Bloc Party - Live

Bloc Party
Olympia, London

The boys from the Bloc have gone and got a bit big. This place looks like you could hold a giant British Union of Fascists rally here (anyone listening in history class?) let alone the homecoming gig for an indie band.

By the time Kele and company come onstage, the crowd feels full and ready for the group to confirm themselves as a proper, you know, whisper it, stadium band. Thankfully, it never looks a possibility.

This isn't through lack of songs, ability or affection. By the time they get round to playing Banquet thousands are loudly proclaiming that they too are "on fire" and Positive Tension's pay off of "so fucking useless" is gleefully dispatched. Song For Clay proves a highlight, both singalong and hymnal epic.

In addition, Kele sings with control and utter confidence, commanding without ever employing rock star clichés to entertain. On drums, Matt Tong is as innovative as ever, rousingly mathematical in his work on a pounding rendition of The Prayer.There is a refusal to conform in their attitude though, from playing in this cavernous auditorium off the beaten gig track, to refusing to drop the less crowd-pleasing moments from their set, persevering with electro-driven songs from latest album Intimacy that require more precision than can be mustered in the live arena.

It is beguiling, but a balance needs to be struck. Kele breaking the old mould by striding about stage without his guitar as the thrillingly nonsensical reverb of Mercury rings out? Fine. Bassist Gordon Moakes becoming a second drummer for the average repetition of Sunday? Not so fine. The rhythm of the set is always in danger of being lost in disjointedness in favour of pursuing new thrills and directions.

However, a pair of calmer moments penetrates more than the frenetic fervour of One Month Off and its ilk. This Modern Love is reliably soothing, while Ion Square translates into a wholesome behemoth in the flesh. This leaves the space for the novelty of Ares and sonic wizardry of Flux to finish things off satisfyingly. It could have been better, but was fittingly unfiltered and keeps Bloc Party in the upper echelons of UK music, without banishing them to the stadium graveyard.

The Rakes: Interview

The Rakes: Interview

"It is about going out, having a drink and smoking cigarettes, and there's always a girl – all universal themes of The Rakes vocabulary. Having said that, maybe it's time for a change…"

Alan Donohue, The Rakes' lead singer, is walking back across an East End pub, true to type, to pick up the Rushdie he has left on the table. He's been here all day, but is curious and engaging as he settles down aslant to explain about his band's new album, Klang. Recorded in Berlin, away from the London scene framed by Blairism and The Libertines they sprung from five years ago, it is at once a departure from aspects of their musical landscape and a return to others.

He aptly fits both definitions of rakish and is wide-eyed and animated as conversation turns to the German capital chosen to create the new record. "Do you cycle?" he enquires, ever picking at details. "Berlin is good to cycle around because the atmosphere is so comfortable and there are lots of things you would only capture that way – the best mode of transport for Berlin.

Never mind the bike lanes, how did it shape the record? "It's a bit like Amsterdam with a more subversive edge and darker history. It suited the sound of the album, but we were going that way anyway, pretty rough around the edges. We all agreed on David Bowie and Iggy Pop; the music they made in Berlin, it hasn't aged, it is just very innovative. Lyrically, I left spaces in the songs intentionally for Berlin to fill the gaps."

This predetermined move resulted in lead single 1989 as well as numerous other snippets – but did it work? "I'm glad how that turned out," Alan said. "When I'm writing a song I don't want it to turn into an essay, but it is always good to research."Yet he isn't the meticulous devourer of pop culture his lyrics of distorted city life often suggest. "I didn't read literature, non-fiction for ages. I'm forcing myself to read proper books," he admits. "You're a human, you should watch films and read books just for fun. I guess I get bored quickly. I want to know everything about something then go on to the next thing."

Perhaps this lack of patience results in the snappy, concise nature of The Rakes music – Klang clocks in under half an hour. "Yeah, maybe," he nods, uttering words softly, but canny and incisive in his speech. "That could be why they're a bit stripped, not massive monologues. You won't find massive solos. We all keep an eye on each other to make sure we don't get self-indulgent."

Nevertheless, it must be tempting for Alan to show off, elaborate to illustrate that he is more than another indie singer, that he has points to make. "I enjoy talking about myself. It tricks you into thinking you're getting noticed, a false sense of importance. It's better than not being noticed." Still, he explains he "wanted to make the album even shorter if anything – it's only 29 minutes as it is".

There is a noticeable slide away from the rat race lifestyle that informed the likes of 22 Grand Job on their debut record, as well as the post-terrorism paranoia that hovered around their sophomore effort. Yet images of one night stands and drinking sessions are still conjured, was there a plan to this? "We write about normal, mundane things and give them an angle. Bloke who lives next door, Tuesday afternoon, at work – not that exciting. But is there something else there? It's mundane reality mixed with escapism, but we screw things up, chuck a few spanners in, take it up a notch."The Rakes do have real ideas, so it seems strange to see them sustain their direction - there must be grander plans, lyrically at least? "This album might be it for trying to write normal, working life," Alan ponders. "Maybe it's time for a change. Though, what would I write about? Arcade Fire, apocalyptic, Bible-bashing? I don't know what else to write about - maybe a leopard can't change its spots."

Many fans of the group will be pleased to hear they aren't changing tack too drastically; observation of the extraordinary in the ordinary is still Alan's focus. He hasn't even had time to ponder what he wants from Klang. "I haven't thought about expectations for the album. Our job is to write the songs – I don't know how to answer that. I hope anyone interested in hearing it gets to."

People who are keen to listen to it may also want to take in some advice from The Rakes, who, as Alan admits, "are veterans now, three albums in. "Advice to the young whippersnappers? There's a book on the web by called How Music Really Works by someone called Wayne Chase – funny name, I don't know his qualifications. That was interesting. Read that."

The Maccabees - Live

The Maccabees
Barfly, London
Thursday, 5th March 2009

"Dear friend of mine is/testing his body/tempting disaster, testing water." The Maccabees are back in London to put their cards on the table. It's been a long time since they captured affection with their tales of childhood camaraderie and local anthems. Well, it's clear from the moment they walk onstage, it's all on the line; a new album in the offing, songs to try out, minds to readjust, friends to reacquaint. Things have changed.

Orlando Weeks, the lead singer, would look faintly ridiculous with his new heavily gelled hair if he didn't appear so piercingly driven. His glazed focus blazes below the mic in his steely grip, claiming ownership of the song as No Kind Words begins. It sounds so utterly his, a change of direction to a darker climate, cold and unforgiving and more than a mere splash in a swimming pool.

The Maccabees were already a good group, but this is a statement of intent to leave that behind, to become a great band. The other members simply look delighted to be back on stage, guitarist Felix White guffawing and leaping with glee as the sparse lyricism surrounds him.

It's an atypical setup as they progress though a couple of new tracks, Orlando donning a guitar more than usual to make a three-pronged attack and the five-piece adding some frivolity to the intensity. The release is evident after their lengthy break and the crowd is happy to share it.

What they are really waiting for is something to scream back at the band and it arrives with X-Ray. Weeks sings it with disdain but the audience are oblivious, moving the creaky upstairs floorboards of Barfly in a prolonged surge of energy.

As they continue the oldies with Precious Time and Lego, the atmosphere is charged and looks of happy abandon abound, a marked divergence from the mix of scorn and smiles on stage, Orlando dismissing the pay off line of Lego with a grin.

Young Lions is another broodier newbie, though there is room for harmonies and whoops in other songs from upcoming album Wall of Arms. The altered course they have taken is an intelligent one, not dismissing their old material but breaking through it with refreshed outlooks and loftier intentions.

As First Love is followed by a similar new closer that usurps it momentarily, full of heroically minor, sharp romanticism, The Maccabees depart. It has only been half hour, but 30 breathless, intriguing minutes have confirmed them as, with an album and five years already behind them, the best new band in the country right now.

One Eskimo – Interview

One Eskimo – Interview

Kristian Leontiou is the man behind One Eskimo, a band that maps its musical landscapes in animated form and accompanies their gigs with an overhead projector displaying Japanese-inspired cartoon stories. Working with the people behind Gorillaz and Faithless, they take on the form of various animals and, of course, One Eskimo. But before this move into creative freedom, Leontiou was a chart-conquering solo artist on a major label. We caught up with him to find out how it all came about and why on earth a giraffe is playing percussion…

Greg Rose: Right, so you're an Eskimo, and the rest of the band is made up of a giraffe, a monkey and a penguin. Explain?

Kristian Leontiou: It stated off just as a logo and developed into a character. It felt like we needed to be a band, it was nice to show our different personalities. Some of the animals match the band members well, especially visually – it's nice to have a giraffe in the Arctic!

GR: So what can people expect onstage from this animal band?

KL: It's a loose setup we have. We have lots of little triggers, but everything is live and everyone is multitasking. We're going to carry on adding to that sonically and visually.

GR: So where does the animation come into it all?

KL: The Snowman was the idea, the inspiration – it feels like the 2009 version of The Snowman. It's got this dreamy feel to it, it really worked. We worked with the Gorillaz creators, though we'd already developed some characters ourselves by then and got a British Animation Awad for one on a shoestring budget. That got the attention of the investors.

GR: How does the visual side affect the music though?

KL: The Snowman feel definitely comes into the music. It's very live, but has electro, filmic sounds – it's all purposely geared to one vision.

GR: You were on a major label and marketed to a pop audience as a male Dido. How is it now having more freedom?

KL: This is weird for me. You know what, I'm such a stubborn person and I know what I want. It was so hard the first time, it's nice to have people on board that care this time. Everyone involved in One Eskimo is here because they get it, not for a paycheck.

GR: Looking back, are you glad you gave being a major label solo star a go?

KL: I'm glad I did it as an experience, but while I was doing it I hated it. It was a horrible time, but it's all worked out now. I can step back from it all and know how it works. It's been an uphill struggle but its made it all come together.

GR: You work with Rollo Armstrong from Faithless on the album – how did that come about?

KL: He's a friend of mine, he's a magical person, working with him was an amazing experience. We have a track with him on the last Faithless album too. He's an influence not just for the sound, for everything, my outlook on things.

GR: Are you all for collaboration between musicians then?

KL: This is London, it can be a very supportive place, people get involved, it just has that sort of atmosphere.

GR: What has had an influence on One Eskimo then?KL: I really like the Whitest Boy Alive at the moment, and Four Tet. I listen to Bonobo, The Fugees back when. It's a mixture, where my head is. I really love animation, not even the gory ones, the beautiful ones. Japanese animations, they've got real magic, it's a big influence.

GR: What do you think about music videos being taken of YouTube?

KL: What? No way! I hadn't heard about that, that's terrible. The whole idea is to support artists, with downloads as well, I think if people want to hear your music, let them hear it, I don't care how. We had 50,000 hits on YouTube, without that things would be harder.

GR: You're quite innovative in the use of an animated story to accompany your music. Do you embrace technology in other ways?

KL: Of course, but I don't really blog. I find it difficult. I don't thing there should be a gap between artists and fans, but I struggle to open up on a daily basis. I say what I want to say on songs.

GR: So what do you want to say in your songs?

KL: I spend time not making it too obvious. It's taken me a lot of time, lyrically, to get it together. It's personal, but it's there for people to interpret how they want to.

GR: You seem pretty content with it all at the moment, like this is exactly what you want to be doing – is that accurate?

KL: Life is full of ups and downs all the time. I feel like there is a lot right at the moment. I feel like I've been allowed to do what I want, like a kid. It's brilliant, sometimes I feel like a kid, sometimes like I'm 45. But I guess everyone gets like that. All I know is I am proud of what we are doing.

Emmy The Great - Live

Emmy The Great - Live
ULU, London

A peculiar prospect, is Emmy The Great. While rejecting any labels that come her way, she attracts them by the bucket load: new folk starlet, next big thing, anti-anti-folk singer. She seems to have been around for so long that it's about time she settled down into a pigeon-hole and was done with it. But no, tonight's gig is a mish-mash of directions and inflections, some thrilling, some wayward and almost all entertaining.

First off, she can sing – even better than the sometimes passive, worryingly calm tones she reveals on record. Her vocals soar, lifting dark songs from the doldrums and dragging heart into brighter moments. But it was her wry, crafty lyrics that first hooked the attention and on these her show hinges.

In the main, the playful delivery of Bad Things Coming, We Are Safe and its fellow up-tempo jigs is countered pleasantly by thoughtfully youthful ballads, such as Everything Reminds Me Of You, which break up the set. It never settles, gathering a momentum and rhythm that adds meaning to City Song and a heady hurtle to Dylan. She's genuinely funny, smart couplets regularly raising smiles.

Still, when she misses it is no close cut thing – the classically crass lines "I thought romance was pretty / Then you went and spoiled it / Every time that I think of you / I have to go to the toilet" still stick out of The Hypnotist's Son like the gawky kid in a school picture. First Love's Leonard Cohen inspired rhymes are another blip that provoke as much cringing as cheering.
But these moments of almost-mocking dreadfulness are sweetly countered by the generally distinguished level of musicianship on display from both Emmy and her band, keeping the platform level from which dips and raises in mood and rhythm can be launched.

On the Museum Island is one occasion when the many facets of the performance mix faultlessly. The wispy, yearning lyricism twists around a dainty, but prevailing, melody and Emmy's voice rises above it all with clarity, capturing the essence of the song. MIA is another highlight, again the death-tinted sadness of the tune being brought to life by its delivery.

There are more hits and misses before the gig is through, a corny Carpenters cover and a classy War among them. But the prevailing feeling is that there is real flair here, as well as a smattering of good intentions and effort to paper over any misjudgements. This tentative, driven, unassuming talent could well have taken another step towards the big time tonight – whether she wants to get there or not is another issue.

The Asteroids Galaxy Tour - Live

The Asteroids Galaxy Tour
Cargo, London

There's something very Scooby Doo about The Asteroids Galaxy Tour. They come onstage looking like they have only the slightest of attention spans, dressed like over-zealous nine-year-olds let loose in a dress up box after consuming a few too many Panda Pops. It's all very cutesy and exciting in a juvenile way, but by the end they have solved the mystery, which in this case is how to entertain a Shoreditch crowd just waiting to be disappointed.

They are blessed with a singer who exudes the necessary qualities of a pop frontwoman; bolshie, pretty, kooky and more than a little like Blondie, Mette Lindberg is a star in waiting. If Lady GaGa and Katy Perry can do it, give me strength, it's an open market. Ms Lindberg nails the attitude of her tracks, a little warped, a touch of cabaret but always going somewhere.

Her Copenhagen accent is more pronounced in person and compliments the bouncy beats of opener Hero, a hint of ska and squeaky beats dominating. Once the focus of their visually startling stance dims though, it's hard to find much going on. Sure, there's a horn section and a solid if basic topless drummer, but it's all a bit corny in the musical department, with Bad Fever and its ilk doing little but pass time.Tracks with lines rhyming crazy/mad with hazy/sad are as annoying as they sound, while even Debbie Harry-aping Rapture dance moves cannot appease forever. There is a distinct lack of substance, the feeling that this would all be better off neatly packaged into three minute bursts rather than hour sets. However, in these little snippets, such as the iPod advert adorning Around The Bend, the audience is absolutely smitten.

The only other song competing in the catchiness stakes is The Sun Ain't Shining No More, which begins with a smooth Motown feel that Lindberg cavorts over with glee. It's a tad darker, less throwaway and nails what this band should really be doing. There's potential here, hits to be hit, but the whole cheesy cartoon act needs to be toned down. They aren't mad, crazy kids – but they have a few bright ideas and a top singer. We'll be hearing a lot more from this group – it's still up to them to decide whether it's any good or not.

First Aid Kit - Live

First Aid Kit
The Enterprise, London
23rd February 2009

Watching bands at the Enterprise can feel often feel like chancing upon something a bit unusual. Maybe it is the climb up the narrow, creaky stairway to escape the Britpop blast of the downstairs soundsystem, or the hole in the toilet wall, or the pokey stage with just enough elevation to perform. But it all suits First Aid Kit, the daintily elusive duo in town tonight.

Most individuals in the crowd are older than the combined age of the youthful talents in front of them, but they lap up each track with infatuated applause. You're Not Coming Home is aired early, the impossible innocence of a song written by Klara Söderberg when she was just 14 coming through in its simple structure.

Tangerine is an eloquent tale of misjudged devotion and the dizzy harmonising brings it gentle grace. Compared to their last performance in London at the back end of last year, a controlled aggression is smouldering beneath the surface now.

This comes to the fore in Jagadamba, You Might; Johanna's backing vocals see her pressed against the mic, biting out barbed lines with passionate intensity. Their songs always feel not fully formed, being cajoled by Klara's cavernous voice and Johanna's sparse autoharp. This unrefined nature lends far greater interest and sincerity than a perfectly polished performance could.
However, their choice of covers is not so accomplished. As headliners, they are called upon to stretch the set and don't yet have the depth of material to comfortably do so. Instead, three covers are played. Fleet Foxes' Tiger Mountain Peasant Song is touching, filled with courtesy and clarity, and especially juicy due to the bearded band playing across the road at the Roundhouse the very same night.

But a version of Bob Dylan's It Ain't Me Babe, though passable, adds little, while Johnny Cash's I Walk The Line seems hollow – both lack inspiration and trigger karaoke comparisons. A new song, Hard Believer, is corny and forgettable too. Nevertheless, the blip is obliterated by I Met Up With The King. Desperate, deep vocals from Clara are complimented by sparse accompaniment and the warped insight is back.

There's an awful lot of talent yet to come out of First Aid Kit and plenty of time for it to do so. Some bands never recapture the vitality and audacity of their fledgling shows, but this pair has a style that suggests improvement with experience. They are interesting now, but could be irresistible in the future.

The name game: The Soft Pack interview

The name game: The Soft Pack interview


"WE'RE not good looking. We don't dress cool. We don't have Rod Stewart hair. We're just four normal guys whose fucking songs are catchy."

Well, let's see about that. The Soft Pack, formerly The Muslims, are one of 2009's most in demand bands, tipped by the great and good for success. The Velvet Underground, Iggy & The Stooges, The Strokes - if they are American and amazing, this band have been compared to them.

But this doesn't seem to have gone to their head. Watching them soundcheck upstairs at an East End pub, an amp blows up, so we take the chance to grab guitarist Matty McLoughlin for a chat on the fire escape stairs. He is open, honest, but pretty disinterested to begin with. Having just jumped off a plane and headed straight here, he doesn't even know what day it is.

"Why do people like us? I don't know, it's definitely to do with luck, but we like the songs we write," he says, droll and understated. "We sound a lot better if everyone's drunk, ten times better if you've been drinking."

So if there is nothing special here, where do the comparisons come from? "I don't mind it," he admits. "Velvet Underground? I love them. Then, people say The Strokes, which I don't really get. If I was to describe our band to, say, my dentist, I would say 'Oh, we sound like The Strokes, rock music, clean guitars'. But if you actually listen to music, you can definitely hear deeper things than The Strokes."

The way those particular New Yorkers suavely wandered to the heights of cool at the start of the millennium was based on hype and haircuts as much as music, but they did produce the songs to back it up. The Soft Pack have picked up a similar buzz, so can they do the same? "Each song we write becomes like my favourite song, I feel like we're progressing as a band," he nods, animated.

"We've had a rotating cast, four drummers and four or five bassists. Now, with these guys everything just clicked. They are really good musicians and me and (singer Matt Lamkin) are not that good, so they hold it down and we can screw around a little bit."

This lax attitude to their talent is repeated when the subject of their name change from - shock, horror - The Muslims comes up. "We expect to get asked about it. Every interview we've ever done, it's been the first question. We don't really care about it, I don't understand why it's controversial."

Changing the name has got more press than keeping it, so was it all a PR stunt? "Oh, sure, we're going to start changing it, every three months," he smirks. "We've got a new stunt, we've got things up our sleeve, we're gonna hit it hard. The name and image aren't that important. If you have good songs, you'll be ok."

Onstage tonight, this is confirmed. They don't even air breakthrough single Nightlife, but Parasites' clashing riffs sound suitably filthy and Extinction is filled with bite and verve. Without being unaccomplished, they play with refreshingly unfussy roughness, cajoling the crowd with their charge and craft rather than charisma.

Matty is right though, they don't have that undistinguishable, but succinct, quality of simple coolness. "There is a bit of a backlash against trying too hard," he dismisses. "Pretending to be some fucking dude you read about in a book, leather jacket cool, cocaine, it's fucking false anyway."

"The only thing we expect of ourselves is to make good records and tour. You can't kid anybody, we aren't good enough to, we just have to play with sincerity.

So, with the time ripe for an assault on the wider consciousness of what's next for the band? "Touring, more touring, festivals, then we're aiming to have the album out in September. It will be all new songs, except we've re-recorded Parasites.

It could, of course, all go wrong before then. Hype bands are as rare as drizzle and what if internal implosions occur? "No, We're all friends, we've set rules out, and learnt how to do it. Our first tour was a fucking mess. Everyone knows how it works now. We're gonna keep doing it regardless of how well we do." That attitude could be the key to doing well – even if they do think Rod Stewart's cool.