OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOH MY HEAD. Goonies never die. I performed this recording dressed only in a toga. I hadn't read anything to suggest that this was against any radio station policy, so I went ahead and did it. I'm rebellious that way, the kind of rebel that works inside the rules. Needless to say, nobody had a problem with the toga. I think the receptionist by the studio quite liked it as she was looking at Wikipedia less frequently than usual that day. However, no elks - a bit of a downer, to be honest.
Showing posts with label music. Show all posts
Showing posts with label music. Show all posts
Monday, 26 April 2010
Monday, 12 April 2010
Monday, 29 March 2010
Personal Genius: Gruff Rhys
I love Gruff Rhys. Look at him:
He's mostly known for being the lead singer for Welsh-o-phile indie-psych-rockers Super Furry Animals. However, here are some other reasons why I like him:
1) He looks like he should be in a Personal & Social Education (PSE) video about respecting the Countryside Code:
2) In his Neon Neon side project with Boom Bip, he created the album Stainless Style, a commentary on the life and times of DeLorean creator, John DeLorean. Said album actually sounds like a DeLorean in its kitch retrofuturism, it's really quite marvellous. I would like someone to suggest to Messers Rhys and Bip that their next album should be entitled 'Oh Mumsie! The Richard O'Brien Experience'. Actually don't, that's my idea.
3) Super Furry Animals' Welsh-language album 'Mwng' is the highest selling Welsh-language album of all time and for this reason got a mention in Parliament, and the Welsh Assembly:
4) I would not be surprised to learn that he has been an extra in Welsh lanugage soap opera, Pobol Y Cwm. However, I could not find any evidence, so here you go:
5) In the top photograph he is holding a keyboard that I own, a rather special Casio effort that comes with song cartridges. there is a Beatles one but sadly no Super Furry Animals one. What this does prove is that we should be friends so if anyone could pass the memo on, please do.
So, Gruff Rhys:
1) Friendly face
2) Sensitive historian
3) Political pioneer
4) Potential TV star
5) Casio enthusiast like me
Lovely stuff.
He's mostly known for being the lead singer for Welsh-o-phile indie-psych-rockers Super Furry Animals. However, here are some other reasons why I like him:
1) He looks like he should be in a Personal & Social Education (PSE) video about respecting the Countryside Code:
2) In his Neon Neon side project with Boom Bip, he created the album Stainless Style, a commentary on the life and times of DeLorean creator, John DeLorean. Said album actually sounds like a DeLorean in its kitch retrofuturism, it's really quite marvellous. I would like someone to suggest to Messers Rhys and Bip that their next album should be entitled 'Oh Mumsie! The Richard O'Brien Experience'. Actually don't, that's my idea.
3) Super Furry Animals' Welsh-language album 'Mwng' is the highest selling Welsh-language album of all time and for this reason got a mention in Parliament, and the Welsh Assembly:
4) I would not be surprised to learn that he has been an extra in Welsh lanugage soap opera, Pobol Y Cwm. However, I could not find any evidence, so here you go:
5) In the top photograph he is holding a keyboard that I own, a rather special Casio effort that comes with song cartridges. there is a Beatles one but sadly no Super Furry Animals one. What this does prove is that we should be friends so if anyone could pass the memo on, please do.
So, Gruff Rhys:
1) Friendly face
2) Sensitive historian
3) Political pioneer
4) Potential TV star
5) Casio enthusiast like me
Lovely stuff.
Friday, 4 December 2009
Review of the Century #9
It's always fun moaning about stuff.
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Deaf Leaf Echo – Faint Violet Whiff
The ‘80s were great for lots of things. One of these things was music, so it makes sense that lots of musicians nowadays hark back to 20 years ago on their quest to be The Next Big Thing. Equally, the ‘80s were full of things WTF?!, things best forgotten and so on. Deaf Leaf Echo have accidentally picked the latter. ‘Faint Violet Whiff’ provides a churning dirge of guitar-driven riffery, roots of which may be found in the back catalogues of The Cranberries and perhaps, gasp, U2, but it is the myriad layering of generic effects that place this effort in a world of its own.
Notable are references to Nabokov’s Lolita, an epic piece of literature about the perils of kiddy-fiddling. And Dead Leaf Echo are certainly epic. But perhaps this should ring warning bells, as Deaf Leaf Echo’s Achilles Heel seems to lie in not being able to leave alone things that should be left alone. This in mind, despite overzealous guitar drones and a vocal affliction designed for the Smashing Pumpkin inside us all, DLE have a command of song structure to be admired. The emotion they evoke so melodramatically owes in most part to the variety of texture in their sound. ‘Denial’ builds up an air of optimistic anticipation reminiscent of Sigur Ros and tension is palpable, but there is certainly room for improvement.
They might not want to hear this, but Dead Leaf Echo are playing the one trick pony. Emotional bands should create emotional music, but in creating a concept album based upon the complex relationship between two characters, a wider scope of emotion could make the whole ordeal more appealing, and, dare I say, more likeable. Not everyone’s cup of tea, but this will be enjoyable for those who enjoy the particular niche market Dead Leaf Echo are aiming for. What this niche is exactly, however, is hard to tell.
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Deaf Leaf Echo – Faint Violet Whiff
The ‘80s were great for lots of things. One of these things was music, so it makes sense that lots of musicians nowadays hark back to 20 years ago on their quest to be The Next Big Thing. Equally, the ‘80s were full of things WTF?!, things best forgotten and so on. Deaf Leaf Echo have accidentally picked the latter. ‘Faint Violet Whiff’ provides a churning dirge of guitar-driven riffery, roots of which may be found in the back catalogues of The Cranberries and perhaps, gasp, U2, but it is the myriad layering of generic effects that place this effort in a world of its own.
Notable are references to Nabokov’s Lolita, an epic piece of literature about the perils of kiddy-fiddling. And Dead Leaf Echo are certainly epic. But perhaps this should ring warning bells, as Deaf Leaf Echo’s Achilles Heel seems to lie in not being able to leave alone things that should be left alone. This in mind, despite overzealous guitar drones and a vocal affliction designed for the Smashing Pumpkin inside us all, DLE have a command of song structure to be admired. The emotion they evoke so melodramatically owes in most part to the variety of texture in their sound. ‘Denial’ builds up an air of optimistic anticipation reminiscent of Sigur Ros and tension is palpable, but there is certainly room for improvement.
They might not want to hear this, but Dead Leaf Echo are playing the one trick pony. Emotional bands should create emotional music, but in creating a concept album based upon the complex relationship between two characters, a wider scope of emotion could make the whole ordeal more appealing, and, dare I say, more likeable. Not everyone’s cup of tea, but this will be enjoyable for those who enjoy the particular niche market Dead Leaf Echo are aiming for. What this niche is exactly, however, is hard to tell.
Monday, 2 November 2009
The Man is not for Twitting
I ruddy hate Twitter. Everyone babbles on about it like it's the second coming. In a way it is - it's the technological equivalent of a circle jerk that everyone can get involved with, thus guaranteeing multiple orgasms. However, I do like pop blog Popjustice as it is rather irreverent, a bit like I am. So imagine my utter aghastment when someone pointed out something of particular interest to me, spaffed out by Peter 'Popjustice' Robinson on interweb multigasm facilitator Twitter! My goodness! Will my head explode?!:
Allow me to explain. Many moons ago in the Greater Liverpool area, there was this band called Trilby. Their former drummer's uncle was Paul McCartney. Trilby were quite good and they had this rather good song called 'Edith'. However, fame did not come a-knocking, but Trilby have plodded along in various guises ever since, over the last 8 years or so. Their most recent incarnation, The Hot Melts (yes a band, not an aspirational sandwich solution) have received a bit of coverage. Very good news, I agree. It's nice to know that hard work pays dividends, even in the cold, cruel tundra of the music biz. But wait! Not all is as hunky-dory as once seemed. It appears that The Hot Melts have pulled 'Edith' out of the bag once more, one last throw of the pop-rock dice, before casting it into the bowels of hell, or at least the bargain bin. I can't work out whether the constant peddling of this song is a testament to its innate quality, an admirable perseverance, or just a general irritation. Help me out, here.
Do listen to it though, I'm still rather fond of it. And perhaps P-Rob would have been, had he listened to it. I doubt it though - for as amiable as he is as a chap to talk to, he knows what he likes and I don't think this is it.
Allow me to explain. Many moons ago in the Greater Liverpool area, there was this band called Trilby. Their former drummer's uncle was Paul McCartney. Trilby were quite good and they had this rather good song called 'Edith'. However, fame did not come a-knocking, but Trilby have plodded along in various guises ever since, over the last 8 years or so. Their most recent incarnation, The Hot Melts (yes a band, not an aspirational sandwich solution) have received a bit of coverage. Very good news, I agree. It's nice to know that hard work pays dividends, even in the cold, cruel tundra of the music biz. But wait! Not all is as hunky-dory as once seemed. It appears that The Hot Melts have pulled 'Edith' out of the bag once more, one last throw of the pop-rock dice, before casting it into the bowels of hell, or at least the bargain bin. I can't work out whether the constant peddling of this song is a testament to its innate quality, an admirable perseverance, or just a general irritation. Help me out, here.
Do listen to it though, I'm still rather fond of it. And perhaps P-Rob would have been, had he listened to it. I doubt it though - for as amiable as he is as a chap to talk to, he knows what he likes and I don't think this is it.
Thursday, 29 October 2009
Ice Hockey Hair
Now I don't know about you, but Liverpool bores the cake out of me sometimes. There might be a few things a week that I'll go to, gigs and films and whatnot, and that's great. But being a roving bastion of activity, I need things to do every hour of every day (I don't sleep). If I don't get this I turn into a house price-obsessed, traveller-hating, homophobic, racist bigot (only joking). So for a short time I became rather interested in ice hockey.
Oh lovely. One of the best things were the regional adverts. Each team has a regional TV network that will show its local games, what with the USA being quite big and all, and this naturally gave rise to some rather esoteric advertising slants:
Here's a clue - he's not selling chicken or ice hockey sticks.
Another thing that struck me as particularly absurd occurred when watching a game at the Joe Lewis Arena, home to the Detroit Red Wings. In an interval, the hospitality wheeled on a Country and Western singer, which I guess makes sense because Country and Western is rather a Big Thing in the states. The act was a fellow called John Rich, formerly of Lonestar, currently on hiatus from Big and Rich, but this chap looked to be a bit of both, the bigness and the richness being logical extensions of the marketability of Country and Western in the US:
However, more baffling was Big Rich's track selection. Being a man with the kind of face that has a story to tell, he decided to opt for his recent smash 'Shut Detroit Down'. In Detroit - Land of the Structurally Unemployed. It'd be like sending Margaret Thatcher to Rotherham to sing 'We Are All Bourgeois Now'. Most baffling was the generally positive reception to Mr. Rich's thinly-veiled putdown. The people of Michigan, clapping their foam fingers, supping on their $6 beers, must have been so in awe of everyone's favourite half of Big and Rich that they wouldn't have cared if he had have cranked out his latest hit smash 'Motown is shit, so is Eminem, as well as the White Stripes, and I love getting on eco-friendly municipal transport'. Still, when you think about it, Mr Rich does look rather familiar, doesn't he?
As yes, chubby-cheeked Gary Barlow: celebrity #1 of the 1990s and renovated pop-chap in man band Take That. Indeed, it could be magic. But hold on:
He also looks like chubby-faced demon-villian Jez Quigley from Coronation Street. Who would have thunk it?
Oh lovely. One of the best things were the regional adverts. Each team has a regional TV network that will show its local games, what with the USA being quite big and all, and this naturally gave rise to some rather esoteric advertising slants:
Here's a clue - he's not selling chicken or ice hockey sticks.
Another thing that struck me as particularly absurd occurred when watching a game at the Joe Lewis Arena, home to the Detroit Red Wings. In an interval, the hospitality wheeled on a Country and Western singer, which I guess makes sense because Country and Western is rather a Big Thing in the states. The act was a fellow called John Rich, formerly of Lonestar, currently on hiatus from Big and Rich, but this chap looked to be a bit of both, the bigness and the richness being logical extensions of the marketability of Country and Western in the US:
However, more baffling was Big Rich's track selection. Being a man with the kind of face that has a story to tell, he decided to opt for his recent smash 'Shut Detroit Down'. In Detroit - Land of the Structurally Unemployed. It'd be like sending Margaret Thatcher to Rotherham to sing 'We Are All Bourgeois Now'. Most baffling was the generally positive reception to Mr. Rich's thinly-veiled putdown. The people of Michigan, clapping their foam fingers, supping on their $6 beers, must have been so in awe of everyone's favourite half of Big and Rich that they wouldn't have cared if he had have cranked out his latest hit smash 'Motown is shit, so is Eminem, as well as the White Stripes, and I love getting on eco-friendly municipal transport'. Still, when you think about it, Mr Rich does look rather familiar, doesn't he?
As yes, chubby-cheeked Gary Barlow: celebrity #1 of the 1990s and renovated pop-chap in man band Take That. Indeed, it could be magic. But hold on:
He also looks like chubby-faced demon-villian Jez Quigley from Coronation Street. Who would have thunk it?
Sunday, 22 February 2009
My Future Of Music Is.... Spotify
Welly welly well, have you heard enough about Twitter? No? Go put your head in a cement mixer. If you're still here, forget about Twitter. It's rubbish. It's full of people who think their every fart is worth documenting. It's like they've taken the single most irritating facet of Facebook - that of the overcreative use of status update - and launched it on its own platform, assured that Twitter is such a genius idea that it doesn't need anything else, like, you know, a point. The fact is, Twitter, that the only solo project that has improved anyone's life was Paul Simon's 'Graceland'. Not even Rocky running up them steps comes close. You might as well give up. No-one's going to buy Twitter, you nincompoops. No-one. Not even the British government and they buy anything, including my (used) socks.
So forget about all this 'POWPOWPOW is currently sitting at the computer updating the POWPOWPOW Twitter account' nonsense. Get a Spotify account. It's changing the face of music, how you acquire it, how it is accessed and produced, and how revenues will be derived. Spotify is like a huge database of music. It's like Napster, in its vastness, except instead of downloading files illegally, you stream them legally. And instead of waiting for some chump in Boston to come online so you can suck up some My Vitriol loving, it's centrally planned and ready to go ON DEMAND. You get thrown some adverts now and then, say once every 20 minutes, and that's the down side. It's not really a down side, considering you are exposed to adverts:
1) On the TV.
2) On the vast majority of radio stations.
3) Outside.
So basically you're paying with the utter inconvenience of doing something you already do all the time anyway. OH BOO HOO.
My favourite bit is the ease with which you can make your own playlists, and share them. You can even make them collaborative, so if you're chatting to a friend in the pub, they can be all like 'have you heard this banger?' and you'll be all like 'no?' and they'll be all like 'well I'll put it on our joint Spotify collaborative playlist' and you'll be all like 'o rly?' and they'll be like 'yea rly!!!1'. That simple.
For starters, here's the official BANGBANGBANGPOWPOWPOW playlist for you to slap your sweaty chops around.
And try it yourself, little doggies! In the distant World Gone Right, people like you will be sitting around, talking about their first Spotify experiences. And then you can mention POWPOWPOW. Lovely.
Spotify Official Website
So forget about all this 'POWPOWPOW is currently sitting at the computer updating the POWPOWPOW Twitter account' nonsense. Get a Spotify account. It's changing the face of music, how you acquire it, how it is accessed and produced, and how revenues will be derived. Spotify is like a huge database of music. It's like Napster, in its vastness, except instead of downloading files illegally, you stream them legally. And instead of waiting for some chump in Boston to come online so you can suck up some My Vitriol loving, it's centrally planned and ready to go ON DEMAND. You get thrown some adverts now and then, say once every 20 minutes, and that's the down side. It's not really a down side, considering you are exposed to adverts:1) On the TV.
2) On the vast majority of radio stations.
3) Outside.
So basically you're paying with the utter inconvenience of doing something you already do all the time anyway. OH BOO HOO.
My favourite bit is the ease with which you can make your own playlists, and share them. You can even make them collaborative, so if you're chatting to a friend in the pub, they can be all like 'have you heard this banger?' and you'll be all like 'no?' and they'll be all like 'well I'll put it on our joint Spotify collaborative playlist' and you'll be all like 'o rly?' and they'll be like 'yea rly!!!1'. That simple.
For starters, here's the official BANGBANGBANGPOWPOWPOW playlist for you to slap your sweaty chops around.
And try it yourself, little doggies! In the distant World Gone Right, people like you will be sitting around, talking about their first Spotify experiences. And then you can mention POWPOWPOW. Lovely.
Spotify Official Website
Thursday, 19 February 2009
Review(s) of the Century #5, #6 & #7
Foals - Hummer
Neu! Magazine
Music is a bit like digital TV – there’s far too much of it to think about. So it’s great that wonderful do-everythings like Foals squish lots and lots of noises into their choc-a-bloc 3 minutes. They’ve even taken the time to leave out all the chuff that you probably wouldn’t like. The kind of thing Zane ‘just let me rap over this last bit’ Lowe may refer to as a ‘crowd-rocker’.
If it were genres you’re after, you’d have a very long list, perforated with ‘post’, ‘funk’ and ‘glitch’. Erratic and frantic, ‘Hummer’ jerks about with white knuckles, holding on desperately to any last evidence of rhythm, and it is this claustrophobia that makes Foals so entertaining. With the complexity of !!!, the dancefloor sensibility of the Rapture and the hip-jerking ferocity of Franz Ferdinand, this debut could tap itself into public conscience. A bit too leftfield, some might say, but everything is leftfield before it becomes genre-defining. Bookmark under ‘Potential Festival Champions’.
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Harrisons (RIP) – No Fighting In The War Room (Melodic)
Sandman Magazine
They’re often accused of being derivative, and perhaps it’s just a coincidence that their album release has been held back until just after the release of the Arctic Monkeys’ second LP, but at least Harrisons are having fun. They’ve always claimed to enjoy going out and gigging and all that palaver. But the tricky transition from live frenzy to on-record quality is sometimes too taxing for some. Not the case for Harrisons, as album kick-start ‘Dear Constable’ bops and whirls over Hillsborough and far away. There are hints of other Popular Sheffield Guitar Based Bands in there, a theme that resonates throughout ‘No Fighting In The War Room’. Mentions too for the roles played by The Libertines throughout. Although this might be the only album of the year that Pete Doherty doesn’t warble over, he might as well have done. There’s a whiff of urbane lyricism happening, but it’s probably just superficial – a second listen would strip away any pretensions to intelligence or mass appeal.
It’s fortunate that Harrisons don’t pitch themselves as an arm-folding, fringe-flicking Band Above All Others. They’re good fun, and this debut album shows just how enjoyable Harrisons are. But don’t you go looking for depth, now – as a band concerned with the grim yet fun sides of not-quite-inner city living, this cheeky four-piece prefer to live for the moment, rather than the potential problems caused by analysing everything too much. ‘No Fighting In The War Room’ is a moment worth living for. Hooray!
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Monkey Swallows The Universe (RIP) - Little Polveir
Sandman Magazine
Sheffield’s premier lady-based folk twangers are at it again – this time leaving South Yorkshire behind with summery sounds fitting of places where you go on holiday. A-side ‘Little Polveir’ is very sunny indeed and may appeal to those who prefer a bit of Glasgow in their folk-based tastes (see Belle and Sebastian, Aberfeldy, Camera Obscura etc). There is also a pleasant amount of monosyllabic do-do-do-ing and such like - not too unlike Cliff Richard’s ‘Summer Holiday’ - but who cares? ‘Summer Holiday’ is great when the weather is nice. It’s the same here. Plucking its way to the end, the result is independently swaggering hipster jeans and urges to prepare picnics.
On the metaphorical flip side, ‘Hemingway’ lacks the atmosphere of the previous track and the intelligence of its namesake. It does sound very nice, though, and that’s great. Monkey Swallows The Universe are nice. Long may it continue.
Neu! Magazine
Music is a bit like digital TV – there’s far too much of it to think about. So it’s great that wonderful do-everythings like Foals squish lots and lots of noises into their choc-a-bloc 3 minutes. They’ve even taken the time to leave out all the chuff that you probably wouldn’t like. The kind of thing Zane ‘just let me rap over this last bit’ Lowe may refer to as a ‘crowd-rocker’.If it were genres you’re after, you’d have a very long list, perforated with ‘post’, ‘funk’ and ‘glitch’. Erratic and frantic, ‘Hummer’ jerks about with white knuckles, holding on desperately to any last evidence of rhythm, and it is this claustrophobia that makes Foals so entertaining. With the complexity of !!!, the dancefloor sensibility of the Rapture and the hip-jerking ferocity of Franz Ferdinand, this debut could tap itself into public conscience. A bit too leftfield, some might say, but everything is leftfield before it becomes genre-defining. Bookmark under ‘Potential Festival Champions’.
=
Harrisons (RIP) – No Fighting In The War Room (Melodic)
Sandman Magazine
They’re often accused of being derivative, and perhaps it’s just a coincidence that their album release has been held back until just after the release of the Arctic Monkeys’ second LP, but at least Harrisons are having fun. They’ve always claimed to enjoy going out and gigging and all that palaver. But the tricky transition from live frenzy to on-record quality is sometimes too taxing for some. Not the case for Harrisons, as album kick-start ‘Dear Constable’ bops and whirls over Hillsborough and far away. There are hints of other Popular Sheffield Guitar Based Bands in there, a theme that resonates throughout ‘No Fighting In The War Room’. Mentions too for the roles played by The Libertines throughout. Although this might be the only album of the year that Pete Doherty doesn’t warble over, he might as well have done. There’s a whiff of urbane lyricism happening, but it’s probably just superficial – a second listen would strip away any pretensions to intelligence or mass appeal. It’s fortunate that Harrisons don’t pitch themselves as an arm-folding, fringe-flicking Band Above All Others. They’re good fun, and this debut album shows just how enjoyable Harrisons are. But don’t you go looking for depth, now – as a band concerned with the grim yet fun sides of not-quite-inner city living, this cheeky four-piece prefer to live for the moment, rather than the potential problems caused by analysing everything too much. ‘No Fighting In The War Room’ is a moment worth living for. Hooray!
=
Monkey Swallows The Universe (RIP) - Little Polveir
Sandman Magazine
Sheffield’s premier lady-based folk twangers are at it again – this time leaving South Yorkshire behind with summery sounds fitting of places where you go on holiday. A-side ‘Little Polveir’ is very sunny indeed and may appeal to those who prefer a bit of Glasgow in their folk-based tastes (see Belle and Sebastian, Aberfeldy, Camera Obscura etc). There is also a pleasant amount of monosyllabic do-do-do-ing and such like - not too unlike Cliff Richard’s ‘Summer Holiday’ - but who cares? ‘Summer Holiday’ is great when the weather is nice. It’s the same here. Plucking its way to the end, the result is independently swaggering hipster jeans and urges to prepare picnics.On the metaphorical flip side, ‘Hemingway’ lacks the atmosphere of the previous track and the intelligence of its namesake. It does sound very nice, though, and that’s great. Monkey Swallows The Universe are nice. Long may it continue.
Monday, 16 February 2009
What does 'Rave' look like?
Does it look like this?
Maybe. What about this?
Perhaps. And this?
Quite possibly. How about this?
Definitely. But this?
Certainly not.
Remember, kids: 'rave' is not synonymous with 'party'. Any rave-party mix-ups will guarantee your twattish impression on whoever you talk to. Haviong said that, if you're the kind of person who is vaguely tempted to use the word 'rave' instead of 'party', then you're a bonefide twat anyway. And if you are, then sorry, but you can't buy any skiing or outdoor adventure holidays here. Nor do I provide fast-track graduate schemes. Nor am I a consultant of any kind. Actually, yes I am: I am a 'cool consultant'.
Only joking.
Maybe. What about this?
Perhaps. And this?
Quite possibly. How about this?
Definitely. But this?
Certainly not.
Remember, kids: 'rave' is not synonymous with 'party'. Any rave-party mix-ups will guarantee your twattish impression on whoever you talk to. Haviong said that, if you're the kind of person who is vaguely tempted to use the word 'rave' instead of 'party', then you're a bonefide twat anyway. And if you are, then sorry, but you can't buy any skiing or outdoor adventure holidays here. Nor do I provide fast-track graduate schemes. Nor am I a consultant of any kind. Actually, yes I am: I am a 'cool consultant'.
Only joking.
Saturday, 7 February 2009
Review of the Century #4
Album: LCD Soundsystem - 45:33
This Is Fake DIY, 2007.
James Murphy is incredible. He’s totally god-like: conjuring miracles, enabling mere mortals to do the undoable. He’s actually a lot better than a god because he routinely doles out top notch Class A dance joy. So, when something he makes doesn’t get noticed, that is a bad thing. However, when this thing gets re-released so everyone does notice it, that is a Very Good Thing Indeed.
Great news then, that 45:33 has been given a second run out. Originally sponsored by Nike to help people forget about the alleged unethical sourcing of their wares, 45:33is really quite simple. It is a sub-46-minute long sprawling dance-a-thon, carved and tweaked to fit the athletic peaks and troughs of running for said duration. Although merely listening to it is enough of a workout, 45:33 - originally a iTunes-only offering – has now been dissected into its 6 distinct but overlapping movements, one of which is noticeable as ‘Someone Great’, one of the very high points of the brilliant ‘Sound Of Silver’. To analyse this rhythmic funk behemoth as the sum of its parts would be grossly unfair: the true majesty of this project is the audacity and deft touches throughout which make 45:33 one of a kind. Not a boring moment in sight, and also the odd chuckle as Murphy hisses ‘Shame on you’. It is hard not to imagine fingers being wagged and love handles being gently tugged, the cheeky so-and-so. As things eventually wind down at the end, you’ll be left exhausted, regardless of how far you’ve ran (or not).
Although ‘45:33’ would be more than welcome on its ownsome, it is backed up by another 3 tracks. Most noteworthy is ‘Freakout/Starry Eyes’ – a tripped-out funk odyssey in three parts, spanning a gigantic 12 minutes. It switches from the jazz-hand-shaking Murphy on the more afrobeat moments of ‘Sound of Silver’ and clunks into heavy percussion in the guise of 80s No-Wavers Liquid Liquid and Konk before winding up again for the bizarrely loveable retro-electro stomp of ‘Starry Eyes’, a story about getting rained on in NYC. On any other album, this offering would be a huge selling point, massively ambitious and in most cases, comparably fantastic, but on ’45:33’ it is dwarfed by the immense magnitude of the eponymous effort. Meanwhile, a dubbing of ‘North American Scum’ and the gurgling ‘Hippie Priest Bum-Out’ do the job admirably, but have the sad fate of being located on the same piece of plastic as ’45:33’ and ‘Freak Out/Starry Eyes’.
The re-release of 45:33 cements LCD Soundsystem firmly atop the podium of amazing aceness, affirming and supporting the quality of the album release earlier this year. The title, signifying the common speeds of modern vinyl records shows the universal nature of this effort, both the pop wonderment found on 45s and the monumental album-length experiences found on 33s. A fantastically ambitious gem, and mercilessly executed: Murphy is simply miles ahead of the pack.
This Is Fake DIY, 2007.
James Murphy is incredible. He’s totally god-like: conjuring miracles, enabling mere mortals to do the undoable. He’s actually a lot better than a god because he routinely doles out top notch Class A dance joy. So, when something he makes doesn’t get noticed, that is a bad thing. However, when this thing gets re-released so everyone does notice it, that is a Very Good Thing Indeed.
Great news then, that 45:33 has been given a second run out. Originally sponsored by Nike to help people forget about the alleged unethical sourcing of their wares, 45:33is really quite simple. It is a sub-46-minute long sprawling dance-a-thon, carved and tweaked to fit the athletic peaks and troughs of running for said duration. Although merely listening to it is enough of a workout, 45:33 - originally a iTunes-only offering – has now been dissected into its 6 distinct but overlapping movements, one of which is noticeable as ‘Someone Great’, one of the very high points of the brilliant ‘Sound Of Silver’. To analyse this rhythmic funk behemoth as the sum of its parts would be grossly unfair: the true majesty of this project is the audacity and deft touches throughout which make 45:33 one of a kind. Not a boring moment in sight, and also the odd chuckle as Murphy hisses ‘Shame on you’. It is hard not to imagine fingers being wagged and love handles being gently tugged, the cheeky so-and-so. As things eventually wind down at the end, you’ll be left exhausted, regardless of how far you’ve ran (or not).Although ‘45:33’ would be more than welcome on its ownsome, it is backed up by another 3 tracks. Most noteworthy is ‘Freakout/Starry Eyes’ – a tripped-out funk odyssey in three parts, spanning a gigantic 12 minutes. It switches from the jazz-hand-shaking Murphy on the more afrobeat moments of ‘Sound of Silver’ and clunks into heavy percussion in the guise of 80s No-Wavers Liquid Liquid and Konk before winding up again for the bizarrely loveable retro-electro stomp of ‘Starry Eyes’, a story about getting rained on in NYC. On any other album, this offering would be a huge selling point, massively ambitious and in most cases, comparably fantastic, but on ’45:33’ it is dwarfed by the immense magnitude of the eponymous effort. Meanwhile, a dubbing of ‘North American Scum’ and the gurgling ‘Hippie Priest Bum-Out’ do the job admirably, but have the sad fate of being located on the same piece of plastic as ’45:33’ and ‘Freak Out/Starry Eyes’.
The re-release of 45:33 cements LCD Soundsystem firmly atop the podium of amazing aceness, affirming and supporting the quality of the album release earlier this year. The title, signifying the common speeds of modern vinyl records shows the universal nature of this effort, both the pop wonderment found on 45s and the monumental album-length experiences found on 33s. A fantastically ambitious gem, and mercilessly executed: Murphy is simply miles ahead of the pack.
Sunday, 1 February 2009
PReview of the Century #3
Preview: Truckfest, Oxfordshire.
This Is Fake DIY, 2007.
The weather has been awful this summer, hasn’t it? Well it’s not all bad news. Thanks to the rain and floods and whatnot, Oxfordshire’s Truck festival has been postponed to this weekend, 22nd-23rd September. Hopefully the weather will be a bit better this time around, and the festival season will close in style.
For those who don’t know, Truck is one big village fete of a festival. With some 3-4000 people expected over the weekend, there’s a good chance of losing your mates, and then finding them, buying some local fayre from the Rotary Club and/or the village vicar, and then losing your friends again. And there’s very little chance of falling into a poo-infested quagmire, which is a good thing.
July’s bad weather hasn’t harmed the line-up too much at all, with a reported 90% of the original artists set to play. There’s even some interesting additions too! Here is DIY’s top ten of what to catch (one for each of Truck’s whopping ten years), if you’re one of the lucky few popping off to Steventon this weekend.
Foals (Saturday, Trailer Park Stage)
More local boys done good, Foals have been the ones to watch this summer. Here they wrap it all up with their ultra-futuristic, ultra-pacey take on indie dance, before (presumably) going home for some tea, scones and then off to take over the world.
Youthmovies (Saturday, Trailer Park Stage)
They used to have a longer name, but they’re still great. Oxford’s own brand of post-anarchic desolate soundscapery come home to play some windingly brilliant compositions and partake of local real ale.
Forward, Russia! (Saturday, Barn Stage)
Imported from the People’s Republic of Leeds, DIY super-heroes Forward, Russia! take their rawcous racket, angular-jangular guitars and put them all in a blender. Then they take the contents out and make you drink it. Only joking. Watch out for myriad replica t-shirts.
Emma Pollock (Saturday, Barn Stage)
Former Delgados front-lady rifles her way through solo material, undoubtedly helped by the fact that she can sing, is quite pretty, and that her floaty solo material is very good indeed. Helps the sadly gaping abyss left by Euros Childs not being able to make the new date.
Blood Red Shoes (Main Stage, Saturday)
There’s a boy and a girl. One plays the guitar, one plays the drums in the key of rock major. They’re a bit like The White Stripes in that way. But in other ways they’re not. Firstly, Blood Red Shoes are playing Truck and The White Stripes are not. Also, they’re very English, and they do like to be beside the seaside, hailing from Brighton and all.
Fonda 500 (Main Stage, Sunday)
Off-kilter rock heroics from Hull’s finest. Deserve medals for services to Humberside’s music scene, and top noises to boot.
Thomas Truax (Market Stage, Sunday)
Colarado-then-NYC-then-London’s one-man contraption engine, Thomas Truax makes things that go whizz and bang that inevitably make you go whizz and bang. Seeing is believing – he has a vaguely-defined relationship with a once-defunct horn-cum-harp and has a car wheel for a drummer. A bit special.
Outl4w (Barn Stage, Sunday)
They make an awesomely good ear-friendly punk racket, and they may be sick of hearing it, but Outl4w are really, really fresh (young). Still trying to live up to a career-defining appearance on Blue Peter a few years ago, in the halycon days of their youths, etc etc. Watch your Clearasil.
Pull Tiger Tail (Barn Stage, Sunday)
They invented Nu-Rave apparently. Who cares? Pull Tiger Tail play plinky-plonky new-school type music in a very conventional way – one song after the other, a succession of notes played in the correct order. They are very lively and inventive on stage, too, so while you’re having a lazy Sunday afternoon, you can let some other people do all the hard work.
Idlewild (Main Stage, Sunday)
A keystone appearance for many, Scottish indie-stalwarts Idlewild have been there and done that. And they’re going to be at Truck, doing it. Watch out for seminal indie cuts, folded arms, crusty t-shirts and delicate whisperings of ‘do you remember the Lamacq Live, when…’. Classic.
This Is Fake DIY, 2007.
The weather has been awful this summer, hasn’t it? Well it’s not all bad news. Thanks to the rain and floods and whatnot, Oxfordshire’s Truck festival has been postponed to this weekend, 22nd-23rd September. Hopefully the weather will be a bit better this time around, and the festival season will close in style.
For those who don’t know, Truck is one big village fete of a festival. With some 3-4000 people expected over the weekend, there’s a good chance of losing your mates, and then finding them, buying some local fayre from the Rotary Club and/or the village vicar, and then losing your friends again. And there’s very little chance of falling into a poo-infested quagmire, which is a good thing.
July’s bad weather hasn’t harmed the line-up too much at all, with a reported 90% of the original artists set to play. There’s even some interesting additions too! Here is DIY’s top ten of what to catch (one for each of Truck’s whopping ten years), if you’re one of the lucky few popping off to Steventon this weekend.
Foals (Saturday, Trailer Park Stage)
More local boys done good, Foals have been the ones to watch this summer. Here they wrap it all up with their ultra-futuristic, ultra-pacey take on indie dance, before (presumably) going home for some tea, scones and then off to take over the world.
Youthmovies (Saturday, Trailer Park Stage)
They used to have a longer name, but they’re still great. Oxford’s own brand of post-anarchic desolate soundscapery come home to play some windingly brilliant compositions and partake of local real ale.
Forward, Russia! (Saturday, Barn Stage)
Imported from the People’s Republic of Leeds, DIY super-heroes Forward, Russia! take their rawcous racket, angular-jangular guitars and put them all in a blender. Then they take the contents out and make you drink it. Only joking. Watch out for myriad replica t-shirts.
Emma Pollock (Saturday, Barn Stage)
Former Delgados front-lady rifles her way through solo material, undoubtedly helped by the fact that she can sing, is quite pretty, and that her floaty solo material is very good indeed. Helps the sadly gaping abyss left by Euros Childs not being able to make the new date.
Blood Red Shoes (Main Stage, Saturday)
There’s a boy and a girl. One plays the guitar, one plays the drums in the key of rock major. They’re a bit like The White Stripes in that way. But in other ways they’re not. Firstly, Blood Red Shoes are playing Truck and The White Stripes are not. Also, they’re very English, and they do like to be beside the seaside, hailing from Brighton and all.
Fonda 500 (Main Stage, Sunday)
Off-kilter rock heroics from Hull’s finest. Deserve medals for services to Humberside’s music scene, and top noises to boot.
Thomas Truax (Market Stage, Sunday)
Colarado-then-NYC-then-London’s one-man contraption engine, Thomas Truax makes things that go whizz and bang that inevitably make you go whizz and bang. Seeing is believing – he has a vaguely-defined relationship with a once-defunct horn-cum-harp and has a car wheel for a drummer. A bit special.
Outl4w (Barn Stage, Sunday)
They make an awesomely good ear-friendly punk racket, and they may be sick of hearing it, but Outl4w are really, really fresh (young). Still trying to live up to a career-defining appearance on Blue Peter a few years ago, in the halycon days of their youths, etc etc. Watch your Clearasil.
Pull Tiger Tail (Barn Stage, Sunday)
They invented Nu-Rave apparently. Who cares? Pull Tiger Tail play plinky-plonky new-school type music in a very conventional way – one song after the other, a succession of notes played in the correct order. They are very lively and inventive on stage, too, so while you’re having a lazy Sunday afternoon, you can let some other people do all the hard work.
Idlewild (Main Stage, Sunday)
A keystone appearance for many, Scottish indie-stalwarts Idlewild have been there and done that. And they’re going to be at Truck, doing it. Watch out for seminal indie cuts, folded arms, crusty t-shirts and delicate whisperings of ‘do you remember the Lamacq Live, when…’. Classic.
Monday, 19 January 2009
Review of the Century #1
Album: Hot Club De Paris - Drop It Til It Pops. 8/10.
Published NEU Magazine, 2006
Ahoy there! Wry scouse speed-indieists Hot Club De Paris have been firing warning shots across our bows for a while already. Now that two moshi moshi singles, 'sometimesitsbetternotto...' and 'everyeveryeverything' are out on the open seas, it seems plain sailing. So why all the hackneyed marine references?
First, the album cover has fish on it. Secondly, lots of words, related to the sea and maritime culture appear throughout this album, some of which are 'galleon', 'seaside' and 'pier'. Opener 'Shipwreck' slaps you in the face with some yo-ho-ho-ing that has the texture of a very heavy and quickly-slung kipper. And there are lots of lolloping, rolling vocal singalongs.
'Drop It Til It Pops' has a tendency to sound like any band you don't think it should sound like (see Pixies, Dexy's Midnight Runners and the Minutemen). With HCdP however, you're more struck by the fact that nothing has been drenched in effects, rather just been played very well. And the tunes, if sometimes lacking in recognisable structure, aren't that bad either.
One word of warning, though. Hot Club De Paris are not fond of playing things in comfortable time signatures. This is dance for dyspraxics. They strut like juddering sea-bound creatures, restricted not by time but by the fact there is only three of them to share out the words. And although 'Drop It Til It Pops' is very good, sometimes you get the feeling that their dabbling in complex time structures is dabbling for dabbling's sake. Or even worse: a fear of sounding like one of those boring, land-loving bands that only play in common time.
Published NEU Magazine, 2006
Ahoy there! Wry scouse speed-indieists Hot Club De Paris have been firing warning shots across our bows for a while already. Now that two moshi moshi singles, 'sometimesitsbetternotto...' and 'everyeveryeverything' are out on the open seas, it seems plain sailing. So why all the hackneyed marine references?
First, the album cover has fish on it. Secondly, lots of words, related to the sea and maritime culture appear throughout this album, some of which are 'galleon', 'seaside' and 'pier'. Opener 'Shipwreck' slaps you in the face with some yo-ho-ho-ing that has the texture of a very heavy and quickly-slung kipper. And there are lots of lolloping, rolling vocal singalongs.
'Drop It Til It Pops' has a tendency to sound like any band you don't think it should sound like (see Pixies, Dexy's Midnight Runners and the Minutemen). With HCdP however, you're more struck by the fact that nothing has been drenched in effects, rather just been played very well. And the tunes, if sometimes lacking in recognisable structure, aren't that bad either.
One word of warning, though. Hot Club De Paris are not fond of playing things in comfortable time signatures. This is dance for dyspraxics. They strut like juddering sea-bound creatures, restricted not by time but by the fact there is only three of them to share out the words. And although 'Drop It Til It Pops' is very good, sometimes you get the feeling that their dabbling in complex time structures is dabbling for dabbling's sake. Or even worse: a fear of sounding like one of those boring, land-loving bands that only play in common time.
Monday, 15 December 2008
Death of music*
HOLY POP GUACAMOLE. It's (almost) the end of music. And it's almost the end of 2008. How terrible. Thankfully, Eeyogan Quigg didn't win the X Factor, so there's no need for heads in the oven. However, the bells have tolled for the Fashionable Hipster Electronic Chap Band: found in 2008, and found dead in 2009. Here's a recap:
1) MGMT
Pant-swingingly fantastic. Provided the soundtrack to many (ie. 1) 'Skins' epitaph and made bass fat again. Their name is also a contraction of the word 'management' and is therefore 1 finger to The Man. Well done, MGMT. There are two medals in the post for you.
2) Cut Copy
They are from the other side of the world and they possess similar fun dance vibes. Added to the fact that their 2008 album straddles most of the statistically-proven 'good' musical genres and you'll find, via the 'Good Music In 2008' formula (below), that Cut Copy deserve world citizenship. Their light-hearted odyssey shows that, like changing global climates, it can truly be summer all year long. Kudos to you, Cut Copy.
==
OFFICIAL GOOD MUSIC IN 2008 FORMULA ALERT
Good Genres: Guitar-based rock music, minimal techno, French house, gospel, Germanic electro, power pop, Gameboy-core.
Q-values:
1 and under - mediocre
1.5 - optimal quality
2 and over - a bit much
==
Sadly, it's all over. This is Empire Of The Sun, a terrible palarver consisting of Him Out Of The Sleepy Jackson and some other chap who would have been better off remaining exclusive to his Oceanic electro-euphoria maestros P'nau.
As you can see, they're a bit too similar. If you could hear them, they're also a bit rubbish. Oh hang on.
==
DRAMATISATION:
(A party. Everyone is having fun)
World: Wow! This electro hipster pop thing is really great!
MGMT: We know! We love it too! That's why we did it! Go us!
Cut Copy: And us, too!
World: Yes, we love you, Cut Copy, and you, MGMT!
MGMT: And we love you, World! And you, Cut Copy!
Cut Copy: We know we're not from NYC, but...
World: That doesn't matter! We love you!
(World, MGMT and Cut Copy have some more fun. Enter Empire Of The Sun)
ALL: Oh.
(Curtain)
==
* - denotes exaggeration.
1) MGMT
Pant-swingingly fantastic. Provided the soundtrack to many (ie. 1) 'Skins' epitaph and made bass fat again. Their name is also a contraction of the word 'management' and is therefore 1 finger to The Man. Well done, MGMT. There are two medals in the post for you.
2) Cut Copy
They are from the other side of the world and they possess similar fun dance vibes. Added to the fact that their 2008 album straddles most of the statistically-proven 'good' musical genres and you'll find, via the 'Good Music In 2008' formula (below), that Cut Copy deserve world citizenship. Their light-hearted odyssey shows that, like changing global climates, it can truly be summer all year long. Kudos to you, Cut Copy.
==
OFFICIAL GOOD MUSIC IN 2008 FORMULA ALERT
Good Genres: Guitar-based rock music, minimal techno, French house, gospel, Germanic electro, power pop, Gameboy-core.
Q-values:
1 and under - mediocre
1.5 - optimal quality
2 and over - a bit much
==
Sadly, it's all over. This is Empire Of The Sun, a terrible palarver consisting of Him Out Of The Sleepy Jackson and some other chap who would have been better off remaining exclusive to his Oceanic electro-euphoria maestros P'nau.
As you can see, they're a bit too similar. If you could hear them, they're also a bit rubbish. Oh hang on.
==
DRAMATISATION:
(A party. Everyone is having fun)
World: Wow! This electro hipster pop thing is really great!
MGMT: We know! We love it too! That's why we did it! Go us!
Cut Copy: And us, too!
World: Yes, we love you, Cut Copy, and you, MGMT!
MGMT: And we love you, World! And you, Cut Copy!
Cut Copy: We know we're not from NYC, but...
World: That doesn't matter! We love you!
(World, MGMT and Cut Copy have some more fun. Enter Empire Of The Sun)
ALL: Oh.
(Curtain)
==
* - denotes exaggeration.
Friday, 21 November 2008
Personal Genius: Trevor Horn
There are some people who babble about this silly, overpopulated planet contributing very little apart from methane. There are some other people who make up for this by being very ace indeed. One of these people is pop impresario Trevor Horn. He is great. This is why:
The Buggles
Trevor Horn was the mastermind behind pop behemoths The Buggles. He spawned 'Video Killed the Radio Star' and thus he invented the MTV generation. He also made it clear that in the post-disco era, you didn't have to be a fittie to make a right old hittie. In fact, all of The Buggles were a bit ugly, which is why they didn't conquer the world. What a lie. They look like Hot Chip.
Malcolm McLaren
Malcolm McLaren is an irritating fucktard. He wafts across talking heads clip shows like the decrepit prune that escaped from Christmas Past and has appeared disappointingly in Christmas Present. Thanks, nan. He gesticulates his histrionics while conveniently missing the fact that he owes it all to Westwood and Johnny 'I sell margerine to The Man, for The Man' Rotten.
However, McLaren's 1983 album 'Duck Rock' is amazing. It's like The Go! Team getting all Bronx with Vampire Weekend chomping on vaseline on toast. It also developed a bit of a blueprint for breakdance riddim and rip-rip-rapping. It's fantastic. Unsurprisingly, the whole thing was overseen by Trevor Horn, who has a gay old time churning out as many variations of the Amen break as possible. Not bad for a dweeb.
Art Of Noise
Having moseyed around with Malcolm 'Shortbread tin trousers' McLaren for a bit too long, Trevor decided that it was time to reinvent music. It was the 80s, mobile phones were really big and so was business. There were these things called 'samplers', right, and you'd record something and it'd play it back. Genius. So Trevor reckons that you can just sample everything and make music doing that. Thus, you get the Art Of Noise, who are mainly responsible for the theme tune for The Krypton Factor.
Over the pond, people were thinking that Art Of Noise were some crest-of-a-wave hip-hop pioneers rather than some stuffy, stuck-up knob-twiddlers. Horn, as we know, is a bit ugly (and not black) so Art Of Noise went all anonymous. They also did that funky rendition of 'Kiss' with Tom Jones. Thanks, you make me dribble.
Tatu
Fast-forward 20 years, past the Clothes Show and the information superhighway and you get to 2003. There's this place called Russia, you might have heard for it. Anyway, there's these two fit birds, yeah, Trevor Horn produces their debut album and they become incredibly popular.
It's a very saccarine affair, but secretly it's a big metaphor for the instability of Russia, following the 1997 default on the ruble, lack of economic and social stability placed next to the yearning desire for a strong political leader. Only joking. But the album does sound very very good and there's the best Smiths cover version ever on it. Hooray! Even Morrissey loves it, and he's a miserable old sausage.
So, what have we learned today?
1) Trevor Horn is ugly.
2) Trevor Horn invented hip-hop.
3) Trevor Horn is a pillar of post-Soviet Russia.
Yes? Yes.
The Buggles
Trevor Horn was the mastermind behind pop behemoths The Buggles. He spawned 'Video Killed the Radio Star' and thus he invented the MTV generation. He also made it clear that in the post-disco era, you didn't have to be a fittie to make a right old hittie. In fact, all of The Buggles were a bit ugly, which is why they didn't conquer the world. What a lie. They look like Hot Chip.
Malcolm McLaren
Malcolm McLaren is an irritating fucktard. He wafts across talking heads clip shows like the decrepit prune that escaped from Christmas Past and has appeared disappointingly in Christmas Present. Thanks, nan. He gesticulates his histrionics while conveniently missing the fact that he owes it all to Westwood and Johnny 'I sell margerine to The Man, for The Man' Rotten.
However, McLaren's 1983 album 'Duck Rock' is amazing. It's like The Go! Team getting all Bronx with Vampire Weekend chomping on vaseline on toast. It also developed a bit of a blueprint for breakdance riddim and rip-rip-rapping. It's fantastic. Unsurprisingly, the whole thing was overseen by Trevor Horn, who has a gay old time churning out as many variations of the Amen break as possible. Not bad for a dweeb.
Art Of Noise
Having moseyed around with Malcolm 'Shortbread tin trousers' McLaren for a bit too long, Trevor decided that it was time to reinvent music. It was the 80s, mobile phones were really big and so was business. There were these things called 'samplers', right, and you'd record something and it'd play it back. Genius. So Trevor reckons that you can just sample everything and make music doing that. Thus, you get the Art Of Noise, who are mainly responsible for the theme tune for The Krypton Factor.
Over the pond, people were thinking that Art Of Noise were some crest-of-a-wave hip-hop pioneers rather than some stuffy, stuck-up knob-twiddlers. Horn, as we know, is a bit ugly (and not black) so Art Of Noise went all anonymous. They also did that funky rendition of 'Kiss' with Tom Jones. Thanks, you make me dribble.
Tatu
Fast-forward 20 years, past the Clothes Show and the information superhighway and you get to 2003. There's this place called Russia, you might have heard for it. Anyway, there's these two fit birds, yeah, Trevor Horn produces their debut album and they become incredibly popular.
It's a very saccarine affair, but secretly it's a big metaphor for the instability of Russia, following the 1997 default on the ruble, lack of economic and social stability placed next to the yearning desire for a strong political leader. Only joking. But the album does sound very very good and there's the best Smiths cover version ever on it. Hooray! Even Morrissey loves it, and he's a miserable old sausage.
So, what have we learned today?
1) Trevor Horn is ugly.
2) Trevor Horn invented hip-hop.
3) Trevor Horn is a pillar of post-Soviet Russia.
Yes? Yes.
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