, without ever straining to prove that's the point.

He looks anything but understated, a flaming red shirt peeking out of a snow white suit, looking every inch the rock star with supermodel girlfriend. Yet his inflection betrays a relaxation unbecoming of someone really seeking a frontman ego-trip. He never chases lines or flares into solos, just hitting notes and fitting into songs, such as on opener Everyone Gets A Star. Its three twiddling guitars and vacant lyricism sets the tone, before The Boss Americana introduces Albert's five-piece band as a force equally worthy of attention. Uninspiring on record, it's morphed into a vociferous, lengthy burn through Television, featuring a sliding riff that is forced to jostle for attention with the thunderous rhythm section. It's as charged, as good and admittedly as Strokes-like as it gets.

A great grating vocal line on last single Gfc's choruses keeps the tempo high, before the humpty dumpty melody of Call An Ambulance brings a wonderfully playful element to the set. In Transit is ruined slightly by a fat ageing man throwing a punch at a pair of obnoxious buffoons whose only purpose in life appears to be to shout "Albert!" interminably. But he's unflustered by it, gazing distantly before ripping into the stinging Victory at Montery, complete with a snaking bassline pulsating but nonchalant enough to diffuse the nonsense.

His guitar work is impeccable and the thrill of his Townsend-aping circular strumming and distinctive high hold is enough to satisfy most, yet he fills the stage with other impressive players, happy to allow extravagance from his band-mates while he concentrate on acting gloriously unfocused. However, there isn't that feeling that this could all implode, regardless of the ban-flouting cigarette he casually smokes. It's tight and utterly controlled, Albert looking far too content to be reckless. The set switches between the more continuous tone of new album Como Te Llama and debut Yours To Keep's bursts of balladry and rock, with the weightiness of the latter just winning out. Back To The 101 brings uncomplicated catchiness and first encore track Blue Skies keenly captures his mellow sensibilities.

The range of songwriting, from touching to throwaway, gives the show scope to build into a rounded shape, but the crescendo of a blistering finish never really arrives. The group remaining unmoved by requests for fan favourite Hard To Live In The City, instead opting for another new song. This is Albert's only UK date so far to promote his album and it's understandable. It also fits, not allowing for a show-stopping finale or other indulgences. With a solid collection of songs, top level musicianship and, well, a Stroke, there's no need to overplay anything. The set simply glides down before the band slips off and the crowd drifts out, thoroughly satisfied, but still in no doubt as to who Julian is.

Bloc Party - Live

Bloc Party
Kentish Town Forum
Tuesday 30th September 2008-10-03

There are few less enjoyable ways to start a gig than being told by a host to scream as loud as you can, because Keane's fans were loud the previous night and it would be very uncool to be quieter. There are also a minute number of propositions more annoying than being told by giant advertising screens to tune into a radio station to relive the show you have yet to live. Yet this is how Bloc Party enter the stage. From then on, the only infuriating thing is how fast the time passes.

Before there's really chance to settle down, it's over. Two encores, one extremely long and another tremendously memorable, sail past. It's all in the timing. The band have, unlike on their last two albums, captured the live knack of structuring a set so that it never settles on a theme or a mood other than progression. This is done through specifics, such as playing new track/old track/older track, but is more noticeable in the subtleties of numbers. Song For Clay has been twisted into a behemoth of an anthem, Kele revelling in having it's bookish intro boomed back at him, before an ear-singeing riff finds itself in unaccustomed surroundings, having been crafted with stadiums in mind. But before its resonance can settle, it revolves into Banquet, a frenzy of clashing simplicity that makes up for lack of freshness through sheer tactless immediacy.

It’s the slower songs that insist on awareness though, no longer sounding buried in between Prayers and Positive Tensions, allowed to build and roam as intended. The gig sold out in five minutes, it's full of super-fans and if the group feel like playing an extended sitar solo it would probably go down a storm. This allows bassist Gordon, back in the fold after missing the summer's festivals, to settle on a xylophone for a while and Russell to toss about with his guitar pedals like a kid in Toys R Us without removing any element of enjoyment or purpose from the set. Signs' delivery is affecting, not cringe-worthy in the flesh, and This Modern Love another strident stroll of emotive relief, setting the tone for So Here We Are. Still a breathless moment, the ode to nothing thrills and cajoles, its measured release far more exhilarating than the more direct delectation of Mercury and Hunting For Witches.

Still playful despite the edginess their sound creates and demands, Matt is animated and shirtless on drums, while Kele even allows his audience to choose the final song – Skeletons – by throwing the mic into the crowd. The house lights are already up when they play the cult favourite, but it works nonetheless. Beforehand, Helicopter closes the first encore, almost an afterthought now. They still do indie guitar hits better than most of the charts, but appear past noticing. Splitting the attention between reflex reaction songs to bounce about to and acute moments to cling to, minutes ebb and flow with conclusions brilliantly unresolved. Maybe if, as the big screens still beseech, the gig is listened back to on the radio, a completely different reaction from the same set could be garnered. It's easy to take whatever you want from this, which is affirmation that Bloc Party can take this wherever they want.

Nail The Cross Festival - Live

Nail The Cross
Various Venues, New Cross
Saturday 27th September 2008


Pub crawls are a peculiar tradition that involve large groups of people walking, swaggering, swaying, staggering and finally falling from bar to bar, with the manner of transport correlating to the level of drunkenness. Nail The Cross is pretty much this, with added bands. What starts of as a rather well turned out crowd listening to rock music of the utmost calibre slowly turns into average night out fare, then becomes interestingly weird, before ending up a rather glorious mess. This, though not really a festival, makes for a decent night out. Maybe more pub crawls should be like it.


Upon arrival at New Cross' hallowed high street, The Hobgoblin is the first port of call and is alive with youthful activity, gig-goers spilling into the canopied garden to pick up passes and strangers, glasses toppling off tables already. A swift turn around the corner and the renowned Goldsmiths Student Union is filling with eager-eyed youngsters – it is the end of Fresher's Week here – awaiting the Archie Bronson Outfit's much-travelled rock fare. Despite being quite a modest crowd for one of the festival's biggest acts, the band brings the evening to an early peak it never quite repeats. This isn't a criticism, the Archie Bronson Outfit just happen to put in a stunning shift, looking utterly out of place in lumberjack shirts, exuding bearded gruffness. Songs crash past, their southern rock aided by the exploits of their particularly dishevelled looking one-man sax section, who plays two instruments at once to summon an eerily epic tone. Cherry Lips is loud and wonderfully coarse, but it’s the almost-cheap progression of Dart For My Sweetheart that is truly memorable. Left to brew until the chorus, counting verses build with internal rhyme, while a nagging riff underpins it all. It sounds simply huge in the shapeless confines of a student bar, keeping people away from the dirt cheap drinks for a full five minutes.

Clinic are up next, with their patented juxtaposition of serious musical exploration and cheesy dress-up draw childishness. Arriving onstage in trademark surgical masks, with matching Hawaii shirts more worthy of mockery than mystique, there's a lot not to like on first look. Luckily, they're an accomplished act who effortlessly switch between sub-genres, with clever chord changes leaving them as adept at delivering keys-driven mid-tempo as high-voltage marauding. Monkey Off My Back is a stomping centre to the set, and despite sometimes veering dangerously close to band-playing-in-the-background-in-an-OC-scene territory, they're worthy headliners. The nature of these one-nighters means that everyone is off elsewhere before they even leave the stage, with many skipping across to the Walpole Arms for Jay Jay Pistolet's acoustic set. The loveable muddle these affairs can be is illustrated as he's just finishing upon arrival, the schedule planner being about as accurate as its spelling of Conor Oberst (Osbert). However, the affable atmosphere prevails as the Amersham Arms is a hop across the road and Micachu & The Shapes are on.

Looking like they could only ever exist in London, Micachu loiters behind the mic, attitude and cheeky contempt fortifying her position of control. Their brand of quirky laptop-laden indie is well-received, the crowd taking note of the venue's motto to be "quiet during the quiet bits and loud during the loud bits". It's too one-dimensional after a while, despite some maverick drumming and Micachu's inevitable summoning of a hoover. As the DJs, more of a state than most, begin spinning Mark Morrison, the band aren't done. Playing one more song, Micachu sticks the vacuum to her face, distorts the mic and gets the desired reaction of intrigue and enthusiasm, despite the cleaning instrument having very little musical effect.

Speaking of which, CocknBull Kid are on next. Exciting in appearance and stage presence, their music drifts past without doing very much. On record, spiky arrangements and biting lyrics stand out, but live both are lost and unless glancing towards the stage it may as well be DJs back on. It is pretty quickly, with the place seemingly busier now the bands are finished and certainly livelier. Casper C continues in the Amersham, but such is the nature of these festival crawls, a shamble back to Goldsmiths for the Count, him of many monikers, is called for as he spins until the even earlier hours. There's a fair few people preferring this to any guitar-based offerings the evening has offered, though it's questionable if many more can hear by now. There's a variety to the night and venues that allows attendees to dip into everything, but it never completely satisfies on any front. The novelty of these events has certainly worn off and outstanding line-ups are required to make them more than trips to the pub with entertainment laid on. Still, it's another admirable attempt and is well-executed enough to survive the winter. For the majority though, it's back to the non-band bar crawls until next year.

The Spinto Band - Live

The Spinto Band
The Borderline
Thursday, 25th September 2008


The Spinto Band are back in England, which can only mean one thing - the kazoos are here too. Over two years since they arrived in the UK, carried by a frenzy of hearsay and hype, the Delaware six-piece could have returned to London with a new attitude and mature approach. To the delight of everyone present, they haven't, they still sound exactly the same. That's not to say it's an identical show, with unheard tracks from their upcoming album packing the set. But newcomers to the band, plenty of whom are present here tonight, would be hard-pressed to tell the difference between new and old.

To their credit, the new songs don't include kazoos. Brown Boxes does, however, and is aired early on. Its cupid/stupid lyrics and bouncy, bubbly nature is painfully infectious, bringing bobbing heads onstage and off. Worries the giddy joy of this old favourite will be isolated prove unheralded though, as new number Later On brings similar toe-tapping tomfoolery. There's cleanliness to their sound, the six instruments managing to fit together without sounding too jumbled or complicated. It's all terribly simple, with joint frontmen Nick and Thomas naturally switching singing duties.

Crack The Whip is slightly more refined, bass-driven and sung with blithe understatement by Nick, the humour and slickness of the delivery drawing the crowd in. Old favourites slip into the cracks between cuts from new record Moonwink, papering over any hesitancy from the audience. Current single Summer Grof is already a beloved fixture in the show, its circular rhythm and cute refrains of two-faced honesty as punchy as they are playful. Lapping it up, the band repeatedly thanks their audience, to the point where it would be annoying if their music wasn't so inanely endearing.

Nothing is challenging though, it's a gig for all ages and faces. It's difficult to care what has been played and what hasn't, let alone keep track, as each oldie and newbie contains the same all-encompassing goofiness. Being so undemanding takes talent though, a knack for nagging melodies persistently allowing the audience to connect with whatever the band cajoles them with next; there's always certainty the safety net that some Beach Boys harmonies will arrive before the final chorus. Technical proficiency is buried beneath the bouncing, the keys never plodding and each member's contribution knitting neatly into the sound. Three guitars sometimes seem a tad unwarranted, especially on the keyboard-led Pumpkins and Paisley. Nevertheless, the clear camaraderie in the band justifies the stage being so crowded.

Oh Mandy validates turning up. Its glowing vocals and effortless exquisiteness are irresistible, standing up above and beyond the rest of the set's fun but dispensable fodder. Returning for an encore, it's another past hit, Late, that brings the jolliness to a conclusion. Containing the rare quality of songs with verses more catchy than their choruses, it heralds an unconventional sing-along. Most new tracks seem destined to slot sweetly into the Spinto catalogue but lack the pithy immediacy of Nice and Nicely Done, yet there's little hint of future glories. It's all a bit too enjoyable to care about things like that though, pass that kazoo…