Thomas Tantrum

White Lies

Glasvegas

An eerie wreath of religion has coiled its way around Auld Reekie this evening. From the foreboding storm clouds congregating over the Edinburgh skyline to the 1,000 or so punters descending upon The Corn Exchange like a plague of ravenous locusts, there’s the distinct feeling that something biblical is about to unfold. And that ‘something’? Well, it’s a man whose self-penned psalms are greeted like heavenly scriptures, a man whose backing band of music making disciples are revered across the globe. It is, of course, Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds. Continue Reading

Frightened Rabbit at Hoxton Bar and Kitchen, 02/10/08. Photo credit: Lucy Johnston

Up and coming folk troubadours Frightened Rabbit played to a sold-out crowd at the ever-trendy Hoxton Bar and Kitchen. Crowd and industry alike were clearly amused by the eclectic choice of supports, but obviously blown away by the headliners.

Baddies opened proceedings with their spin on what can only be termed as Kaiser Chief-rock. Before any of you shrink back at fear from that suggestion, it isn’t intended as criticism, only description. In reality, Baddies are comparable to the Kaisers when they were on good form, ‘I Predict A Riot’ era, before the public realised that loving a band too much ultimately leads to hating them even more. Shouty, adrenaline pumped Oi-pop seemed to be the overall vibe of Baddies’ set. Their songs were well written and came across as powerful enough live, taking a pop sound but throwing in the occasional unexpected guitar flick or Klaxons-esque vocal harmony here or there. However, as with the Kaisers, there were times when Baddies did come across as slightly cliche, with their lead singer constantly feeling the need to point at a largely non-moving and ambivalent crowd in the style of a military dictator. The smart shirt/retro instrument image did nothing but solidify the indie stereotype as well. All in through, Baddies played a solid set and if, like the audience, you can look past the surface flaws, it’s easy to see a band with a hell of a lot of potential in the pop world. Continue Reading

Having already released one of this year’s slow burning records, Shearwater are having quite a 2008. Their live reputation proceeds them. Having heard good things about their show at End of The Road, and a report of a ‘near religious experience’ at their London show, it was safe to say I was looking forward to the nights show.

Opening for Shearwater tonight was Drift Collective’s Birdengine (aka Lawry Tilbury). With dark lyrics (as in ‘he makes Nick Cave sound like S Club 7’) and a sombre baritone accompanied only by his gently picked guitar Birdengine weaves his tales with a suitably sombre air. Employing his rich vocal alongside a frankly haunting falsetto, Birdengine seemed to be a hit with the other bands and the audience alike. Radar Brothers describe him in their set as ‘Beautiful and Haunting’, while Shearwater main man Jonathan Meiburg hails his set as containing the ‘best onstage banter ever.’ After his criminally underrated debut last year, he may well be a name to watch out for over the next year.

Radar Brothers seem to be a nice group of people, amiable and joking within the band and with the audience. Sadly, the music they produce is rather lumpen in places. It isn’t that it is bad per se, rather it simply meanders along pleasantly in a major chord jangle. Placed between the stark, stripped down Birdengine and the lush full sound of Shearwater the set fell rather flat.

By the time Shearwater take the stage, the venue is alive with energy, and the five piece multi instrumentalists clearly thrive on it. In an age where every other band seems to feature a ‘multi-instrumentalist’, it is still a joy to see a group of such multi talented musicians at work. There are not many bands who can boast a drummer who also plays bowed xylophone, clarinet and hammered dulcimer. The fact that said drummer looks like a viking warrior and spent the majority of the evening talking to fans and listening intently to the support acts all adds to the charm. After years of heavy touring Shearwater are undoubtedly a class act, and have been quite the live spectacle for a few years now. Tonight was the last night of the European tour, and followed an apparently triumphant set at London’s St. Giles Church. Perhaps through repetition or tiredness, Shearwater’s combination of finely crafted songwriting and noise didn’t quite ring true tonight. Sure the songs were there, and when the band joined together and frontman Meiburg strained the veins in his neck there were moments of brilliance, yet somehow the noisy side of things felt somehow subdued, or controlled, rather than exuberant and instinctive. Perhaps the dark downstairs bar of a wet seaside town on a Monday evening was a bit of comedown after the beauty of the London venue.

Flitting between guitar, banjo and keyboard, frontman Meiburg has a voice to be reckoned with, seeming to channel the warmth of Owen Pallet with a hint of the original folk rockers Fairport Convention creeping in to the mix as well on the likes of ‘Leviathan, Bound’, which features drummer Thor on a rather rudimentary looking dulcimer. While I have no doubt that their multi instrument sound may draw comparisons with fellow texan Win Butler and his cohorts, there is far more subtlety here, and a distinct lack of bombast. Even more than on it’s recorded version, ‘The Snow Leopard’ comes on like an alt. country take on Amnesiac period Radiohead. Returning to the stage for their much demanded encore, the band seem re-energised, and tear through a triumphant cover of former tour mates Clinic’s ‘Tomorrow’. The motorik rhythm seems to fit the band well, and without doubt it is the high point of the night. Judging by the rapturous response Shearwater seem to have truly won over a notoriously fickle Brighton crowd. As I fend my way home along the damp streets after the show I hear the same phrase over and over again.

New. Favourite. Band.

At this rate, it seems Shearwater will have to prepare themselves for an even busier 2009.

Olympia-based lo-fi singer-songwriter kingpin-musician person-type thing - Phil Elvrum is looking slightly nervy and awkward. He’s plugging his fender strat and adjusting his pedal settings, prepping for the gig to begin in an odd venue. I had never visited The Dome before tonight and you half expect a wedding entourage to burst through the doors for a night to drunkenly dance the night away to Wet Wet Wet and Bryan Adams. It’s true. But it contains a charming non-conventional element, especially for London, which lends itself to Phil’s Mount Eerie tonight for a night of electric aural goodness. Continue Reading

Photographs by Sonny Malhotra.

I’ve realized something recently. I don’t like choice. Choice can be a real pain. In fact choice is always causing me problems, slowing me down or making me regret decisions I’ve made. Let me give you some examples:

I’ve got eight notepads. Yep, eight. What are they all for? I can’t really decide but they’re all slightly different and I use them all. They’re everywhere - in my bag, on my desk, in my bed. Also, there are four novels, nine albums, two magazines, three newspaper supplements, a literature journal and a printed essay scattered around my computer. Which ones am I going to read/listen to when I finish writing this? Probably none of them, the choice is too much. I think I might have a lie down and think about how my life got this cluttered.  Maybe I’ll pop down the road for a paper and spend a good five minutes deciding which sweets to buy. I can’t decide. I’m a mess. And if I didn’t have so much choice it’d probably be okay.

So what in God’s name does the rampant neuroticism of an inept manchild have to do with the fifteen-year-old Crossing Border Festival that recently took place in the Hague with a glittering line up of music and literature events, you ask? Well, perhaps less than I’m making out, but I do have a point to make:

The Crossing Border Festival is brilliant. Really brilliant. As I mentioned, before, each year it takes place in The Hague which is a gorgeous place, half of the pleasure of this event is discovering the little gems of the city, muddling along the pretty narrow streets lined with cafes and boutiques and taking in the sights and the culture. And the festival itself is great - the venues are plush and well-suited, the staff professional and courteous. The only problem is the line-up. With such a luxurious choice of so many things to go and see, by the end of the weekend I think I managed to miss more great stuff than I saw this weekend. I’m not going to tell you what that was until the end, though. I’m not stupid.

Too much great stuff

Thursday
Anyway, Thursday was a good start . After arriving and taking a look around the town and embarrassing  Sonny (my personal photographer and general subordinate) by taking loads of tourist photographs, he and I arrive at the cluster of venues that will house festival in the middle of The Hague’s theatre district.

The area covers a The Royal Theatre and two temporary structures over the road, the National Theatre Gallery on the side-street and a scattering of other nearby buildings. After catching some poetry read entirely in Dutch in the cosy Cuatro tent, a quick check of our schedules reveals that Frightened Rabbit are playing in the intimate Eenhoorn or Hotspot tent next door so we go over. This early on it’s predictably a fairly quiet affair but they play well, representing their stripped down version of mini-epic pop, which is a phrase I just made up. While the room is nowhere near full, everyone seems to be involved and enjoying themselves as we skip out and head to see Ra-Ra Riot on stage one of the National Theatre Gallery.

The main stage is of a decent size and is a fitting venue for the headlining acts, Ra Ra Riot play to a enthusiastic crowd, healthy in numbers. They themselves dance and pull faces as they play, it’s the second to last date of their European tour, but show no signs of fatigue. In fact once they’re fully warmed up they threaten to be fantastic and pull off a very convincing Hounds Of Love cover, helped in no small part by singer Wes Miles’ very solid vocal performance. I’ve been meaning to become a Ra-Ra Riot convert for a while now and it looks like I finally got around to it.

Another reason to convert to Ra-Ra Riot

After this we’re forced to leave Louis Theroux’s talk about his book halfway through because we need to get to Death Cab for Cutie. Unfortunately, the room is packed and I am sitting right at the front. I stand up and make a fool of myself, but I’m fairly sure that Louis doesn’t see because I timed it so that he’d be watching the DVD screen behind him. Even so, I avoid approaching him when we see him at the afterparty in case he did catch me walking out and is annoyed. I lost precious seconds in my escape when I couldn’t find the door beside the stage (it was behind a curtain). Sonny later reports that I ‘looked like I was shitting myself’. 

Stage one is packed when we get there. Death Cab begin by playing popular songs from Plans and Narrow Stairs but then begin to reach back into some The Photo Album material. We Looked Like Giants is a highlight for me, but Cath is somewhat ruined by intermittent sound. Death Cab for Cutie always seem to have technical problems. Otherwise it’s a fairly standard show from Death Cab, solid but not particularly special. During the performance Ben Gibbard is handed a note from the audience, presumably a request for him to marry someone. He says maybe.

Friday
After we attend a lunch for journalists and writers and enjoy a walk around town, despite the freezing winds, I embarrass Sonny by taking tourist pictures for a second time. I try to tell him that it’s part of the joy of being at such an event, but he seems unconvinced.

That evening we start by dropping in to see Emmy The Great play on the top floor of the Royal Theatre - I know Euan of Young Husband who plays guitar for Emmy, and he’s unaware that I’m in Holland. I can tell from his face that he’s surprised to see me in the audience. He later tells me that ‘I nearly made him fuck up.’ Emmy The Great play to a crowd who have an air of curiosity about them, with one or two seasoned fans looking on with glazed eyes and mouthing all of the words. 

‘Is that Pete over there?...’

At one point Emmy mentions that the band “aren’t always on point when playing in Amsterdam”. It takes her a couple of seconds to realize her mistake at which point she covers her head and shouts ‘SHIT’. She smiles sweetly and offers ‘We’re always on point when we play in The Hague!” the audience laughs and I’m impressed at how she charms her way out of such a faux pas.
 

Emmy realizes she’s got the town wrong but plays her cute card to get out of it.

Downstairs on stage one, Belgian alternative rock outfit Headphone are playing. While they sound glossy I can’t help but feel that they’re ultimately fairly normal. I don’t think they’ll be Crossing any Borders in a big way any time soon. Ohhhh! Yeah, I said it, someone had to say it. 

After Headphone are finished we’re forced to miss Seasick Steve so that we can get into position for Fleet Foxes as people pour into the venue. I’m struck looking around by the age range of the crowd at these gigs at how many young children and older people are there, nodding along with everyone else.

Fleet Foxes captivate young and old alike

Fleet Foxes take to the stage and I soon find that I have nothing original to say about them. They’re effortlessly brilliant live, a truly unbelievable performance. At one point Robin Pecknold spots the members of Swedish-indie-sister-duo First Aid Kit down in the audience and invites them up to harmonise with him, and while the ladies look a little bit lost it was still a nice moment. Now, I’m tempted to say that Fleet Foxes were my highlight but somehow I don’t feel that would be fair, Fleet Foxes just did what everyone expected them to do. That is turn up, be shit hot, move on.

For some reason we then elected to stay and watch Ben Folds and not Tindersticks or Tom Baxter. The performance can’t help but suffer for being after Fleet Foxes, Ben finishes his second song and then proclaims it to be ‘Bullshit’. I’m assuming he’s referring to it being one of the dummy songs he released online with the same names of the real songs from his new album.  We leave soon after.

Later on one Chris Killen, author of The Bird Room and one of the Crossing Border chronicles writers informs me that there was a little venue playing awesome weird post-rock music the whole night just down the road. I missed it all. I’m returned to my point about this festival cramming just a little bit too much good stuff in, in too little time. Perhaps a trite and unreasonable complaint at this point, but I’m standing by it. 

I stay at the afterparty until gone 3am. 

Saturday
After the late finish I elect to spend most of the day napping, watching David Attenborough shows and eating complimentary hotel fruit. Feeling refreshed and ready for another epic night I head with Sonny to the see the Willard Grant Conspiracy in the extravagant Royal Room in the Royal Theatre. The room is stunning, with it’s beautiful cavernous painted ceiling and enormous stage, indeed Robert Fisher jokes that he could’ve taken another thirty band members with him, I sit and absorb the soft country vibes for as long as I can bear to sit still, but I feel like I need to get moving tonight and so we head back to the Hot Spot to see Appie Kim.

A blonde Natasha Van Wardeenburg postures and rocks ayrthmicaly as she and drummer Marcel Duin crash through her lo-fi tumbledown alternative rock solo set, although I feel that with some more enthusiasm from the audience the performance might have been vitalized with some desperately needed energy and the pair could really have shone. Unfortunately, however, things seemed rather flat, although circumstances may have conspired against Appie Kim in this case.

We only have time for a brief visit to The Cave Singers on stage one if we’re to catch all of the bands we intend to, and while for me their summery folk brings back memories of this years rainy festivals it does little to defrost the slightly lacklustre start to the evening.

Upstairs, Eli ‘Paperboy’ Reed and the True Loves fill the room in stage two and by the time I’ve squeezed myself in there is a queue heading all the way down the stairs. Eli vigorously belts out bluesy funk, squawking and dancing, his band are energetic and lively and the crowd love it. I want to stay and watch more but it’s Scottish night over in the Paradise Room in the Royal Theatre.

When we get there The Phantom Band are playing a particularly pleasing kind of inventive post-indie, with repetitive instrumental and semi-improvised set-pieces. It has to be said they are at their best when they’re doing this, as the other half of their more traditional material sounds like a different (albeit similar) but slightly inferior band. Certainly they’ve played a large part in helping to pick this night up and I’m grateful to them as we head back to stage one to watch Chris Killen read from the first chapter of his novel The Bird Room, out on Canongate in January. It’s very funny, awkward and intelligently observed and we stay put as Liam Finn prepares to take the stage, fully intending to watch part of his set and then move upstairs to watch Micah P Hinson.

Our photographer Sonny made it briefly to Micah P Hinson who he described as ‘A baby faced country boy marinated in whiskey and cigarettes’

I can only apologise to Micah P Hinson. Halfway through Liam Finn ‘s set someone comes downstairs to tell me that Micah is playing really well, but I’m glued to watching Liam Finn experiment with a prototype stringed one note instrument that his friend made. He hits and slides along the strings with a drumstick, loops the resulting riff and then drums his heart out, making a sound that I can only describe, as I did to the person next to me at the time as “the bollocks”.  It’s the first time he’s used the instrument. As he finishes a call floats from the rear of the room: “You’ve done that before!”

“I haven’t but I’ll do it again!” he replies, before returning to his drum kit.
For me this performance is the highlight of the festival, Finn’s material really comes alive onstage and his performance is passionate, involved. The music is attractively shambolic at times, the improvisation engrossing, the clever melodies are gratifying and the delivery by both himself and his auto-harp wielding, vocal harmonizing partner Eliza Jane Barnes, flawless.

After Liam Finn finishes and the whole of Holland piles into the room to watch The Black Keys. There are a couple of amusing moments during the first couple of songs with Dan Auerbach mentioning that he gets an electric shock every time he approaches the microphone and a roadie eventually walking onstage to tell him he can’t do anything for him.

The Black Keys play hard and loud, Auerbach stomps and riffs and people at the front start to go a little bit mental. For a two-piece this band make quite a racket. The performance is strong, energetic. They build to furious climaxes and hold the audience right with them, Patrick Carney drums like he is trying to pound a hole in the universe. I can hear people in the crowd talking about how good they think The Black Keys are. I’m getting exhausted just watching them. It’s a fine way to end the festival.

The next 24 hours are spent as follows: Attending another afterparty, drinking gin and tonics, sharing cigarettes with bouncers, throwing snowballs made of hailstones, talking drunkenly to The Phantom Band, wandering the city asking locals for somewhere to buy food, raiding a minibar, flying home and nearly being sick on the Piccadilly line. None of them were spent sleeping,

So there it is. If you’re looking for news on Dead Stereo, Cass McCombs, Caroline Chocolate Drops, Rupert Thomson, Broken Records, Julian Velard, Jan Rot, Kathleen Edwards, the second half of Louis Theroux’s talk, Shearwater, The Swell Season, Tom Baxter, Tindersticks, Kristin Hersh, Women, The Moi Non Plus, The Truth Machine, Micah P Hinson, Julie Mittens, Yuri Landman or Seasick Steve then I’m sorry, I didn’t watch them because there was too much choice. But I feel obliged to tell you that they were there and I’ve been reliably informed they were all really, really good. Anyway, you should go next year and see for yourself. That’s all you really wanted to know, wasn’t it?

For a complete slideshow of all the photographs from the weekend, click here.

Find the full line up, daily blogs from the festivals writers and book next years tickets (soon) at the Crossing Border Festival website.

It’s just past 9pm. Low take to the stage. Alan Sparhawk ushers towards the microphone. People hush down to listen in. “Hello Friends. I’d like to dedicate tonight’s show to John Peel”. The crowd break the silence and go wild. And why not. John Peel was so great, wasn’t he? I wish he was my dad. But wait, there’s more… “I’d also like to dedicate tonight’s show to the most powerful person in the world………..” (pause)

“Just play the fuckin’ music!” - a lone voice yells.

It ruins the moment. That moment, just then, is now officially gone. Alan decides it’s probably best not to compete with him and decides not to complete the sentence. Instead, they cut straight to the first song and “play the fuckin’ music”. Thank you Mr. Billy Big Bollocks. Thank you very much, you absolute cretin.

Awkwardness aside, the band open with a new Low song, with the chorus that declares “My Love Is For Free” and my gosh, it sounds utterly breath taking. There’s a lump in my throat and I’m pretty darn certain it’s not of the cancerous kind. It sounds timeless and classic and it slots in beautifully next to their other material, mostly handpicked from their brilliant last record Drums & Guns (perhaps my record of 2007 if you must know), ‘The Great Destroyer’ and ‘Trust’. Tonight is all about The Christmas Album (Mimi would confess “I’d been wanting to do this for years. It’s always my favourite record…”) although all that comes much later. Patience my friend, patience. 

The music sounds so dark and sinister as Alan and Mimi’s vocals richly intertwine together. On ‘Murderer’ (“Don’t look so innocent, I’ve seen you slam your fists into the ground!”) and ‘On The Edge Of’. (“Your long filthy fingers keep jamming words down my throat”) but delivered so tenderly and affectionately like some kind of gothic lullaby. Then before they break into festive cheer, they drop probably my pet Low song in the form of ‘Walk Into The Sea’. It’s stripped down bare with Alan playing more subtle, more low-key. The words sound so fragile and resigned as he sings “Time’s the great destroyer, leaves every child a bastard. When it finally takes us over, I hope we’ll float away together”. It affects me. It’s stunning. I feel numb. 

“So I’d like to dedicate this show to the most powerful person in the world………..”

Oh, here we go. Shhhhh… we’re going to find out! Who could it be?

“Michelle Obama”

Cue laughter.

Hehe.

But it’s true though… isn’t it?

Anyway, we’re half way through the evening, and enough of this slow-core malarkey. As advertised, it’s time to party: Christmas style (and yes we are totally midway through November). Ida, the support for the night, join the band, along with drummer Eric Pollard who plays with Alan in his heavy, crud and trudging stoner-rock side-project Retribution Gospel Choir, to flesh out the sound and create a fuller wall of sound. A sound which I’ve never quite experienced at a Low concert before. I’m not sure if I entirely liked it but it was certainly different. I think maybe what draws me to the group is their simple, raw delivery. The extra members almost make them sound ordinary, just like every one else. Just my two cents, but maybe because I was somewhat upset of the omission of Mariah Carey’s ‘All I Want For Christmas (Is You)’ had something to do with it. Bah humbug!

The biggest cheer of the evening is saved when firm festive favourite ‘Just Like Christmas’ is dropped. Mimi wistfully rides through reverential bliss with her sleigh bells in hand. You can almost taste the snow of Stockholm. Later they perform the couplets from the new Christmas festive 7″. The unnerving title track, ‘Santa’s Coming Over’ sounds deliciously disturbing. “Oh what will he bring me? Will he see the cookies? All the little children. Some of them have nothing! Every one so precious! Santa don’t forget them! Santa’s Coming Over!” sung so sweetly but over distorted layered guitars and pounding primal bass drums which makes it sound like some kind of tribal pagan chant. Chilling.  B-side ‘The Coming Of Jah’ is a supremely executed reggae number which heats things up and it’s all topped off when they play a true-to-original heart-warming version of ‘Merry Xmas War is Over’. The only thing missing was the choral choir full of pre-pubescent boys and lighters in the air. I can feel the overriding sense of feel good warmth radiating from the band through to the crowd and back again. I really have a craving for some mince pies and mulled wine… No idea why.

“Everything’s gonna be alright” Alan says, fist raised, before the band exit the stage. On tonight’s evidence, you’d find it hard to find some one who disagreed. Apart from Billy Big Bollocks of course…. 

Setlist:
Free Love
Murderer
Tonight
On the Edge Of
Sandinista
Walk into the Sea
Shots and Ladders
===
One Special Gift
Just Like Christmas
Long Way Around the Sea
Little Drummer Boy
Blue Christmas
The Coming of Jah
Santa’s Coming Over
If You Were Born Today
Taking Down the Tree
Merry Xmas War is Over
===
Last Snowstorm of the Year
Canada
When I Go Deaf

Tonight is a special show indeed. In the chilly surroundings of St. Giles church in the heart of London, 300 people huddle together to witness the nervous energy of Andrew Bird as he proffers selections for his forthcoming record Noble Beast. Tonight’s line up is an ornithologists dream, with Canadian Sufjan-alike Woodpigeon acting as support. The giant yet softly spoken and hirsute gentleman quietly warms the audience with his soft acoustic melodies, occasionally regaling them with tales of breaking his foot climbing hills in Scotland. Continue Reading

“The age of miracles, The age of sound” goes the song. “There is a golden age, Coming round, Coming round, Coming round” But if TV On The Radio, with their masterful third album Dear Science are gonna ride the post-Obama wave of leftwing optimism and usher in an era of credit crunch defying utopianism, they’re gonna need to turn in some more convincing performances than this. It may be only their second London show since Dear Science got the hipsters and critics in a right old lather but the general vibe on stage seems to be “Yeah, whatever?” And at points the members of the band who criss-cross the stage to wave their instruments in each other’s faces look rather more like they’re playing for each other’s benefit than ours. Preferring as it appears, to mope behind banks of gear or loiter about amps and rows of FX than stoke the salivating crowd. Continue Reading

It isn’t called selling out anymore. It’s called ‘Licensing’. Today’s musical climate has taken the excitement and joy out of release date fever. Today’s youth can download, legally or otherwise, what they want, when they want it. The radio is playing things safe. It is the era of the Radio Friendly Unit Shifter. Ticket prices are soaring (it’s the only way the band can make money if you download kids…..you have been warned). In these conditions, TV can be the way to go for many bands- the only way to guarantee exposure and ultimately form a career in an increasingly stale market. Earlier this month Bloc Party suggested, with tongue only slightly in cheek, that they might release a whole album as a series of adverts. Just a few years ago bands would have been called out for choosing this career path. Now its just an accepted part of life for the immaculately dressed box-fresh youth that cram into Brixton Academy for the show tonight. As Orange County lies smoldering thousands of miles away a wave of sensitive youths have descended on South London. The show was moved down from Alexandra Palace-perhaps an indication that Death Cab For Cutie don’t hold quite such a hold on this nations youth as they do in the US. Continue Reading

Dananananaykroyd

Currently two thirds through an epic tour, Dananananaykroyd tore through Kingston’s weekly indie club night, New Slang. Not one half-drunk indie urchin was left untouched by the feelgood vibes in what was a truly explosive night of prime live music.

First up were Brontide, who my friend assures me sounded just like cult math behemoths Russian Circles. However, as I’ve never heard of that band (just thought it might be an easy comparison for those in the know), I was forced to make my own judgement. For starters, this band are tight. Where some techy bands fall a bit flat on their faces when it comes to the live performance, fretwork racing away from them as they try to keep in time with the military drumming, there was no such problems for Brontide. Nathan (bass) and Timothy (guitar) were on fire, creating intricate tapped melodies that shied away from cliche, before dropping into head-mashing breaks that could almost be described as beatdowns. William (drums) should also be commended for his ability to switch between Battles esque rabid beats and hardcore, fill heavy drops without fear of contrast. Brontide do a great job of marrying many different influences and presenting it in a package that is both pop and live performance friendly. Set highlight was the mid-point rendition of ‘Crunk Anansie’, a prime example of what makes Brontide a quality band. Strong contrasts, great musicianship, and above all instrumental songs that actually maintain interest rather than discourage.

Brontide

Continue Reading

There seem to be a lot of bands around at the moment making what one could best describe as a wild kind of blend of improv, free jazz, post rock and funk.  Releases in recent months by Tupolev, Skeletons, even of Montreal and (to a much lesser extent) MGMT, for example, have all featured at least some of these elements.  Although they do remain somewhat uncategorisable, then, I would hesitantly suggest that Volcano! - who graced the stage of Cambridge’s Portland Arms last Sunday night - be considered as part of this tricky and tricksy breed too. Continue Reading

Philadelphia is cresting a tidal wave of euphoria. Barack Obama and pitcher Cole Hamels, hero of the Phillies’ recent World Series win, beam out from the Inquirer’s front page. No less momentously (for me at least), David Byrne is in town, playing at a gorgeous, ornate 3,000-seat ampitheatre called the Tower, where tickets top $200. Perhaps unsurprisingly, I’m the youngest person here by 15 years. Continue Reading

It was perhaps unsurprising that we had, on a sleepy Sunday in Cambridge, a quiet Ryan Adams & The Cardinals. Without a support act, the band took to the stage early and played for two hours, but with barely a word from Mr. Adams and co. throughout who stood hidden to the back left of the stage, a heavy fringe covering his face. A muffled intro before they kicked into an aggressive and charged version of ‘Cobwebs’, the sound not actually at its best as Adams’ lyrics appear muted through a wall of guitars. However, a couple of numbers in and they seem to have sorted it all out. Continue Reading

Photographs by Sonny Malhotra

It’s probably ignorant of me to tuck my notepad under my arm and head off to the Old Blue Last to watch The Virgins on a Wednesday evening and expect not to find myself rammed into a sweat box with barely an inch of breathing space to cling to. Clearly, quite a few people like The Virgins quite a lot.

Every once in a while I go to a gig and, despite being of about the average age of most of the crowd I somehow manage to feel… old. This particular gig turns out to be one such occasion; guitarist Wade Oates’ gaffer taped trousers are a sign that despite my grasping affection for youth subcultures, I’ll never truly be able to keep up with hipster fashion. Continue Reading

Photographs by Dan Austin

Post-rock giants This Will Destroy You tore up the Music Box in Manchester last month. Here, our photographer Dan Austin, gives you the view from the front.

This Will Destroy You on MySpace

Photos by Rich Thane | Words by Rich Hughes

It’s been a while coming… unlike Mr. Richard Thane (here and here), I’ve not had the pleasure of seeing Fleet Foxes live yet. I’ve lived with the album for, what feels like, a lifetime. It’s become an essential album, one I turn to frequently when I want to drift away and escape from the confines of my Credit Crunched life. And yet, as I approached The Junction on a freezing cold night, I was worried. I know these songs inside out, how will they translate live? Will the vocal harmonies still resonate so spectacularly? By the hushed expectation of the crowd, I don’t think I was the only one with these concerns… Continue Reading

Photographs by Ama Chana

Why?’s stock has certainly grown over the last few months. Barely six months ago they were almost unknown to all but the most on-the-ball hipsters and established Anticon fans but the word-of-mouth success of third LP Alopecia has seen their fanbase expand enough to sell out the thousand-capacity London Scala. And for the most part, the indie hip-hoppers deserve the acclaim afforded to them- their engaging mix of breezy indie-rock melodies and dark, often rapped lyrics are done full justice by a unit of immensely talented musicians despite the occasional minor misstep.

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Monotonix

8pm, and already the Brudnell was pretty damn busy as The Velvet Orchestra took to the stage. Despite having been in the venue for the whole day filming a video for ‘These Children’, they pushed through fatigue and put in a storming set. Singer Leemun was swaying between mania and nausea throughout, but still delivered his explosive and impossibly high pitched vocals with ease and grace. The rest of the band provided solid backing despite being knackered, and having a session bassist who had learnt all their songs that same morning! The Velvet Orchestra also had a large fanbase standing right at the front singing along, so one guesses it won’t be long until T.V.O. are headlining nights like this, such is the quality of their music.

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Back in June, Fleet Foxes were just finishing off their first ever UK tour. A handful of dates around the major cities, showcasing their just released self titled album and Sun Giant EP. They had lots to prove, the hyperbole surrounding them was unprecedented - everyone from Plan B magazine to Aled Jones (?!) on Radio 2 were talking about them. THE buzz band of 2008, for want of a better phrase.

After a sold-out show at London’s ULU, which pretty much left me speechless for about 30 minutes afterwards, Fleet Foxes announced a headline slot at one of London’s prime venues; the Shepherds Bush Empire. It sold out within 24 hours, as did the subsequent tour. Surely this would be one of the most important and celebrative gigs of their short career so far? Continue Reading