The Postelles and Cage The Elephant Live

Thursday 24th April
Proud Gallery
Camden Town, London

There are about six bands on tonight, but the ones worth mentioning are inconveniently placed at either end of the bill. Both are very young, very American, and very good in very different ways.

The Postelles are a stylish four-piece from New York that dress, sound and act like The Strokes. They have even got Albert Hammond Jr. to produce their new single. Their debut EP hasn’t quite garnered the same acclaim as ‘The Modern Age’, but is promising nonetheless. ‘White Night’ is an uncomplicated jig filled with Kooks-borrowed wails and catchy couplets, jerky enough to tease a few people away from their stables.

Oh, I forgot to mention: Proud has moved to a former horse hospital, so all the seating stalls are actually stalls and the concept of grazing by the bar has taken on a whole new meaning. The sheer novelty of this perhaps contributes to the thinness of numbers for The Postelles sharp set. They continue with the afore-mentioned single, ‘123 Stop’, a tighter, teenage romp about hating goodbyes that snaps past with a chart-friendly fizz.

Their five-song set ends with another toe-tapping burst of duelling guitars, likeably loose lyrics and grinning gusto from the group. There is a thrilling abandon to their appearance, looking unwaveringly unconcerned about the sparse crowd. After their show they proceed to get merry, confident that their songs – or if not then their outrageously drunk bassist - are exciting enough to eventually gain exposure.
Cage The Elephant have already captured that elusive buzz thanks to first single ‘In One Ear.’ They stomp onstage with a purposeful swagger, making their set seem an event rather than another interlude between beers. Singer Matt Shultz has an unruly manner on the mic, spitting aggressive lyrics with attractive arrogance. They sound ready for the adulation likely to come their way.

It sounds chaotic but tight, especially on the stop-start signatures of ‘Lotus’, a bright cut of pop punk that is brimming with oomph. Soon Shultz is in the audience, spreading the vigour that typifies the performance. This is essential, as the songs aren’t particularly inspiring and the vocal delivery, more a brash half-rap than singing, soon begins to grate.

Deciding not to play the only song most people know last is a daring move, but intelligent. ‘In One Ear’ sounds gimmicky and bland after being overplayed everywhere for the past few weeks, its repeated refrain sounding juvenile rather than anarchic. However, not relying on their hit suggests there may be more to the band than a cheesy chorus.

This proves true as they rip through ‘Tiny Little Robots’, a frenetic rush of Hives riffs building to a crushing climax of rolling drums and verbal ferocity. They have the attitude and energy to be successful, if not the effortlessness of The Postelles. Still, there’s enough space for both of them in a stable tonight, so your record collection should have plenty of room.

Tindersticks - The Hungry Saw

The luxurious sound conjured on Tindersticks’ long-overdue return appears to justify the frustrations and convulsions of an eventful and painful five-year-long disappearance. The record is a simply sumptuous effort, leaving the listener bathed in the opulence of a band clearly thrilled to be making music again.

Since the Nottingham collective last recorded together, the line-up has been trimmed to a core of three original members, while singer Stuart Staples now has two solo albums under his belt. There is a reinvigorated comfort and togetherness to the sound, shown in the steady progression of ‘Boobar’, with its wounded harmonies and circular structure.

The focal point of their compositions remains the dreamlike, smoky vocals of Staples. His injured utterances shape and match the understated gloom and glory of the expert playing. He appears, triumphantly desolate, in every melody. Having begun with a lengthy, plodding instrumental, the album is shook into life with his velvety moan on ‘Yesterday Tomorrow’, the most instantly accessible track on show.

The break seems to have enriched the group with an uncomplicated ease that ensures their seventh album, which includes lavish strings and long instrumentals, isn’t (too) guilty of posturing. The delicate acoustic strum of ‘All The Love’ is a ballad relying on nothing but a few simple chords and that hollow, anguished voice. They aren’t trying too hard, but equally aren’t burying any half-baked idea into the songs.

Nevertheless, at times ‘The Hungry Saw’ is exhausting. Admittedly, three instrumental songs will grate on an audience used to immediacy and laconic, audible rewards. However, the tantalising allure of the title track’s jerky shuffle, or the gruelling splendour of ‘The Other Side Of The World’, lies in a reliance on tensions constantly built and overlapped but not always fulfilled.

A few numbers miss; too elaborate and drifting into pretentiousness, or not doing enough and becoming tedious. Still, the effortlessness with which Tindersticks re-emergence sails past is testament to its consistency and quality. It washes over, growing richer in texture with each listen. If every band was certain to return from lengthy hiatuses with comebacks like this, they would all be advised to take a rest.

Benicassim

Waking up at festivals isn’t fun. Your head hurts, mud has miraculously seeped into your tent, you’re thirsty but all there is to drink is a half-empty can of Carling, and you smell like you haven’t washed for three days – because you haven’t. There is no remedy for this, other than to jet away from this meteorologically-challenged isle to Benicassim, where a beach situated five minutes away makes returning to consciousness that much easier.

Benicassim is Spain’s premier festival, a veritable feast of sun, sea, sand and sangria. It contains all the usual festival ingredients, but has the added advantage of guaranteed great weather, a stunning setting and the opportunity for a holiday.

It has been at the forefront of the growing trend for Brits to head abroad for festivals since its inception 14 years ago. Situated between Barcelona and Valencia, many opt to visit either of these cities before heading to Benicassim. It is only a small town, without the tourist trappings of other Spanish destinations. This leads to delightful linguistic difficulties when attempting simple tasks like ordering food, but the atmosphere is relaxed and friendly. Around half of the festival attendees are British, but there is still an interesting mix of nationalities and outlooks.

On the music front, the usual huge names mix with a delectable selection of up-and-comers, forgotten gems and fascinating unknowns. Last year the big hitters included Muse, Arctic Monkeys, Kings of Leon, Klaxons and Amy Winehouse. Iggy & The Stooges, The B-52s and The Human League were amongst those displaying endurance, while interesting obscurities like Devo and Kiko Venuno also graced the stages.

This year the likes of Sigur Ros, Gnarls Barkley and Babyshambles will be entertaining the 35,000-strong crowds. The line-up is receiving criticism for a lack of firm headliners, but this is typical of Benicassim’s alternative attitude in comparison to its UK equivalents. Bands begin playing at around 5pm, continuing past 6am. The headliners don’t appear last each night, instead arriving around 1am, when the temperature is dropping and enthusiasm peaking. Afterwards, dance acts continue in tents with water refreshingly sprayed from the roofs, until the indefatigable crowds finally leave as the sun is rising.

The musical element of the festival is not its defining factor; it is merely the thread on which a holiday hangs. With no aural pleasures until evening, daytime dalliance is essential. Escaping the blistering heat of your tent is recommended, with most heading for the idyllic salvation of a beautiful beach. Other options include heading to the water park, where racing down slides like you’re seven again really is as much fun as it sounds. There are also dozens of atypical eateries for savouring local cuisine and downing sangria. Stay off the main strip to find restaurants and bars where the service rises above uni canteen standards and the prices below overdraft-inducing level.

When flights and travel are taken into account, Benicassim isn’t cheap. However, the festival ticket is reasonable at £128, you can camp for nine days including the four when the festival is on, plus Easyjet ensure planes aren’t too expensive. The best way to reach the town from the major airports is train, which should be booked in advance to avoid sweltering stampedes mid-hangover on departure day.

On arrival, the first decision is where to stay. Some choose to rent private pitches or studios, but there are three sites your festival ticket qualifies you to camp on for free. Of these, Bonet is the liveliest but furthest from the festival, CampFIB closest but quietest, and Mercat in between the two both geographically and in terms of commotion. If you opt for the bustle of Bonet, a bus service to the festival is provided, but it’s only a twenty minute walk, relatively safe and lots more fun.

Benicassim doesn’t suffer from as much violence and rowdiness as British festivals, probably because of the heat and blissed-out attitude it creates. If drugs are your thing, they’re as available as anywhere else. To avoid queuing for drinks inside, grab tokens from your campsite beforehand.

The festival’s uniqueness lies in the feeling it generates through its environment, musical variety and attraction of like-minded people out for fun and frolics. It’s all the positives of British jaunts, heightened by the glistening sun, with the negatives washed away on sweeping waves and buried under sandy beaches.

Shout Out Louds - Our ill Wills

Sometimes an album sounds fun on first listen, and then repeated plays reveal a previously hidden ripe underbelly of symphonic treats and aural pleasures. ‘Our Ill Wills’ doesn’t. It’s rather nice, but there are puddles with more depth. The darling harmonies and summery arrangements that typified debut album ‘Howl Howl Gaff Gaff’ are present and correct, as is the endearing lyrical optimism and naivety. Shout Out Louds know about heartache, romance, that indistinguishable period between the two, plus the bit before and the time after. And they’ll be damned if they are going to write a song about anything else.

Just in case the band weren’t twee enough, they rope in Bjorn again – the Peter, Bjorn and John member and long-time Shout Out Louds producer, not the Abba tribute – to sprinkle the catchy stardust of ‘Young Folks’ onto the likes of ‘Impossible’ and ‘Tonight I Have To Leave It.’ These added pop sensibilities ensure the songs are never less than listenable, but they rarely rise to include anything remotely affecting.

The record was actually released last year in most of the world, and appears to have been astutely held back to wait for the sunshine months. Songs such as ‘Suit Yourself’ and ‘Normandie’ owe much to The Cure’s blueprint of probing pop mystery, all uplifting vagueness, bouncy bass and handclaps.

The most sparse, remote song on show is ‘Meat Is Murder’, not a Smiths cover, but a homage including lines like “Everything sounds miserable tonight.” Another dark moment arrives with ‘Time Left To Love’, but the tale of loss is still sparkling pop. “The rumours said it was a serial killer/but they got hit by a caterpillar,” wins the Lou Reed Award for throwaway lyrics to deal with serious issues, and by this stage the vulnerable vocals and sheer musical gaiety is really grating.

Strangely, the album-defining moment comes courtesy of keyboardist Bebban Stenborg’s only lead vocal. On ‘Blue Headlights’ her dainty, rosy voice sails over a delicate little acoustic loop, spinning tales of “surprising eyes,” “ladybirds,” and “frozen hearts,” before gently asking “come on everybody, take your love to town.” The song is drenched in heartfelt, but ultimately trashy, loveliness; it’s so sweet it’s sickening.

This is a petite piece of pop, delightfully delivered by a harmless, charming collective. A daydream, it may attach you like a flower in your lover’s hair, but fall out of your mind just as easily and insignificantly. It’s an album to fall in love to, but not with.

Festivals

You used to know where you stood with festivals. Go to Glastonbury if you want mud and majesty, head to Reading for rough and ready rocking. Chance V for the clean and commercial, or try T in the Park if you can be bothered to trek to Scotland. Now things have changed, with renewed interest in live music heralding a new golden age for festivals.

As the season approaches, it appears there are more festivals than fields. Whether it’s independent jaunts in unknown corners of Britain, marauding trips to European hotspots, or corporate events in the capital, there is something for everyone. So why have they got so popular?

“Festivals? They’re a place to escape control,” mused Jarvis Cocker at V last summer. “Everyone comes together, and makes something different. It can be brilliant.” They are a chance for a break from reality, where mini-civilisations are created with little more than tent pegs, narcotics and common musical tastes. The stress and strains of daily existence can be forgotten in a haze of alternative music and alcohol.

The feeling of community that springs when thousands of people are lumped in a field together is a particular sensation. With no opposition, the mob mentality that can be generated at sporting occasions is replaced by a collective identity that is built on shared experiences, be it cheering a headliner, or bemoaning a portaloo.

“But then, every day should be like that,” continued Cocker. “A festival of life. Yeah…Although, festivals aren’t always like that even.” This paradoxical statement highlights how festivals aren’t necessarily sunshine and smiles; they’re often warped, intense representations of life, with the lows included alongside the highs. You might see Muse one minute but Mika the next, make a friend one day yet end up lost and alone another.

The ideal experienced by many seems mythical to others, with rising prices, increased commercialism and growing numbers of people out for trouble as much as fun. Tents can be set on fire, valuables may be stolen - it can even rain. That all-for-one, one-for-all spirit can be easily extinguished by thunderstorms or theft. Nevertheless, attendee numbers continue to rise, as people treat festivals as replacements for holidays, or even head abroad and combine the two.

As they grow in profile, the cultural influence of festivals could be growing. Cocker was equally ambiguous on their merits in the mid-Nineties. On classic Pulp track ‘Sorted For E’s and Wizz’ the bespectacled singer questioned: “Is this the way they say the future’s meant to feel/Or just 20,000 people standing in a field?” It is difficult to decide whether they are important phenomenon, or purely business-savvy organisations cashing in on media-influenced people buying in.

The impact of festivals may be exaggerated; could it just be a bunch of kids with nothing better to do? We may be being manipulated into giving huge corporations lots of money to see short, sub-standard sets from bands simply after big paychecks and boosts in record sales. We are simply consumers buying well-produced, superbly marketed products.

Festivals can be highly-controlled hedonism, with restraints as unassuming as stage times and the price of beer, plus more obvious ones like stewards and laws, contributing to what you do and when. People head to festivals to go wild for a weekend and flee their routines, but they dive straight into another – it’s just this routine is probably a lot more fun. Yet the anarchy is drip-fed, in confined spaces; there is an order and a protocol to everything, often designed to ensure minimum fuss and maximum profit.

Of course, this extremely cynical view doesn’t account for the life-affirming experiences many people find. There is now an event to suit every taste, so as long you do your research you should end up somewhere suitable, or at least know what to expect. The key ingredient to all festivals remains people, all crammed together, idiosyncrasies and ideologies mingling and altering, with the hassles and delights that entails.

“We claimed the very source of joy ran through,” sings David Bowie, summing up the subject on ‘Memory Of A Free Festival’. “It didn't, but it seemed that way/I kissed a lot of people that day.” While you’re there festivals may feel like they mean the world, but even if they don’t, they can be incredibly enjoyable. Anyway, what else are you going to do with your summer?

Inter 0 (0) - 1 (3) Liverpool

Fernando Torres showed his class as Liverpool strolled into the quarter-finals of the Champions League with a 1-0 victory against 10-man Inter Milan. The striker scored a superb shot from outside of the box as the English side won the tie 3-0 on aggregate.

The Italians had Nicolas Burdisso sent-off early in the second half for two soft bookings and never looked like achieving an upset. Liverpool were happy to shut out the Serie A leaders, and after Torres’ 64th minute strike they were never in doubt of becoming the fourth English team into the last eight of the competition.

Both teams starting line-ups were disrupted before the game, with Inter missing Marco Materazzi through suspension and Liverpool without Xabi Alonso, who controversially opted not to travel. Torres was deployed as a lone striker, while Inter looked to Zlatan Ibrahimovic, the forward, for inspiration.

Inter played into Liverpool’s hands early on, attempting to patiently probe but only succeeding in allowing the visitors time to settle into their defensive game-plan. There was no urgency to their play, with Javier Mascherano and Lucas Leiva dominating Inter’s pedestrian midfield.

However, with Jamie Carragher deployed at right-back, there were gaps in Liverpool’s defence. Luckily for the English side, the few chances Inter did create fell to the hapless Julio Cruz. He drilled a ferocious low shot from 20 yards after eight minutes, forcing a fine save from Pepe Reina, the Liverpool goalkeeper.

Cruz’s next chance was the product of slick interplay with Ibrahimovic, who showed touches of class, but flitted in and out of the game. The lanky forward slid a neat through ball to Cruz, but his attempt rolled harmlessly wide.

Liverpool’s only opportunities came from mistakes in Inter’s nervy backline. The best of these fell to Torres, who darted into the box after Esteban Cambiasso’s slip, but Julio Cesar saved well from a tight angle.

An audacious attempt from Cruz right before half-time could have sent Inter into the dressing room with renewed hope. The deceptively quick Maicon pulled back to the Argentinean, who delicately back heeled the ball, but only found Reina’s outstretched arms.

Inter gained some momentum after the restart, but this was short-lived as Burdisso saw red after a laughable decision from the referee. Challenging for a high ball with Lucas, the incident looked innocuous, but Tom Henning branded a second yellow card and effectively ended the tie as a contest.

Torres took advantage of the gaps that inevitably appeared as Inter pushed for a goal, scoring with a blistering strike from outside the penalty area after a dazzling swivel. His third goal in six Champions League appearances for Liverpool came from Fabio Aurelio’s floated cross, which Torres controlled expertly before blasting into the bottom left-hand corner.

Inter gave up completely after this, allowing Liverpool to leisurely stroke the ball around with little pressure. This was their sixth straight win, and they go into Friday’s Champions League draw full of confidence that they can reach a third final in four years.

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.

Vampire Weekend Review

Vampire Weekend
Brighton Audio
Sunday 24th February 2008

“You’re shit hot!” shouts a typically animated Vampire Weekend devotee. “You don’t like us? Oh…” enquires clearly deflated singer Ezra Koenig. “No, no, shit hot means good over here,” he is assured. Although some things are lost in translation, the band’s irrepressibly joyous pop kitsch is well understood.

The New York band have enjoyed (or endured, depending on your viewpoint) more hype than is strictly plausible for a preppie four-piece with a penchant for Peter Gabriel. If this had gone to their heads the ridiculously tiny stage wouldn’t be able to fit even one of their egos, let alone a drum kit. When they jumble into view, forced to perform in a straight line due the delightfully cramped setup, it’s clear they’re as enthusiastic as the opening aural fling of ‘Mansard Roof’ suggests. The lyrical quirkiness charges fragmented rhythms in a strolling idiosyncratic salute.

The difference of this beginning is misleading though. Despite their billing as composers of thrilling, new musical ideas, Vampire Weekend are really just another indie band, who happen to throw in some world influences to compliment the angular riffs. This doesn’t decrease their attraction though, as new single ‘A-Punk’ shows. It’s infectious melody and buzzing bass are brimming with a frazzled energy that disperses into an already vivacious audience. It’s unadulterated playfulness, with enough “whoa” chants to engage and not too many to annoy.

The set careens past, a blur of communicable vim. Themes of unswerving simplicity in ‘Campus’ and ‘M79’ increase the hurtling pace of the show, with cheery exuberance favoured over showy dramatics or complexity. The former showcases the loveable naivety of the group as they reminisce: “In the afternoon you‘re out on the stolen grass/And I‘m sleeping on the balcony after class.” They look startlingly young, and suitably untroubled. ‘Cape Cod Kwassa Kwassa’, with its calypso attitude and clinking melody, is a calming respite, less frenetic but equally jubilant.

The closing couplet of ‘Oxford Comma’ and Walcott’ raise smiles and spirits further. Ezra’s sardonic drawl of “All your diction dripping with disdain,” in their knowing ode to grammatical accuracy proves a glowing highlight. The tempo changes, vocal gimmickry and clever stylistic blending characterise the band’s tongue-in-cheek astuteness and overriding aim to entertain.

‘Walcott’ is a plain old sing-along, containing about four lines, but enough spark to make the crowd desperately want to visit the mysterious Cape the song’s protagonist wants to get out of. The drumming is basic and overwhelmingly loud, the tune is easy to follow, the hook itching to be yelled. This is timeless sunshine music, but equally effective at warming a Brighton basement in February. Vampire Weekend are far too fun to be revolutionary, and all the better for it.

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.”

The Best Love Songs Ever

20. Blur – ‘Tender’ Graham Coxon shuffles about uncomfortably, Damon Albarn is all gawky certainty, and Blur have never been so powerful. Backed by a gospel choir, recalling the imagery of Fitzgerald and Keats, it had altogether loftier ambitions than Blur’s earlier records. However, its charm is the devastating simplicity of both words and music, combining to make a song full of affection.

19. The Stranglers – ‘Golden Brown’ A love song about heroin, it waltzes past, seemingly propping itself up on a merry-go-round rhythm that bobs along constantly. Full of contradictions and a tickling vocal, it sounds peculiarly English, a strange vagueness mixing with a stately delivery to get that bubbling affection creeping through.

18. Oasis – ‘Wonderwall’ One of the most recognisable riffs in music gives way to a brooding vocal, part-sneer, part-croon, and millions of people recall millions of moments this song has soundtracked. The faint strings bring depth, lyrics effortless togetherness. A track so universal it makes rabbles of drunken lads show signs of emotion on a daily basis.

17. Buzzcocks –‘Ever Fallen In Love (With Someone You Shouldn’t Have)’ Buzzcocks masterpiece of hormonal adulation pits a confused Pete Shelley against his confusing lover and produces a rollicking two and a half minutes of unadulterated punk revelry. The repetition of ‘Ever fallen in love’ gives the song its heart and a quality that ensures reminiscence on every listen.

16. Donna Summer – ‘I Feel Love’ A trance-inducing loll through romance, ‘I Feel Love’ contains a synthesized backing so hypnotic it takes on an ardent glow. This lays the platform for Summer to sing piercingly pure vocals that bring an elated atmosphere to the track that revolutionised disco.

15. David Bowie – ‘Be My Wife’ “Sometimes you get so lonely/Sometimes you get nowhere.” Bowie is both playful and heated in this particularly frank plea for love. The key is the unconventional alteration of the repeated set of lyrics, changing slightly each verse and tapping into the desperation of Bowie’s appeal.

14. PJ Harvey – ‘This Is Love’ “I can’t believe life's so complex/When I just wanna' sit here and watch you undress.” PJ Harvey wastes no time in this rumbling blast of authoritative infatuation. It is unswerving in its intentions, as direct as it is commanding. The lack of complexity adds to the raw passion of a song of lustful pleasure.

13. The Smashing Pumpkins – ‘Tonight’ “The indescribable moments of your life tonight/The impossible is possible tonight/Believe in me as I believe in you, tonight.” Could be a bit cheesy, that. But sung in Billy Corgan’s unmistakable croak, it’s an empowering rollercoaster of a track, with grandiose strings ensuring an altogether affecting song.

12. Super Furry Animals – ‘Fire In My Heart’ A track of warmth and tenderness, it sees the Welsh scamps build up an exquisite but plain beginning. It evolves into a strong assertion of dedication, which clashes euphoric delivery with the underlining feeling the song should just collapse at any moment. Brilliantly different.

11. The Cure – ‘Friday I’m In Love’ Robert Smith penned this jovial ode to joy with a knowing simplicity that ensures it is as catchy as it is sincere. He uses the hook of days of the week eight years before Craig David made it annoying, and sings with enough jubilant abandon to lay claim to the title of happiest Goth of all time.

10. Led Zeppelin – ‘Thank You’ The first song that Robert Plant ever wrote for Led Zeppelin pays homage to his beloved wife Maureen; it features such heartrending lines as: “If the sun refused to shine / I would still be loving you /Mountains crumble to the sea / There will still be you and me.” Lovely.

9. Serge Gainsbourg and Jane Birkin – ‘Je T’aime (Moi Non Plus)’ Few love songs have been officially denounced by The Vatican, but Serge Gainsbourg managed it with this sensual saga. It was deemed outrageous and explicit, with hushed French vocals and a deliciously suggestive style, but is also delicately delivered. Gainsbourg’s then-girlfriend Brigitte Bardot asked him to write 'the most romantic song that you could imagine', which is a fairly apt description.

8. The La’s – ‘There She Goes’ The lyrically sparse, wandering spirit of ‘There She Goes’ sounds as fresh and free today as on its release. The liberating, uncomplicated nature of the song may be at odds with interpretations it is actually about heroin, but, regardless, it remains a startlingly loveable tale of adoration.

7. The Beatles – ‘Something’ A majestic, swirling, and unashamedly sentimental track written at the stage when The Beatles seemed to have left this type of balladic tune behind, the song showcased the genius of George Harrison. He claims to have had Ray Charles in mind when writing it, and captures a sentiment of both openness and elusiveness.

6. Lou Reed – ‘Perfect Day’ The former Velvet Underground man showcased sensitivity on this release from acclaimed solo album ‘Transformer.’ The track is a subtle trip down a seemingly conventional romance, and is stark in its honesty, with lines such as “You make me forget myself/I thought I was someone else/Someone good.” Of course, it could all be about heroin again, but it’s cute nonetheless.

5. Marvin Gaye – ‘Let’s Get It On’ With more “ooh ooh”s, primal cries and “baby”s than most singers manage in a career, Marvin Gaye was at his most persuasive on this classic groove of charismatic seduction. A laid-back slice of soulful perfection, thousands of bad karaoke renditions haven’t tainted the pure smoothness of this expressive perfection.

4. Sebastien Tellier – ‘La Ritournelle’ The almost unbearable lushness of ‘La Ritournelle’ is tantalisingly visceral, a song that breezily drifts away aches and pains. It’s stylish, but oozes a soft vulnerability that only adds to the aching beauty of this crafted composition. The kind of song so gorgeous it should be annoying.

3. The Beach Boys – ‘God Only Knows’ From the French horns of the introduction to the airy vocals of Carl Wilson, reluctantly allowed to sing the song by his brother Brian, ‘God Only Knows’ is a twinkling composition as gorgeous as it is complex. The understated harmonies and emotional lyricism complete a delightful pop moment.

2. Joy Division – ‘Love Will Tear Us Apart’ The delineation of destructive love, Ian Curtis’s tortured vocals are tormented by pulsating drums and a tainted melody, giving the song a prodigious power. The well-documented context in which the song was created adds a spectral quality to the sound, but it is the lyrics of isolation and devotion that make this an essential song of love and pain.


1. The Smiths – ‘There Is A Light That Never Goes Out’ Undoubtedly the most beautiful music ever to include lyrics about getting hit by a bus, this manages to be a touching love song despite, or perhaps because of, its ambiguous lyrics of isolation and death. Morrissey at his most poetic.

The Worst Love Songs Ever

20. Robbie Williams – ‘Angels’ After he left Take That, they soon fell by the wayside, and everybody assumed it wouldn’t be too long before the chubby one from Stoke did the same. But no, he released this behemoth of sentimental pap and it went and saved his career. So we still have to look at his smug face in the paper every day.

19. Lionel Ritchie – ‘Hello’ Does anyone else get ever so slightly scared by the video? How is the blind love interest’s sculpture so worryingly accurate? Is Lionel Ritchie really that creepy? He shouts hello with such exclamation, and so many times, you can’t even just ignore the song, you’re stuck listening to the repeated greetings of a gibbering idiot.

18. Bryan Adams – ‘Everything I Do, I Do It For You’ This Robin Hood soundtrack song was Number One in the UK for 16 weeks. 16 consecutive weeks! Who was still buying it? After four whole months of Bryan Adams telling you to “look into my eyes,” you’d have thought there was nothing left to see. But no, people kept buying it, the result being fits of cold sweats every time we see a bow and arrow. (This isn’t that often, admittedly.)

17. Eric Clapton – ‘Wonderful Tonight’ Didn’t he used to, erm, play rock music and stuff? Quite handy with a guitar, if we recall. The former Yardbirds and Cream member went all slushy with this tribute to his other half, Pattie Boyd, taking ages to get ready for a party. It’s frustrating when that happens, sure, but there’s no need for a syrupy four minute track to immortalise it.

16. Celine Dion – ‘My Heart Will Go On’ Sure, Titanic was a tragedy. But the real disaster was having this song unleashed on an unsuspecting public. Unlike the ship in the film this song soundtracked, it just wouldn’t sink. It was everywhere, winning Oscars and Grammys, while ingraining Celine Dion’s irritating, exasperating warble on a world not quite ready to realise it was absolute drivel.

15. Keane – ‘Somewhere Only We Know’ Back in the days before Keane singer Tom Chaplin was a plump, pompous, infuriating rehab-attendee, he was still plump, pompous and infuriating. This kicked it all off, the high vocals, plonking keys and empty sound adding up to a hollow track of stabbing irritation.



14. The Bangles – ‘Eternal Flame’ So awful it was deemed fit to be covered by Atomic Kitten. “I watch you when you are sleeping/You belong with me,” was apparently romantic, but in The Bangles’ sharp voices it sounds more like the behaviour of a deranged stalker. Naturally, it was a tasteless hit worldwide.

13. Sherman Brothers – ‘You’re Sixteen’ The question is, how old were the Sherman Brothers? Sure, sure, 16 is legal. But the age of consent is 12 in the Philippines – that doesn’t make it right. Regardless of that, the song is just plain, cheap, nasty, throwaway, boring music. Ringo Starr did a cover version. Hmmm…

12. Westlife – ‘Flying Without Wings’ Westlife release a song, it gets to Number One, it becomes increasingly difficult to believe the nation has a soul. The Irish crooners have been belting out slight variations of this formula for years now, but never more excruciatingly than on this 1999 hit. It all comes to a head at the chord change, when even if you’re hearing the song on the radio, you can picture them getting out of their stools, fists clenched, faces punchable.

11. Goo Goo Dolls – ‘Iris’ Songwriter Johnny Rzeznik is rumoured to have ended a long spell of sobriety when he penned this cult favourite. If Alcoholics Anonymous needs any help convincing people of the dangers of drink, that’s as good an incentive as any. You can still catch them peddling this at festivals, if you’re unlucky.

10. Savage Garden – ‘Truly Madly Deeply’ Darren Hayes reels off lines supposed to be of life-altering importance and earth-shattering beauty as if he’s reading a shopping list. Some kind of twiddly nonsense is going on in the background, and it ends with him squealing rather pathetically. But at least it knocked Elton John off the top of the charts.



9. Mariah Carey – ‘Hero’ She’s obviously pretty demanding, a bit detached from reality and more than a little unhinged. But she (or her management) knows how to sell records. Now, she’s shifting millions of sub-R&B; in 1993, schmaltzy, tear-jerking ballads about looking inside yourself were all the rage. Naturally, Mariah out- schmaltzed and out-cried all the competition.

8. Paul Anka – ‘You’re Having My Baby’ “You’re a woman in love/And I love what's going through you.” Or: “Whoa, the seed inside you/Baby, do you feel it growing.” Or even: “Having my baby/What a lovely way of saying/What you’re thinking of me.” Shameful sexism, vulgar imagery and downright shoddy lyricism combine in one of the most shockingly ghastly moments in music history.

7. Phil Collins – ‘Groovy Kinda Love’ The problem here is all in the lyrics. You can’t get much cheesier than “When I’m feeling blue, all I have to do/Is take a look at you, then I’m not so blue.” The worst part is that this is a cover! Collins took a truly atrocious song and somehow managed to make it so trashy it would be even more popular with middle England. Nothing groovy about that.

6. Nilson Harry – ‘I Can’t Live If Living Is Without You’ Agonising power-pop of the highest order, Nilson Harry stretches the boundaries of taste in this churning epic. None of the notes sound right, the lyrics are cobbled together and the whole thing relies on an enormous chorus that is just sickeningly needy. More depressing than romantic.

5. Barry Manilow – ‘Mandy’ Just edging Westlife’s version of the same song in terms of drippiness, this poppy ballad is utterly soaked in maudlin affection. That Barry Manilow’s ‘Mandy’ manages to gather up such an abundance of tackiness into just one song is its main achievement.4. Chris DeBurgh – ‘Lady In Red’ Bill Bailey has him very high up his patented ‘Scales of Evil,’ chiefly for infecting music with this tribute to a woman (maybe his wife, maybe Princess Diana) wearing a bright dress. Ending with the inspired lyrics of “Lady in red/lady in red/lady in red/I love you,” it is destined to grate on you at weddings forever more.

3. Donny Osmond – ‘Puppy Love’ He’s presenting some horrendous quiz show on daytime television now, but even that isn’t as nauseating as this memorably juvenile take on love. It could be deemed as cute and innocent, but is produced with such a layer of sheen you feel it is plastered onto you. Being fourteen is no excuse, this is plain rubbish.

2. Billy Rae Cyrus – ‘Achy Breaky Heart’ Country music, mullets and broken hearts don’t seem essential ingredients for an enormous crossover hit, but that’s all Billy Rae Cyrus had to work with. To make matters worse, it led to line dancing, the refuge of the elderly and the insane. Breaky isn’t even a word.

1. James Blunt – ‘You’re Beautiful’ He sits on the edge of a cliff for the entire length of the video. If they’d known what they do now, surely somebody would have pushed him before he jumped, wouldn’t they? The ultimate pitiful singer-songwriter’s definitive song, it’s painstakingly bad. “But I won’t lose no sleep on that/’Cause I’ve got a plan/You’re beautiful.” That’s not a plan, is it, now leave us alone.

Milan Misadventures

Giorgio Armani and me, we don’t often cross paths. Tina Turner sends him a panther every Christmas; I watch Peterborough Panthers speedway team occasionally. He’s got an estimated fortune of £4 billion; until recently I spent Friday nights sitting on a Tesco till. As he sat in his mansion, I was hunting down my £13.50-per-night hostel.

After a day spent investigating the Duomo cathedral, I sought some less sophisticated entertainment; there’s only so much refinement you can stand on a Saturday afternoon. Even though Milan is a destination known for fashion, style and elegance, these were far from my mind when entering a pub imaginatively named ‘The Football Bar’ to watch some British sport after a day of continental culture.

With Six Nations rugby on TV, I grabbed the last remaining table. A few lads wandered in, briefcases in tow, fresh from a conference. I offered seats, and was soon explaining the morals behind England fielding a Tonga-born former New Zealand international in a match against Wales, to a Scotsman, an Australian and an Italian. This seemed to go down well, the suits suitably impressed with my passable sporting knowledge.

They were interested enough to keep the drinks coming my way, and convinced me - through the persuasive power of Peroni - to join them for dinner. With only 15 Euros in my wallet, thankfully they were picking up the tab. I felt slightly out of place as champagne and lobster began to be served. Finally, I asked: “So what exactly is it you do?” Turns out I was in the midst of 16 international law firm partners, which came in handy when the bill reached two grand.

I thought it was time to depart, only to find I was on the guest list at “some club or other.” This was Armani Prive, Giorgio’s private nightclub, noted by theworldsfinestclubs.com for its “exclusive, luxurious atmosphere of personal expression.” My personal expression was crazed bewilderment, being the only non-millionaire/supermodel inside, dressed more H&M than D&G.

Realising the best way of fitting in with my newfound friends was a combination of polite nodding and gratuitous leering, I exited at 4am. But, unbeknown to me, the paparazzi were waiting. As they snapped away I considered a Bjork-esque attack on them for daring invade my privacy. Instead, I made my way to the hostel, reminiscing about my night of glamour before reality hit in the form of stale-bread for breakfast.

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.

I'm Not There Original Soundtrack

These songs were written by music’s most gifted songsmith and are reinterpreted here by a selection of today’s most talented artists. This sounds like a winning formula, but actually produces a shapeless batch that rouses as much infuriation as inspiration.

Luminaries such as Sonic Youth, Antony & The Johnsons and Jack Johnson attempt the impossible in covering Bob Dylan for the soundtrack to his upcoming experimental biopic. His voice is so distinctive that hearing the likes of ‘The Times They Are A-Changin’ in anything except his absorbing, hoarse hum generally sounds alien and ineffective.

However, many people find Dylan’s tone more excruciating than exhilarating, so this album is a chance to experience his songs with more acceptable audibility. Cat Power brings a simmering charm to ‘Stuck Inside Of Mobile With The Memphis Blues Again’ that is alluring and effortless, while Sufjan Stevens conjures a sweet, marauding spell with ‘Ring Them Bells.’

In a 34-track collection misfires are acceptable, but their regularity is disappointing. While Yo La Tengo’s performance of ‘Fourth Time Around’ is perfectly adequate, it sounds so similar to Dylan’s version you merely yearn for that. Eddie Vedder, Stephen Malkmus and Jeff Tweedy’s efforts all border on karaoke impressions.

The most effective renditions are those that alter the originals significantly. Karen O blends Dylan’s gravel-tinted elusiveness with her own kooky, feline snarl to muster an atmosphere of agitated fun on ‘Highway 61 Revisited.’ Willie Mason adds country grandeur on ‘Senor’, The Black Keys bring their deliciously filthy sound to ‘Wicked Messenger’ and suddenly the scope of Dylan’s versatility is partly found.

Nevertheless, the brilliance and ambiguousness of his character is never captured, as Sonic Youth’s cover of ‘I’m Not There’ shows. It’s moody, heartfelt and professional. But the album ends with Dylan singing the same track. It’s haunting, memorable - and superior. This soundtrack can serve as an introduction to his music, an antidote for his voice’s critics and an interesting portrayal of various artists being challenged. But by the end, you’ll be reaching for Blonde On Blonde, or The Freewheelin’, or Blood On The Tracks, or…..

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.

Tottenham Hotpur 3-2 Aalborg BK

Juande Ramos’ Midas touch in the UEFA Cup continued as he oversaw Tottenham Hotspur surmount a 2-0 half-time deficit to defeat Aalborg BK.

Ramos has won the tournament with Seville two years running; his new side are well placed to reach the knockout stages after a victory that looked very unlikely at one stage.

Aalborg out-battled and out-thought Spurs in the first half and were good value for their two goal lead. But Tottenham stormed back after the break, blitzing the opposition with three goals in 20 minutes. Second half goals from Dimitar Berbatov, the impressive Steed Malbranque and substitute Darren Bent sealed a 3-2 win.

White Hart Lane was stunned into silence after one minute and 50 seconds when Thomas Enevoldsen, the Aalborg striker, scored with a venomous shot from 20 yards. Collecting lifelong Spurs fan Martin Pedersen’s throw, he shrugged off a half-hearted challenge from Robbie Keane, the Tottenham captain, before rifling the ball past Paul Robinson’s despairing dive.

Spurs were tentative after this early setback and the ball broke down in central areas too often. Jermaine Jenas injected some pace into their play in the 15th minute when his driving run forced a corner, but the home side’s attacks were not as direct or as frequent as Aalborg’s.

As Tottenham’s frustrations grew, so too did the Danish side’s confidence and they began dictating play. Young Pyo Lee, playing in an unfamiliar right-back role, was caught napping as Rade Prica raided down the wing. Lee appeared to bundle him over in the penalty area, but the referee gave a corner.

Spurs did not heed this warning. In the 37th minute, Lee was again out of position and Prica took full advantage. He crossed accurately to Kasper Risgaard, who stabbed the ball in from three yards after getting in front of Michael Dawson.

Aalborg were playing their 19th game of their European campaign, having qualified through this season’s Intertoto Cup. They had won only two of their previous fixtures, drawing six. Yet their organised approach outwitted Tottenham’s unbalanced play in the first half.

Juande Ramos didn’t scream at his players at half-time; it appears this isn’t his style. “The most important thing is to explain things,” he said. “Not to shout at them, but to solve problems.”

He did this by introducing Darren Bent for the woeful Lee and Tom Huddlestone for Jermaine Jenas, who picked up an ankle injury. Huddlestone made an instant impact. After 39 second-half seconds, his subtle through-ball fed Dimitar Berbatov, who slid in to poke the ball past Aalborg goalkeeper Karin Zaza.

The visitors looked shell-shocked as Tottenham increased the tempo and tenacity of their play. Altering their formation to 4-3-3, with Bent joining Berbatov and Keane in a three-pronged attack and Didier Zokora slotting in front of a back three, rejuvenated the home side.

Berbatov revelled in the improved service he was given. After 50 minutes, he showed strength and hunger to power past two defenders before squaring the ball to Bent. His shot was blocked, but Keane calmly laid the rebound off to Steed Malbranque, who smashed it into the roof of the net.

Aalborg dropped deeper as they sought to steady themselves, but this only allowed Huddlestone to pull the strings in midfield. He was able to bring Spurs’ wide players, largely ineffective in the first half, into play. Malbranque probed intelligently on the left, while Aaron Lennon’s speed caused havoc on the right.

It was Lennon who created the winner for Bent, Ramos’ other inspired substitution. Gareth Bale’s free-kick was parried out to the diminutive winger and he drilled the ball to Bent who poached from four yards.

Their endeavour in the first 45 minutes had drained Aalborg’s energies and they lacked the guile to force an equaliser. Ramos’ half-time changes turned the match around. But the Spaniard is aware his side need to improve if they are to progress further in this competition and climb the Premier League.

“At the moment we are conceding too many chances,” he said. “We can’t rely on us scoring three goals each time.” With such sloppy defenders, he may have to, but with so many attacking options, they just might manage it.