Editors - Live

Editors
Alexandra Palace, London
Wednesday 5th March 2008

Another band runs the Alexandra Palace gauntlet. Editors, having done rather well of late, take the leap from big indie band to proper, your-mum-has-probably-heard-of-them, arena showstoppers. Well, not quite - but they give it a decent go.

Support bands shouldn’t be allowed at this venue. They should just give everyone a few free drinks, or lower the price and have the gig start later. The venue is just so vast, so open, that anything but the most advanced sound equipment is utterly futile. Sons and Daughters may well be a very exciting young band with a captivating front-woman in Adele Bethel, but they sound flat and tinny against the backdrop of uninterested punters and cloudy vibrations. They look like kids in a school play, completely lost at the sheer size of their audience and task. Sadly, those listening are left grasping the sentiment of millions of parents forced to watch said productions - you stay and watch, but that doesn’t mean you enjoy it.

To succeed at Ally Pally you need an enormous, epic quality in the sound, deep, resounding distinction in the vocals, and giddy devotion in the fans. Luckily, this pretty much describes Editors. After the warm, welcoming paranoia of ‘Camera’, they soon throttle any sceptics by crashing into fire-starting, anthem mode. Songs flash past, working by blending big, effect-laden, soaring riffs - you know, that one U2 have been using for the past two decades - with deft, subtle touches. ‘Munich’ is simply deafening, a menacing carousel of intent, while ‘The End Has A Start’ feeds off a crushing drum line that forces blaring energy into the set.

This vitality doesn’t really disperse into the crowd though. It’s a surprisingly old bunch, with less than instant enthusiasm, and the band lacks the spark to turn the gig from an event to an occasion. Every time any momentum builds, a more considered track seems to lose the interest of those less than obsessively committed. While ‘Push Your Head Towards The Air’ is a comfy, plush little number, it gets somewhat lost amongst the blockbusting blaze of ‘Bullets’ and the relentless, purging surge of ‘All Sparks’.

One constant is the capricious, captivating performance of singer Tom Smith. Frustration seeps from each pained movement as he entangles his voice and arms around ’Spiders’, before a mischievous playfulness highlights an accomplished run through The Cure’s ‘Lullaby.’ Rarely has a band’s sound been so clearly expressed through a singer; his every move details each twisting guitar, every bellow betrays an intense longing for affection but distance. He hides the band’s shortcomings and amplifies their talents , and almost - almost - makes this a triumph.

Then the sound system breaks. Returning for encore, halfway through the euphoric hymn of ‘Racing Rats’, somebody throws beer on the mixing desk and that’s that. They return in vain for another try, before finally completing closer ‘Smokers Outside The Hospital Doors.’ This was a valiant attempt to break into the big time. They will before long, but tonight they fall just short.

The Futureheads - Interview

Hello, You Divvies, We’re Back - The Futureheads

Band make great first album. Band get complacent. Band release adventurous second album that sells terribly. Band get dropped. Band split up. It’s a well-worn path, but The Futureheads are refusing to be the next band to walk along it. Having been dropped, they’ve since regrouped, wrote a new album and, apparently, “rediscovered their mojo.” When Gigwise finds an affable, casually dressed Barry Hyde in a London pub, he is brimming with a giddy excitement that has more to do with a reborn zest for life than the lunchtime pin he is sipping. The other band members are milling around, but we can see Hyde has things to get off his chest, and zone in on the chief songwriter. Read on to find out about that Austin Powers reference, how Radiohead are hypocrites and why the record industry is about to change forever.

Let’s start with the single. When did you write it?

It had been kicking around for a while. I generally write them by myself, in front of the telly, and take them to the band when I’m confident. I’m so neurotic about it, I chew on them for months. ‘Beginning of the Twist’ is a song about self-doubt and mental illness, but also it’s a slightly menacing song of hope. It’s about change. Things are dark but I can feel the sunshine is starting to appear.

Talking of change, do you feel this is a whole new period for the band, a departure?

Departure? I don’t really know what that means. A radical departure sounds like something’s gone really bad. We worked with a producer called Youth, and he identified the key elements of what we do, and cut out all the other things. He put the magnifying glass on every song. It’s a good song for us to release first because we’re kind of breaking the door down with it, like: ‘Hello, you divvies, we’re back.”

What have you been listening to?

I don’t know if listening to music influences us anymore. I think we’ve already listened to all of the music that’s gonna influence us, now we just influence ourselves. Though I have been listening to lots of Bollywood funk and African funk. I think the most influential factor into this album is the business side of it - getting dropped.

What happened then?

If anything’s gonna pull a band together or make them split up, it’s that. Like, ‘Right, that’s it. I don’t like you anymore, I don’t like you anymore.’ Or it will be like, ‘Right, we need to pull together.’ Getting dropped made us a lot stronger, and actually reformed us as a band. We’d became disillusioned being on a major label. We lost our creative drive; we lost our mojo. The day that we got dropped was the beginning of the new era.

Did you see getting dropped as a positive straight away?

I was like, ‘Please, drop us, I don’t want to be involved with this anymore. I don’t want to be tied to the mast of a sinking ship. I want out. Go it alone, at least we stand a chance.’ If we’d have stayed on Warners we’d have split up. It was a very dark period, but that was when we were signed to them, not after.

Why were you so glad to get dropped?

We owed them £1 million. We owed them. They spent it, we didn’t. They spent it on adverts and various things, paying people, bribing people probably. We had to pay that money back, until they dropped us. Imagine your in a million pounds worth of debt on Saturday night, on Sunday morning you’re not. All you’ve done is go to sleep and someone else has made the decision to let you off. Who would be angry with that? I thoroughly recommend getting dropped, unless you split up in which case it’s terrible. It’s made us a better band, 100%.

A lot of anger must have come out of it all, will that be apparent in the album?

I think it’s gave us the optimism and the bravado that every band needs. It’s an audacious thing to stand onstage and say ‘Hey, you bunch of people, we’re gonna play for you now and you’re gonna listen to us, ‘cus we’re quite good at this.’ That’s audacious, and that’s essentially what every band feels.

Tell me about recording the album.

We did it in Andalusia, South of Spain. We recorded the album on top of a mountain, in the Sierra Nevada mountain range. It was tropical, fantastic madness. We recorded 20 songs, and wrote nine of them while we were there. We got it all wrapped up in 16 days, which is very good going.

How did it contrast to your previous efforts?

The second album took thirty days, so we cut it in half nearly, but did twice as many songs. That was all down to Youth producing. He doesn’t fiddle around with your music, he wasn’t fannying around. He’d play with your mind a lot more than he’d play with your songs. He really cracked the whip, it was like being in a trance a lot of the time, very intense. He works with Paul McCartney a lot, who told him The Beatles recorded their early albums in three hours! That was the era of the hard-working musician. But pressure will always sort the weak from the chaff.

Do you think now you’re on your own label you are under more pressure?

No, it’s always been there, from ourselves. Warners never pressurised us, maybe they should have. Now, we’ve got a lot more to gain. If we do well we could be running a successful business. In reality, we can make more money selling 100,000 albums than a band on a major would selling a million. But it shouldn’t affect our music. We’re not part of the machine anymore, we’re kind of vigilantes.

So why do bands still want to sign with majors?

Every time a band signs a deal with a major label they’re putting themselves in a really bad position. They don’t realise it because of the smoke screen, the false smile and the bottle of champagne.

Why did you sign then?

That’s what you had to do then, man. A lot has changed. There wasn’t the infrastructure for indie labels in place when we started. People like Domino have proved that it can be done in a more sympathetic way than ramming it down people’s throats, with a bit more grace. If we can pull this off we’ll be the most audacious band of all time.

Do you think Radiohead brought the while record label situation to a head?

Yeah, obviously they’re in a league of their own. I had years and years of wanting to be Jonny Greenwood: ‘I’m gonna buy a Telecaster, grow my hair like him, dress like him, beat the living shit out of my guitar like he does.’ You do that when you’re a young ‘un - I idolised him for sure. What they did with ‘In Rainbows’ was an outrageous idea, but only they could pull it off. The thing that disappointed us with what they did is that it did really well online, but then they went and licensed it with XL. If they were gonna do that they should have set up their own physical record company. It seemed to me to be a bit hypocritical.

So you have set up your own physical label?

Yes, Nul Records, its for real. We’re embracing the revolution that’s happening within the business. We’re fed up with the way major labels do it. We decide when we wanna do something, there’s no worries, it’s a lot more efficient. What we’re hoping is that this will show a lot of bands that they can do it themselves. They can have full creative control; it’s a fantastic feeling.

You seem to have a renewed enthusiasm for everything. Was that missing on the last album?

It’s all changed, man. We were really heartbroken by the second album, ‘cus we still love it, it just wasn’t the right time. In some respects it backfired, but we were just following our artistic instincts. But if we hadn’t done it, we’d still be signed to them and I guarantee I wouldn’t be doing this interview. It’s a fate thing, absolutely. If we can pull this off we could go down in history.

Do you feel like underdogs this time around?

Yeah, we’ve got that hunger back. Through the success of the first album, we became this top band, and that isn‘t necessarily a good thing. We were dead young, and became a bit complacent. You need hunger, it’s very competitive; you’ve gotta be better than everyone else.

You recently did a tour of small venues, and now you’re off on a bigger tour. Which do you prefer?

I don’t mind. We’re all so happy to have something to play for and someone to play to. All the gigs are our choice. We’re going to go to every country we possibly can and tour like a domestic band would. That’s something Warners would never let us do. How else can we convince people to like us? Going to these obscure places, people will remember you for that. Everyone band goes to Berlin, how many play go to Wiesbaden?

Lots of your songs talk about time, racing against it or running out of it. Is that a conscious theme?

The age we’re at, mid-twenties, is when you discover our own mortality, the invincible child mind disappears - you are actually gonna die. Writing songs about time is therapy. It’s a difficult time to be, you might even be halfway through your life. Our songs get to the point, don’t meander. We wanna get as much done as we can.

So you’re looking to the future?

Yeah, I’ve started to recently. I’m getting married this year. As well as keeping everything going with the band, I want to become a producer. I’ve been asked to produce Dananananakroyd’s album - sorry, that’s a bit sneaky, it’s my fiancé’s band! I don’t think it’s feasible that we’re gonna tour for the next ten years. I’d like to have a family, and raise kids properly, instead of giving them a backpack.

What to the rest of the band think to that?

They’re all chuffed. Nothing much will change. I wrote this album while engaged and think it’s had a really positive affect, like: ‘Get your shit together Barry, what are you doing?’ I don’t think songwriters have much control over what they create; the more control they have, the more contrived it is.

Do you feel like elder statesmen of indie music?

I know, we’re like Pulp! It’s awesome, but we’re still young boys. Whose gonna be better, the band that has played 3 gigs or the ones that has played 300? As long as you keep that drive… The carpenter that has made the most tables is likely to be the best carpenter.

You’ve said your new album is full of defiance, optimism and joy. Defiant at what?

This whole, filthy world that we live in. The obsession with celebrity that is destroying our country. ‘This Is Not The World’ is the title, and we mean it. Everything we see is covering up what is actually the world. We forget that, we think we’re the centre of the universe, let alone the world. The human ego is out of control ,we’re starting to eat ourselves, crawling over every country and shitting everywhere. The fact that we’re making an album, that we’re still together, is sheer defiance. It’s not that easy to get rid of us.

Los Campesinos! Interview

Los Campesinos! have admitted they “really aren’t that bothered” by unlawful downloads of their new album.

“I have downloaded music illegally in the past,” Ellen, the band’s bassist, told Gigwise. “And if I really like it I’ll buy a tangible copy. We’re not that driven by money anyway, with seven of us in the band.”

Their debut record, ‘Hold On Now, Youngster’, is released on Monday, but was leaked on the internet a month ago.

“We’re excited that it’s finally coming out, but it’s almost an anti-climax because we recorded it so long ago and it’s been leaked.”

New single, ‘Death To Los Campesinos!’ came out this week, and Ellen explained the idea behind its rather colourful video, which sees the band ‘killed’ by the likes of flowers, feathers and unicorns.

“Making videos can be a long and boring process, but we were all incredibly excited to be surrounded by kittens,” she said.

“We always get associated with the word twee, so it was nice to be murdered by twee things.”
Los Campesinos! are currently on a UK tour, with dates still to come in Kingston tonight (February 22nd) and Portsmouth on Saturday.

They then head off to Europe for a series of dates in such glamorous locations as Paris, Berlin and Milan, but Ellen insists she favours the homeliness of Britain.

“I prefer touring in England. It’s a lot colder in Europe. The food’s amazing, and the sights and stuff, but I like the routine and familiarity of the UK.”

The Cardiff collective will be doing the rounds at festivals this summer, with All Tomorrows Parties and South By Southwest already confirmed.

However, thoughts are already turning to the next album. “We’ve got lots of songs left over, and will be recording over the summer whenever we get chance.”

Cat Power - Live

Cat Power
Shepherds Bush Empire, London
Sunday 27th January

You don’t quite know what to expect from Cat Power. She never seems sure what to expect from herself. Tonight, she is an intoxicating mix of alluring emotion, kooky elusiveness and vocal presence.

The start is pedestrian as she pitter-patters onstage, suitably understated in waistcoat and jeans. Her four-piece band, The Dirty Delta Blues, are restless, a note shy, a foot wrong. ‘Metal Heart’ simmers by, adequate but uninspired; Cat saunters, comfortably subdued. It takes the contiguous charm of ‘Dark End Of The Street’ to pierce the normality of the show, coaxing a quivering croon from Cat and sparking her into newfound theatrical interaction.

Suddenly, the crowd is laughing at her exaggerated cockney impressions, swooning at a stylish take of ‘Naked If I Want To’, gaping at a smoky cascade through ‘New York, New York.’ Cat Power looks like a star, relaxed amid the luxurious sound she is conjuring. Yet a tension remains. She dances with flowers, but stays strangely side on, rarely centre-stage. She seeks refuge in her band, never assured the whole business isn’t a mirage. “I’m so sorry,” she says, sincerely, after merely dropping her mic. “Turn the spotlight off."

It is this self-conscious complexity burrowing within that charges the potential to create striking moments like ‘Lived In Bars.’ In a set heavy with covers, it is the reinterpretations of her own tracks that are most intriguing. The song, underpinned by a melting melody, wrestles with its singers contradictions. Ethereal subtlety becomes anguished howls, passing into joyous release before reconnecting with a lost hopefulness as the drums fade out.

The soulful American retains shards of mystery as she disappears offstage, returning with fresh drinks and a ban-defying cigarette. She’s playful again, pitching paper in baseball fashion into the audience, casually coasting in jazz-tinged renditions of ‘Could We’, and ‘Willie.’ Her tribute to Dylan, ‘Song To Bobby’, is more revealing. An open tenderness amplifies her wounded vocals, spreading warmth. The atmosphere is inclusive - tight but never constricting. Cat feeds on this, drawing you closer with the bashful imagery of ‘The Moon.’

Ultimately though, there is always distance. The adorable sorrow in her voice as she ends with Otis Redding’s ‘I’ve Been Loving You Too Long’ never quite gives way to reckless abandonment; you get the feeling there’s more, she’s subconsciously holding back. This enigmatic nature is undoubtedly part of her attraction, and probably keeps her just about sane. As she departs without encore, scattering petals as she goes, those present appear satisfied to witness as much as she is willing to show.

Seasick Steve - Live

Seasick Steve
Astoria, London
Thursday 24th January 2008

If you see an old haggard man wearing dungarees staggering towards you, a guitar slung over his shoulder and a bottle of Jack in his hand, you probably cross the street. If he happens to be Seasick Steve, you join 2000 other people and watch him play blues so raw and raucous you don’t know whether to take that whiskey from him or buy him another bottle.

After emerging with a manic grin from the eager crowd, he reels straight into ‘Things Go Up’, churning up a primitive riff before orchestrating aurally-pleasing audience accompaniment. The Astoria’s terraced style aids his aim of producing a sound “like a gospel choir,” but the results owe more to infectious enthusiasm than acoustics. With each brash stroke of his guitar, his songs, with the simplicity and authenticity that define their singer, marry visceral rage with loveable ease.

This twisting of tenderness and harsh reality is evident in his freewheeling storytelling. As he casually reminisces of simpler times, he is glib without being deceptive, indulgent but never boring. The set is loose, but hangs on to the exciting edge of uncertainty. A willingness to experiment is seen when KT Tunstall appears to duet on ‘Happy Man.’ The Scottish singer’s voice is slightly lost underneath Steve’s coarse vocals, but it’s a moment as charming as it is bizarre.

Seasick Steve’s horizons are limited, but his portraits are illuminating. ‘Cut My Wings’, which sees the drummer of former band The Level Devils add depth to Steve’s instinctive playing, isn’t particularly different from ‘Fallen Off A Rock.’ Most songs see a deep, booming sound rumbling over narrow, charged lyrics. There isn’t much to analyse or build on, the music feeds on a more blatant, physical attachment.

The secret is the passion the tracks are played with and the sheer geniality of Seasick Steve. He sings a soft, clumsy melody to a girl lifted from the audience; he looks genuinely startled by the adulation. “I wanna say if my mama could see me now,” he chuckles, wide-eyed. “But I didn’t like her too much.”

As he brings his grandson onstage to play tambourine on the emphatic force of ‘Dog House Boogie,’ the sense of occasion grows. The song refuses to end, Steve grinding the notes into the ground with savage intensity. It finally collapses inwards and the crowd reluctantly retreats. The prevailing feeling is that one of the good guys has made it.

Lightspeed Champion - Falling Off The Lavender Bridge

Having garnered critical praise for the unruly din his former band Test Icicles made, Dev Hynes decided he didn’t like all that blaring mischievousness after all. The result is another new musical identity, another rubbish name, but surprisingly not another shoddy album.

It seems Hynes was hiding an aptitude for melody all along. Falling Off The Lavender Bridge is considered; glossy but understated, a seemingly light listen, yet resonant. Perhaps the source of this thoughtfulness is producer and long-time Bright Eyes collaborator Mike Mogis. Lightspeed Champion doesn’t reproduce anything like the juvenile profundity Conor Oberst sometimes conjures, but he picks up the country-tinged romanticism and shattering simplicity.

It slides towards flimsiness at times, notably on the pointless 72 seconds of ‘All To Shit.’ and the clunky piano of ‘Salty Water.’ It makes no attempts at innovation musically, and is lyrically rooted in the present. This is an album for the generation that will get the references to The OC, and not squeam at lines like “Wake up and smell the semen.”

However, it is most outrageous in its inoffensiveness. If you’re expecting the cutting edge of cool, Lightspeed Champion isn’t it. Sure, he names a track ‘Let The Bitches Die’, but generally he’s heartfelt, sincere and pretty wholesome. Your mum would listen to the likes of ‘No Surprise,’ if she ever takes Michael Buble off repeat.

The possibility of commercial success is there in ‘Tell Me What It’s Worth’, the kind of hysterically likeable tune that perforates your skin on repeat listens. But the album’s real vigour lies in ‘Midnight Surprise’, a decadent 10-minute voyage full of pensive sadness and weighted irony. It revels in its own inconsistencies, an emotive frolic that captures the feel of this loveably self-indulgent record.

The album invites few conclusions, but is an intriguing insight into a bemusing man. After trawling along in projects his heart wasn’t in, he seems to have found some purpose in these songs. They aren’t masterpieces, they’re easily dismissed portions of pop more easy to discard than find. But if you’ve got the time and inclination, it’s worth persevering.

Bloc Party & The Cribs Live

Alexandra Palace
Friday 14th December


If a band is trying to gage how far they have progressed, playing Alexandra Palace is the acid test. “Let’s pretend for a moment that this is a sweaty little club instead of a huge exhibition centre,” pleads Kele Okereke. When you are facing a hall more suited for a political conference than a gig, this isn’t an easy task. Bloc Party manage it with a jerky medley of understated style and in-your-face bravado.

The Cribs find the transition less comfortable. Chaotic kings of sticky-floored settings nationwide, in front of a larger audience they sound flat. ‘Our Bovine Public’ is a disastrous opener marred by the venue’s notoriously troublesome acoustics and poor timing. Things improve with ‘Hey Scenesters’, the Jarman brothers mastering the mix between enthusiastic thrashing and maintaining rhythm.

Three albums in, the band have an array of songs to choose from, but pluck mostly from latest record Men’s Needs, Women’s Needs, Whatever. Despite the catchiness of singles ‘Moving Pictures’ and ‘Men’s Needs’, there is a surprising lack of reaction from an audience still muttering about the injustice of £3.50 pints. ‘Another Number’ is the highlight, raising spirits and arms in an enthralling surge of simplicity. But Ryan’s inability to perform a trademark stagedive due to the gap between him and the audience is ironically representative of the distance between The Cribs’ sound and its suitability for venues like this.

Bloc Party have a few more tricks, a few more hits, and a lot more showmanship. These don’t make a band great, but they make a crowd move. ‘Positive Tension’ is unleashed early, a juddering, uneven triumph; ‘Banquet’ follows sharply, still sounding audaciously fresh.

Singer Kele revels in his shape-shifting role, simultaneously a siren of despair and a symbol of debauchery. He exudes energy during a raucous rendition of ‘She’s Hearing Voices’, he glows with emotion through a tender ‘So Here We Are.’ Matt Tong may look like an IT expert and has an annoying tendency to take his shirt off, but he drums with imagination and tenacity, keeping an ungainly momentum to Bloc Party’s performance.

They generate a thrilling sense of occasion that peaks as the band reappear with latest single ‘Flux.’ Often you wish Russell would stop messing about with effects and just play his guitar; here, the sound soars, lasers blaze above and the track zips by with outrageous rapidity. ‘Sunday’ adds balance and warmth, before a wired race through ‘Helicopter’ and the grand exploration of ‘Pioneers’ complete the set. Bloc Party pace the gig expertly, controlling its tone. Everyone leaves feeling it speeded past, yet was exhaustingly epic. Test passed.

Kings of Leon Live

Kings of Leon
Brighton Centre
Thursday 6th December

Kings of Leon look angry. “You guys sing along,” shouts Caleb Followill. “Because the technicians are fucking terrible tonight.” They’re definitely annoyed. Having made the move to venues that resemble airport terminals, they now have to adjust to sound systems that have all the subtlety of a 747.

Despite the technical problems, the preachers’ sons show why they’re able to fill such vast venues. Opening with Slow Night, So Long, they play with carnal force and relentless tenacity. Black Thumbnail continues the coarse, spirited sound of a band in charge. The stage set is sparse; four large screens show images ranging from a creepy pole dancer to Caleb’s impossibly skinny legs. It feels aptly uncluttered, providing a platform for the music, not a distraction.

With so many arena-friendly anthems, the band can be selective with their setlist. However, they lean heavily on latest album ‘Because of the Times’, following the logic that this record catapulted them into indie’s top bracket, so should be flogged mercilessly to keep them there. McFearless showcases Nathan’s ferocious drumming, full of beguiling flair and mesmerising complexity. Fans is dainty and well-received, while On Call’s bellowed refrain reverberates passionately. But once they charge through Camaro’s clunky chug, preceding a droll Ragoo and a plodding Arizona, the new songs sound saturated.

Where are the band’s brash, grubby roots? Except a snappy shot of Holy Roller Novocaine, songs from debut album Youth and Young Manhood are conspicuous in their absence in the first hour. The unkempt rawness that made Kings of Leon fresh and invigorating is also missing. Milk is delivered with sincerity, but the set begins to lag.

Thankfully, a thunderous Molly’s Chambers revives proceedings, a bombardment of plundering masculinity. Suddenly, Spiral Staircase flashes past in a whirr of frenetic gusto, Trani adds an atmosphere of epic oddity and chaotic order is restored. The Followill family return to cajole the throngs with a smouldering rendition of ‘Knocked Up, before Four Kicks and Charmer close in an assault of blazing, primal rage.

Kings of Leon seem a more mature, less reckless outfit and poorer for it. Their newfound ability to produce hit singles (or the public’s newfound ability to realise they write hit singles) will ensure they have time to regain their edge. With such a powerful arsenal of songs, coupled with genuine instrumental ability, they’re still an incredible live prospect - even with poor sound, a soulless venue and a lop-sided setlist.

Operator Please & Good Shoes Live

Operator Please & Good Shoes
Concorde 2, Brighton
Tuesday 20th November


Operator Please sound sketchy, rough and natural. They look fresh, if a little bit frazzled, and genuinely animated. They sing a song about ping pong called ‘Just A Song About Ping Pong.’ It’s fast, jumpy eccentricity with an Aussie twang and a violin.

There are certainly more inventive bands around; some of The Maccabees are inside Concorde tonight, for a start. The five-piece may include a violinist, but this isn’t affecting Arcade Fire grandeur and doesn’t intend to be. ‘Get What You Want’ is a bass-driven canter to a bouncy chorus, showcasing the band’s style. The aforementioned table-tennis tribute is well-received, while new single ‘Leave It Alone’ shares its charged pop sensibilities. They may not be ground-breaking, but as the keyboardist giddily galumphs around behind her instrument, their quirky enthusiasm is infectious.

Operator Please have the beguiling advantage of striving to elevate their exposed potential. Good Shoes have long since passed the point of acceptance and acclaim. The kids strutting around in the groups patented ‘I’m in a band but I’ve got no talent’ merchandise emphasises this. Yet recognition seems to have gleaned an edge from the Morden outfit.

That t-shirt slogan contains an endearingly gentle insecurity that seeps out of tracks like ‘Blue Eyes.’ The jerky lure of the song’s angular (it’s impossible to write about Good Shoes and not call them angular) riffs is joined with lyrical nervousness that transfers onstage in physical form. Now though, frontman Rhys Jones looks confident, unnervingly comfortable. He beckons the crowd to join in a frantic ‘Never Meant To Hurt You’, while the band climb aboard speakers.

This newfound showmanship has distinct advantages. The audience is active and laps up the energy swirling around the pillared cove of a venue. The band are more direct, notably on ‘Nazazin’, all sparring guitars and gabbled lyrics. But they also relax enough to slow down, with melodies forming more frequently and lyrics resonating more clearly. ‘Morden’, the band’s most thoughtfully-shaped song, has the room to breathe and sounds increasingly striking with this space.

A couple of new tracks are aired, not departing from the trademark snappy dizziness of older songs like closer ‘All In My Head.’ They leave without encore or fuss, content at the crowd’s thirst for more. Good Shoes are in transition, no longer hot new things, not yet established. Their catalogue of hits, snapshots of suburbia, are easily liked and impressively performed. As they continue the bravado will swell, but they need to combine it with the nervous energy that made them so exciting originally.

The Raveonettes - Lust In Music

Sune Rose Wagner is a pretty insouciant character. Not surprising really – last year he accepted death.


When a Hawaiian holiday went wrong, there looked to be no way back. “I was surfing, but I can’t really surf. My board almost knocked me out; I was stranded for half an hour, nobody could see me. I just let go, I felt very warm and calm. I wasn’t afraid.” Thankfully for him, and for devotees of his band’s inimitable brand of garage-pop, some fortuitously-placed coral reef intervened. A few months on, The Raveonettes have returned with a new album. It’s no wonder the pressures of a hectic touring schedule seem a rather minuscule grievance. Gigwise has found a genuinely humble rock star.

Don’t confuse this humility with contentment though. New album Lust Lust Lust is the result of a brooding, self-examination for Sune, its sole songwriter. As the title suggests, it deals with issues of relationships. “It’s primarily based on personal experiences,” he admits. “It’s a reflection of my life in New York City.” As he glances around at the stuffy underground changing room we’re sitting in, it’s clear he’s a long way from home. The cosmopolitanism of The Big Apple can be heard in the variety of influences and styles The Raveonettes utilise. But so can a more sinister side; the paranoia of frenzied city life, the claustrophobia that can destroy relationships. Sune remarks: “Sometimes I wonder, is it natural for a man and a woman to spend their entire life together?”

This gives away his need for solitude. “I never write when I’m on tour. I can’t write unless I’m alone, all my ideas go away when I’m with other people.” Does this explain the lack of songwriting involvement for Sharin Foo, The Raveonettes' demure female singer/guitarist? “I tried writing with Sharin; we went away to a winery to write together. But I just froze…..She’s happy that I write the songs, it’s always been that way.” The personal feel of tracks such as ‘Blush’ and ‘Black Satin’ – Sune’s ode to his near-death experience – is rooted in Sune’s insular but prolific songwriting style.

While Sune lives in New York, Sharin, his fellow Dane, resides nearly 3000 miles away in Los Angeles. He ponders the make-up of The Raveonettes. “Sometimes it doesn’t feel like a band as we’re often apart. Yet we always seem to be doing something together.” Onstage, the duo is a much clearer partnership. When thinking of boy-girl two-pieces in modern rock, The White Stripes immediately spring to mind. The musical make-up of that pairing mirrors The Raveonettes in that the male is the songwriter and driving force behind the sound. But live, the connection between the two bands ends. Whereas Jack White dominates, a virtuoso performer, Sune and Sharin are grounded in parity, as their harmonious singing and sparring guitars illustrate. “We never even talk about it,” assures a perplexed-looking Sune. “It’s just natural.”


Sharin brings luscious vocals and a carefree stage presence to the band, complimenting Sune’s reserved manner in front of a crowd. But they aren’t born entertainers, believing the intricacy of the music they create is enough to enrapture their audiences. “We just got off a tour with The Cribs, they were really cool guys. They play with such energy, just go crazy. I was like, ‘Why don’t we have that?’ But we have a different style; still intense, just different.”

What overrides everything Sune does is a delight in control. He took personal command over Lust Lust Lust’s artwork, convincing The Raveonettes label to spend the cash to make it 3D. “I thought there’s no way Fierce Panda would agree to it, so I did a sales pitch to them, and they bought it.” Being in charge onstage is also important to him. “I prefer our own gigs, where if we fuck up, we can laugh about it. I’m more nervous at festivals, where people might not know our band and you don’t know how many will turn up. We’ll hopefully do lots of festivals this summer – Reading, Glastonbury – I’ll be checking the schedules to see who we’re up against!”

There are few bands in direct competition with The Raveonettes style. They’re still all B-Movie chic, fashionably alternative with just enough substance. Groups like The Ronettes influence their 50s/60s vibe, though the experimentation and melodious tendancies of The Velvet Underground are equally evident. “I still listen to the same stuff I always have, but everything around me influences. Recently, I Googled Best Screenplay Oscar winners from the 1970s, got hold of these obscure films and now some of them are my favourites. I like searching…”

This absorption of pop culture extends to technology, which Sune is keen to use to involve fans in the band’s progress. “We posted lots of demos onto MySpace, and we take the comments from fans into account. I love that closeness.” They are also giving away tickets to their current UK tour to fans that send messages asking for them. For a band four albums and seven years into their career, they have a remarkable openness. This extends to critical responses to their music. “I don’t mind if reviewers give the album two out of ten or eight, as long as they have an opinion. Don’t give it a six, have something to say about it. Give me something I can use.”

The urge for feedback of any kind stems from a writer’s mindset. The Raveonettes new album is barely released, but Sune’s attention is already turning to how to make the next one better. “I wanna go home and write really fucked up songs. More fucked up than these ones. I wrote 100 songs for Lust, and will have that many again for the next one.” But surely his enthusiasm wanes with the constant grind of touring and recording? “I get to write and to play music, I don’t have to get up in the morning and I get to hear my songs on the radio – I love that shit!” If nearly drowning leaves everybody with such intensity, creativity and enthusiasm, maybe we should all take up surfing.

The Raveonettes Live

The Raveonettes
Brighton Barfly
Thursday 15th November 2007

“I used to live in Brighton,” says The Raveonettes’ Sune Rose Wagner, with a wry smile to some friends in the crowd. Maybe this is how a rock gig in a raw little venue has appropriated this homely, wholesome feel. The band play nostalgic music with an ear to the future, garage rock with an eye on ‘50s pop; there’s something for everyone to enjoy – and everyone seems to.

As Sune saunters onstage, he appears distant but at ease. Fellow singer/guitarist Sharin Foo glides into view looking equally comfortable; a radiant muse for Sune’s understated persona. They plough into new material with little introduction. ‘Blush’ stands out as a showcase for sun-soaked guitars and simple rhythms. The duo is joined by a drummer who provides a platform for their gentle two-pronged guitar combination.

Old favourite ‘Love In A Trashcan’ allows those whose tapping feet desire more strenuous movement to scratch their itch. The more aggressive, direct performance gets bodies jumping and adds an increased energy to the setting. New single ‘Dead Sound’ has a similar catchiness that maintains the momentum, but with increased subtlety.

The negative of two combating guitarists is that the noise they create can overawe the harmonies they perform. They sing in unison, Sharin’s ethereal voice soaring over Sune’s lower murmurs, making a distinct and charming vocal pairing. However, on more raucous numbers like ‘Attack of the Ghost Riders’ and thunderous closer ‘Aly, Walk With Me’ these voices are lost under a blanket of noise.

There’s a relaxed atmosphere that swallows up any annoyance at unpolished playing and dodgy sound, aided by the band’s eagerness to interact. Sune reacts to glowsticks being thrown at Sharin by defining The Raveonettes as “old rave.” Later, they play Stereolab’s ‘French Disko’ because they believe their cover to be far superior to Editors’ attempt.

Where they excel is in delicacy and minimalism, times when Sune’s hauntingly intimate lyrics can be heard and Sharin’s ghostly presence savoured. ‘Black Satin’ provides such a moment, its pulsating riff matched by considered, refined singing. ‘Here Comes Mary’ is another captivating song of oppositions. It’s dreamy refrain hides sinister undertones in a gentle but edgy saga of suicide.

The Raveonettes mould their live show into a nuance of passionate intensity and passive melancholy, always keeping a flow to proceedings. This makes every melody float past but remain ingrained; the show does likewise. It’s unspectacular and not instantly striking, but the Danish duo and their songs have a captivating allure that warms the crowd – friends of the band or otherwise.

XFM Big Night Out - Maximo Park & The Maccabees Live

Maximo Park’s second album was rubbish. The Maccabees have been plodding out the same set for the last two years. The chances of this night out being as big as its name suggests are slim. The possibility of everyone staying in the pub to watch the rugby is high. So how was this gig so bloody good?

Regretfully, Pete and the Pirates are sacrificed in favour of Jonny Wilkinson and “Swing Low Sweet Chariot”, meaning Gigwise is left with a mad dash to catch The Maccabees. They are already onstage as throngs of patriotic gig-goers bustle into the Academy. With the excitement of greetings and jubilation of English victories, the band struggle to press their authority over the hubbub. ‘Toothpaste Kisses’ is lost beneath its own daintiness and the boisterous crowd’s inattentiveness.

Their set needs something to trigger a turnaround. This duly arrives with ‘Latchmere.’ The childish purity of its refrain echoes around with gleeful contagiousness. There’s a gripping nonchalance to Orlando Weeks’ vocals that compliments the jarring riffs and anomalous stage presence. ‘Precious Time’ combines insecure build-up with a tumultuous climax, ‘First Love’ buzzes with a zealous energy that spreads to the crowd and the recovery is complete.

As Maximo Park burst onstage with archetypal enthusiasm, Paul Smith leaping and leering, it’s soon clear their show won’t be typical. Opener ‘The Coast Is Always Changing’ is tight and focused, Smith looks positively manic and the most dismissive of observers can’t help but be hooked. They almost ruin it by playing ‘A Fortnight’s Time’ next, a painfully feeble song including the chorus, “five times five equals twenty-five, don’t you know your times-tables by now?” However, solid playing and Smith’s undeniable passion carry it off.

He orchestrates the tone of the set. When he races around the band is frenetic, when he screws up his face in pantomime anguish they are subtle, giving his showmanship a platform. The bass player still looks like he’s wandered onstage and nobody dares ask him to leave, but with Smith’s histrionics and a hyperactive keyboardist the visual spectacle matches the musical performance.

The explosive catchiness of ‘Apply Some Pressure’ and ‘Our Velocity’ are dispatched amid expected bedlam. ‘Books From Boxes’ adds a winning earnestness to proceedings, while other past singles ‘Going Missing’ and ‘Girls Who Play Guitars’ appease the masses. But the surprise is the triumph of Maximo Park’s less-lauded tracks. ‘Limassol’ is a paranoid riot, while ‘Russian Literature’ manages to be more captivating than pretentious.

‘Graffiti’ closes powerfully, before the night continues with a DJ set from everyone’s second-favourite curly-haired ex-Popworld host. Alex Zane has an easy job; after sporting success, impressive bands and cheap Carling, the mood is elated and the dancefloor full.

Jack Penate - Live Review

Jack Penate

The Old Market, Hove
Sunday 7th October

With his debut album’s release only hours away, Jack Penate looks nervous as he meanders onstage hid beneath a hoodie. Soon though, fuelled by the screams of an adoring crowd, pure adrenaline releases the born performer inside him.

His anxiety is shown when he races through ‘Spit at Stars’, often a centre-piece of his sets, to open the show. The tension, coupled with Jack’s own frenetic style, makes it seem over prematurely. Soon though, he is charming his way through anecdotes about “breaking in his new guitar” and throwing up last time he came to Brighton. Phew, he’s finally relaxing.

This is clear as he rumbles into a tumultuous rendition of ‘Got My Favourite.’ It includes an extended intro that burns away the image of Penate as sensitive songwriter. The alteration of numerous tracks, while showing rapid musical progression, suggests he is tiring of them already. The readiness to rearrange and alter is as much for his own enjoyment as for the audiences.

When performing balladic numbers, such as the sparkling delicacy of ‘My Yvonne’, there is restlessness in the room that makes the arrangements seem even sparser. However, Penate’s voice proves emotive enough to resonate over the hubbub and deliver passable presentations.

The songwriting contains an innocence that the setting exaggerates. The Old Market - complete with makeshift drinks desk - resembles a school disco, especially as it is brimming with excited teenagers. The shaky lyrical simplicity of ‘We Will Be Here’, including “Embrace your sleeping sweetheart with hush/The words I love you mean so much,” manages to be poignant rather than mushy.

The whole set seems an appetiser for the combination of much-loved singles ‘Torn On The Platform’ and ‘Second, Minute or Hour.’ Both are accompanied by the elated backing vocals of a satisfied crowd, plus the bandy-legged joyfulness of Penate’s chaotic dancing. In these tracks, he achieves the middle ground between affecting subtlety and electrifying showmanship.

Nevertheless, they are overshadowed by a cover of The SOS Band’s ‘Just Be Good To Me’ sandwiched between. Backed by a deep, throbbing bass line and a frankly giddy drummer, Jack’s high falsetto slides over the track with a cheeky sneer. The choice is inspired, the delivery audacious, the night complete.

The fact a cover proves the highlight illustrates the lack of a strong catalogue of songs, but Jack Penate’s endearing manner and the few dazzling tracks he does possess make him a flawed yet enduring live treat.